Sunstone fanfic (Ally/Lisa)


One hour ago.

I still can’t quite believe the difference in her.

One hour ago. An evening at home. Neither of us are big TV watchers — I’d much rather read a book, and she’d rather play her online games — but tonight we’re lying around the living room. There’s some terrible comedy on and she’s making fun of it, making up her own dialogue and interjecting. I join in and soon we’re in hysterics.

See, this is one of the things I love about her — she’s such a dork. Oh yes, she hides it well, but at home I’m not fooled. The manga, the anime, the computer games — her inner nerd isn’t even that inner.

We’re laughing and laughing, and then I say it.

“You are such a dumbass.”

She looks at me over the top of her glasses, and I can see the gleam spring to her eye.

“Really,” she says. “Such impertinence. I think you forget yourself. Or have you forgotten what’s around your neck?”

I touch my neck.

I touch what’s around my neck.

I am collared.

“I think,” she says, “you may need to be taught a lesson.”

The words seem stern but I hear the smile in her voice.

“Go to the playroom and wait for me.”

A command. And I, of course, obey it.

“Yes, mistress.”

*

I wait 15 minutes before she walks in.

The striped top and jeans are gone. So are the glasses.

She wears black latex leggings that make her look like she’s been dipped in ink, and a matching bra top, and high heels.

My friend the dork has vanished, or rather been transformed. Even her hair’s fringe, which makes her look so cute, takes on a new severity.

My heart skips a beat. Such a domme.

I’ve assumed my position before she enters — kneeling, waiting for her arrival, eyes cast down (but I’m still drinking in every inch of her).

She smiles.

“I hope you’re prepared for your lesson.”

“Yes, mistress.”

“We’ll teach you not to speak out of turn.”

She throws something on the floor before me. “Put these on.”

The smell of latex assaults me. So obnoxious, and so exciting.

I stand up to dress, and of course she helps me into the red latex stockings and gloves, then shines them for me. Oddly enough being in these things makes me feel more naked than when I literally had no clothes on.

And then, as if from nowhere, she produces something else.

“Let’s curb that tongue of yours.”

I stifle a grin at the sight of the ball gag. I’m being punished, after all.

“Open your mouth.”

I do and the ball is inserted, then the gag is tied.

And this is the moment, the moment of total trust in her. Because now my speech is gone, I can’t say our safe word, and she’ll have to rely on my body language.

“Okay?” she says softly. I’m in her hands now, and she knows exactly what a responsibility it is.

I nod quickly. I trust her. I trust her like I’ve never trusted anyone else in my life.

I give myself to her.

Reassured, she assumes that air of arrogance I love. “Hands behind your back.”

Handcuffs.

And that’s the moment. When I’m helpless. There’s a moment in every play session when it happens, when we’re not two friends dressing up and playing out a fantasy, when it becomes real.

When I am her sub and she is my domme.

She guides me to the bed. “Now, no pleasuring. You are forbidden to orgasm until I allow it.”

She looks into my eyes. There’s no blindfold today. She wants me to see this.

She sits back on the bed between my legs. She casually lifts her foot up to me.

And then … oh God, what she does to me. She brings me to the very brink at least three times and each time she backs away. “Remember, no pleasuring.”

I could scream with frustration, except she has taken my voice.

Finally, just when it seems like I will go insane without release, she uncuffs me and removes the gag. “Lesson learned, I think. Shall I help you with that?”

Kisses. Tongues. Setting me on fire. She nods approval and I reach down frantically for my sex.

And oh God, it goes ripping through me, and finally I give voice, arching up as wave after wave hits me.

And the aftermath, lying in her arms, the peace, the absolute rightness, this is exactly where I want to be.

And later we’ll take off the costumes and shower and transform to our usual selves, and go to sleep in her room, cuddled together. (I even manage to sleep through those earthquake snores of hers.)

And when I wake I’ll gaze at her sleeping, and watch her breasts rise and fall with her breathing, and her fringe, and her beauty spot, and know how right this is, and marvel again at these two sides of her.

Ally. My friend. My mistress.

How I love her. All of her.