Calla
The moment Amiyah straddled my lap, bold and brazen in front of the whole damn cookout, I knew she wasn’t just flirting; she was submitting, whether she realized it yet or not.
Her ass ground into me with filthy precision, her breath hot against my ear, whispering things no one else could hear. “You feel that? That’s me dripping for you.”
The moment that wrecked me was her telling me what she’d let me do to her body, a body that I was now in ownership of.
I immediately corrected her, whispering in her ear. “You didn’t LET me do a damn thing, your body, mind, and soul are mine to do as I please as long as I please. ”
Her willingness to submit let me know she would be the perfect sub—my fluffy, bratty baby.
The words “Yes, Mistress,” fell from her full, glossy lips like they were born there.
Mistress.
The word hit like a whip crack in my chest, sharp and electrifying.
My clit throbbed instantly, wetness slicking my panties.
No one had ever called me that outside the walls of Provocateur, and never in broad daylight, surrounded by loved ones, and all the celebrities that broke their neck to attend a Caleb Black function.
It was dangerous, reckless as hell, and exactly what I craved.
I imagined dragging her away from this party, throwing her against the hood of her car, making her scream that word loud enough for the whole block to hear. I imagined bending her over in front of James, spreading her open, tonguing fucking her until her voice broke on the syllables of Mistress.
By the time the song ended and she stood, shaky and glowing, I was already undone.
The group bantered around us, Yanna cracking jokes, Dana egging her on, Ajaih smirking like she knew too much, but I barely heard them. I sat there with my thighs pressed tight, sipping my drink to cover the ache building between my legs, watching Amiyah try to laugh off what she’d just done.
She couldn’t fool me, though. I knew what she wanted and needed.
A few songs later, I saw her slip away. Hair swinging across her back, hips swaying, disappearing inside the house. She didn’t even look back.
But I watched her, studied her; she was wet, flustered, and in need of sexual relief.
I waited just long enough to avoid suspicion, then set my glass down and rose from my chair. No one batted an eye as I glided across the deck and into the house, the bass dulling as the door shut behind me.
The hallway smelled faintly of weed and barbecue, muffled voices carrying from the kitchen. I followed the faint sound of water running, the tiny creak of a door hinge—the bathroom.
I tapped once, low.
“Someone’s in here,” Amiyah called, her voice tight, nervous.
I smiled, my pulse racing. “Open up for me.”
Silence. Then the faint click of the lock.
When the door cracked, I slipped inside and closed it behind me. The bathroom light cast her in warm gold, her lips parted, her chest rising fast.
I didn’t waste time. My hand closed around her throat, firm but careful, tilting her head back against the door. Her eyes widened, a mix of shock and hunger.
“Say it again,” I whispered, before crashing my mouth to hers.
Her lips were soft, desperate, opening instantly under mine. She moaned, the sound vibrating straight into my chest, and my clit pulsed so hard I nearly groaned with her.
I kissed her like I’d been starving, like I wanted to consume the word she’d given me, tried to brand it onto her tongue so she’d never forget it. Mistress.
Her lips parted under mine, sweet and eager, her breath mixing with mine in the cramped heat of the bathroom. My hand tightened on her throat just enough to remind her who she’d called for.
“Mistress,” she gasped into my mouth, and I swear I almost came just from the sound.
I growled against her lips, my free hand sliding down the front of her crop top, pushing the fabric up until my palm met the warm swell of her breast. Her nipple was already hard, pressing into my hand as I rolled it between my fingers.
She moaned, the sound muffled, her hips shifting restlessly against mine.
“So responsive, needy,” I hissed, dragging my mouth down her jaw, biting lightly at her neck. “Grinding on me out there like you wanted everyone to know you belonged to me. You think I won’t make you prove it?”
Her body shuddered. “I—”
“Shhh.” I pressed my thumb against her lips, watching her eyes glaze with need. “Don’t talk, obey.”
She nodded, her lips wrapping around my thumb instinctively, sucking like the good little submissive she was already becoming. My pussy clenched at the sight, heat flooding my core.
I slipped my hand down her stomach, slow and deliberate, until I reached the band of her shorts. She froze for a moment, eyes wide, then nodded again, granting me silent permission. That was all I needed.
I slid my hand inside, past her panties, and groaned when I felt how soaked she was. “Dripping,” I whispered, circling her clit with two fingers. “All for me. You’re mine, Amiyah. Say it.”
