Her tone changed to the Mistress who could snap Gen's spine straight and drive a spike of arousal through her. "Look at you, breathing so heavy. Your pussy's just begging for it, isn't it?"
"Yes," Gen whispered.
"Good." Lyda straightened. "Keep it that way. It's mine to enjoy when I choose. Would you like to go to Gatlinburg next weekend?"
Gen blinked. She was so aroused, she wasn't sure she could drive herself safely to work, and Lyda was chatting up weekend plans. "Sure."
Lyda pulled a dollar out of her purse, handed it to her. "There's a drink machine in the hall. Get me a Diet Coke. Hurry back, and we'll talk about it."
Gen rose, movements uncoordinated, but Lyda gave her butt a slap sharp enough to elicit a yelp and narrow glance. It did help her focus enough to go find the drink machine, though. Putting in the dollar with fumbling fingers, Gen retrieved the soda, came back. Lyda was leaning toward the mirror, applying some eye liner, making a perfect presentation of her ass in the snug hold of the skirt. Gen wondered what Lyda would do if she slapped her ass.
Lyda met her gaze in the mirror. "Do it, and next time I tie you down, your backside will match my hair."
Occasionally there was an advantage to having an easy-to-read face. When Lyda threatened such a thing, Gen's pulse accelerated, telling her she wanted such a punishment. Gen had never particularly longed for pain as part of sex, but the way Lyda took control of her and Noah, the way she administered discipline, was like discovering an adult love of roller coasters.
Plus--and this was an important component of it--her reaction fed Lyda's pleasure, which in turn escalated Gen's...and so on and so forth. Despite that, she wouldn't be slapping Lyda's ass. There was a right and wrong way to incur discipline at her Mistress's hand, and doing it that way felt like feeding tofu to a cheetah.
Lyda was studying her face. "You're not a brat, Gen," she said softly. "Or a bottom, just seeking to get off by being topped. I like that about you. Very much."
Mutely, Gen offered the Diet Coke. Taking it, Lyda pointed her back to the bench. "Same position. Whenever I command you to sit, you assume that posture. If I make you kneel, your knees stay shoulder width apart, no matter what you're wearing, because if you're on your knees, we're in company that understands what's going on. They know you're under my protection. You're safe, as long as you follow my commands. I want you to think about that, because occasionally I insist on some PDS outside a club. Public Displays of Submission."
When Gen was seated, Lyda turned back to the mirror to finish up her makeup. "Noah invited me to meet his grandmother. She lives in Tampa, but goes up to Gatlinburg to stay with friends for a month in the summer. One of them also has a rental house in town, so Noah's grandmother wants him to come stay there for a few days, do some maintenance on it as thanks for her room and board. I think she also likes to show off her cute grandson. He asked me to go with him. I haven't said yes, but I'm thinking I might. Particularly if you'd like to go too."
She anticipated Lyda's agreement would shock Noah as much as it was taking her off guard. "Does he usually invite his...Dommes to meet his grandmother?"
Lyda gave her an amused look. "You were stumbling over that one, weren't you? You knew 'girlfriend' didn't fit. No, I expect he doesn't." Lyda sobered, studying herself in the mirror. "Which is why I shouldn't go."
"Do you want to go?"
"Yeah, I do. Which worries me." Lyda gave her a rueful look. Such a woman-to-woman exchange was something Gen had as a matter of course with Chloe, and rarely but sometimes with Marguerite. It was the first time she'd experienced it with Lyda.
"How would we introduce ourselves? As his friends?" Gen had a hard time keeping her hands off either one of them. If his grandmother had a sharp eye, or even a single functioning brain cell, it was going to be difficult to keep their relationship under wraps. But people tended to see what they wanted to see, right? Both of her mothers-in-law had thought everything was going great, that their sons were perfect. Until the day they announced the divorces, and then it didn't take too much for them to turn the blame all on Gen. Despite the fact Guy wouldn't have even visited his mother except when Gen nagged him to do it.
"We are his friends, aren't we?" Lyda asked.
Gen didn't know how to respond to that. Chloe was a friend. They shared laughter and jokes, hugged a lot, worked together. They told each other about their lives, their feelings. Yes, Chloe shared more than Gen, but over time, Chloe had earned enough of Gen's trust that she knew more about Gen's feelings on things than she'd ever anticipated sharing. With Lyda, she felt a desire to share a lot of things, but she hesitated because of Lyda being Lyda. Gen could certainly call her and Noah her friends in front of his grandmother, but did that really fit?
"I asked Noah what he thought he deserved," Gen said instead. "He said whatever his Master or Mistress thinks he deserves."
Lyda pressed her lips together, packed her lipstick away. "It's why most Dominants don't hold onto him. That lack of identity and self-esteem is a harrowing responsibility. In the right circumstances, it seems like a treasure, but it's hazardous to the sub. It's tempting to the worst kind of Doms."
"But not to you?"
Lyda lifted a brow, leaned against the sink, gaze sliding with leisurely pleasure over Gen in her submissive posture. "What do you think?"
Thinking was difficult. But Gen gave it a try. "I think you refuse to let yourself back away from a challenge. And you think you're entitled to his serv
ice, because you feel you earn it by what you give back to him."
"I feel I earn it?" Lyda gave her an amused look, then sobered again. "Noah 's submission is a beautiful thing, but there's a missing foundation support, like a chair with only three legs. You don't realize a leg is missing until you tip in that direction. The thing is, he's very good at keeping anyone from tipping him in that direction. However, if he's pushed there, a crash happens, and it's not beautiful at all."
Gen's brow furrowed, but Lyda continued, forestalling comment. "Eventually, I hope to get deep enough inside him to help him put in a prosthesis."
"What happens after that?" Gen gazed at her.
"That will be up to him, and me. And maybe you."
Lyda hooked a finger in Gen's shirtfront, beneath the connection between her bra cups. She tugged there, letting her thumb drift over Gen's left nipple. "Nope, no moving. Keep those hands at your sides. You've touched me as much as I'm going to permit right now. Your pussy's needy as a virgin's on her wedding night, isn't it?"