Her head tipped back, her voice shaky but sure. “I’m yours, Mistress.”
The word vibrated through me like lightning. I pushed two fingers inside her tight, pulsing pussy, curling them just right. She gasped, her nails digging into my shoulders as I pumped faster, thumb pressing against her clit in quick, ruthless circles.
Her thighs trembled almost instantly, the tension in her body building sharp and fast. “Please—”
“Don’t beg,” I snapped, nipping at her ear. “Give me what I want. Come for me. Right here. Right now. Please don’t make me tell you twice.”
Her moans tumbled out uncontrollably, her hips grinding into my hand, chasing the edge. The wet sounds of my fingers plunging into her filled the small room, obscene and perfect.
“Mistress, oh, fuck—”
“Louder.”
“Mistress!”
“Again.”
“MISTRESSSS I’M COMING!” she belted out as passion and pleasure surged through her, not giving a damn who heard her.
She convulsed around my fingers, thighs shaking, her orgasm dismantling her piece by piece until she nearly collapsed.
I held her up with one hand on her throat, keeping her pressed against the door as I worked her through every pulse, every desperate wave, until she went limp against me, gasping for breath.
I pulled my fingers free, slick with her release, and sucked them into my mouth, moaning at her taste. Her dazed eyes locked on mine, lips parted, still trembling.
“Fucking delicious,” I murmured, licking them clean. “Next time, James will watch me ruin you like this, and after that…” I kissed her once more, slow, filthy, possessive. “…he’ll help.”
Her body sagged against me, chest heaving, sweat dampening her hairline. For a moment, I just held her there, my hand softening on her throat, thumb brushing the line of her jaw. After I break them, I always bring them back. And Amiyah… she was shaking like a newborn foal.
“Breathe, baby,” I murmured, pressing my lips to her damp temple. “You did so good for me.”
Her lashes fluttered, her lips still parted. “Mistress…”
The word made my clit throb all over again, but I forced myself to steady. This wasn’t Provocateur, it was Caleb’s cookout. We were two locked doors away from discovery, and that was a risk even I wasn’t ready to take, not yet.
I tugged her crop top back down, smoothing it over her body, fingers lingering at her waist. “You need to fix your lipstick,” I said, a smirk tugging at my mouth.
She laughed breathlessly, swatting at my arm. “You’re insane.”
“No, I’m yours.” I tucked one curl back from her flushed face, letting my thumb stroke her cheek. “And you’re mine.”
Her breath hitched, but she didn’t argue. She couldn’t, not when her body was still betraying her, thighs pressed together like she needed to hold onto the remnants of what I’d just given her.
I stepped back, adjusting my own outfit, sliding my composure back on like a well-tailored dress. She mirrored me, dabbing at her lips with a tissue, fluffing her hair until she looked more “party” than “wrecked.”
But when I tilted her chin up, I saw it in her eyes. The dazed gaze. It was my favorite mark of surrender.
“Don’t worry,” I whispered, my hand curling around the doorknob. “No one will know what happened in here. Not unless I want them to.”
Her eyes widened, and I leaned in one last time, my lips brushing her ear. “But James will know soon enough. He’s been dying to taste what I just had all over my fingers.”
Her knees wobbled, and I smirked, pulling the door open.
The hallway air felt cooler, sharper, as if the house itself knew we were sneaking back into the fold with a secret. Laughter from the kitchen, the steady bass from the backyard. Normalcy waiting just on the other side.
I slipped out first, smoothing my expression, calm and unshaken. Amiyah followed a beat later, her hand brushing mine briefly before she pulled away, her face carefully arranged in neutrality.
But I saw it in the way she walked.
In the way her thighs brushed.
In the way, she couldn’t quite meet my eyes now.
She was marked.
And when we stepped back into the heat of the cookout, I caught James' gaze across the yard. His eyes narrowed, jaw tight, reading the shift instantly.
I smiled, slow, deliberate, possessive.
I knew he’d notice.
The second, Amiyah and I stepped back into the crowd, her face flushed, her lips swollen, her thighs pressed tight together. I could feel James' stare like a spotlight. His jaw flexed, his grip white-knuckled around that bottle, all nine inches of his dick practically screaming through his jeans.
And me? I stayed quiet, remaining polished and very much smug. I wanted him to see it. I wanted him to know I’d had my fingers inside her, that I’d tasted what he’s been dreaming about, and that I hadn’t saved a single drop for him.