The Thread (F/F 35-40) fem-dom-light

I sat across from her in the dimly lit café, sweating, half-finished cocktails between us, her intoxicating blue-green eyes penetrating mine, black lashes like butterflies threating to take me away on their wing tips if I wasn’t careful.

I wanted her mouth, wanted to know the flavor of her tongue, and what the texture of her skin felt like beneath my palms.

Her Cheshire cat smile though, full of hunger, trouble, and a pinch of sweetness gave me pause. I felt like a little mouse unsure of whether or not her paw was going to bat me around or pull me into her soft fur. Maybe I wanted both.

“I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything, but would you like to come over?” she asked, her voice pure silk, her fingertips inching toward mine.

She had taken a spool of tightly wound silver thread, only perceptible by an otherworldly sense buried in the recess of my brain and unraveled a little of it, extending an end to me across the table.

My options were to end the evening here because of the bit of trouble I detected in her smile. I wasn’t sure I wanted to subject myself to it, whatever it was. I wasn’t sure how easy it would be to untangle myself from it.

The other option was to pick up the end of the thread, follow it and her back to her place and see what happens. Maybe I was wrong about the trouble. Maybe I wanted to be possessed by her. Maybe none of it would happen. Maybe all of it would happen. Either way, I wouldn’t know if I refused to pick up the thread.

I touched it. I watched her watch me do it.

“Seriously, no pressure.” she said again which she knew would be all I needed to hear to say yes. Let me think I was the one in control.

I picked up the thread, wound it around my index finger, and watched how it glittered against my skin before I looked up at her and said, “Let’s go.”

The Cheshire cat smile returned and she slid her hand over mine. “Great. I’ll get the tab and then we’ll head out ok?”

“Thank you.” I smiled, feeling the pull of the thread tug a little harder.

We left, her hand in mine as we walked to her car. She opened the door for me, unraveled the thread a little more. It sat on her lap as she drove. I wound the slack of it tighter around my index finger until it was covered in silver.

She turned the music up, drowning out my thoughts and any attempt at a conversation. She rolled the windows down, the crisp air hitting my face, blowing my hair around as I watched the sparkling city lights fly by us.

I felt myself go underwater. Or at least that’s how I’ve described this feeling when I’m proceeding toward something that maybe isn’t the best for me. I’m still holding the thread, still committed to following it, while drifting more and more underwater.

In this space my brain thinks things will hurt less. It becomes more pliable because somewhere deep inside I don’t feel I can say no. That saying no would somehow make me weak, or not down for things on a menu that others would be down for and I’ll be ostracized. If I don’t stay in the good graces of this person there will be bigger punishment to endure so I’ll just slip away, under this current and watch myself sink and sink feeling less and less present so whatever is hurting now won’t be as bad as whatever comes from saying no.

“This is me.” she said, pulling into a large parking structure. She drove up to the third level and parked. I spilled out of the passenger seat and followed the black satin of her dress swishing around her thighs and the click of her sharp heels striking the cement to an elevator. I worked to keep my jaw from dropping when she pressed a golden button with the number “18” on it.

The inside of her apartment was immaculate and looked more like an Anthropologie ad than her home.

“Would you like some wine?” she asked, gesturing to the bottle on the marble counter.

“Yes please.” I replied.

She grinned like she knew that would be my answer, stepped closer to me, still gripping that invisible spool of thread, and while looking into my eyes, leaned in towards my mouth.

*I tilted my head up to meet hers, but she turned toward my cheek at that exact moment and whispered in my ear, “You’re a good girl aren’t you?”

Warm energy moved down from my face, lighting up my cheeks, to my chest, through my hips, and into my thighs.

The thread around my finger pulled tighter.

When I didn’t reply because my head was swimming, she placed her hand on my hip, and said while looking into my eyes, “Aren’t you?”

Am I? Was I? I didn’t fucking know because my head was underwater, and the thread around my finger was making it throb, and the sound of her voice, and the feel of her touching me was like an assault on all my senses.

“I said aren’t you?” she repeated herself, hand tightening on my hip and I nodded.

“Thought so.” she smirked, and went about taking wine glasses down from her cabinets, setting them on the counter.

I could breathe a little more with her standing over there, pouring the wine. She had unraveled more of the thread so I wrapped more of it around my middle finger wondering where we were going, what was going to happen.

“Here you are. Go sit on the couch, I’ll be just a minute.” She handed me a large glass, half full of red, with a delicate stem.

I did what she said trying to understand the hold she had on me. I felt like I was in a labyrinth that she created and she was watching me try to figure it out, but kept running into dead ends. I knew I could unravel the thread from my fingers and leave at any time, but maybe I didn’t want to.

She returned from her bedroom, collecting her wine as I sipped mine. When she joined me on the couch, she pushed her hand through my hair. “You are devastatingly beautiful.” she said. “Take off your dress and let me see you.”

I felt my eyes go wide. I was used to something that wasn’t this. I wanted to be kissed, to feel and be felt at the same time. I barely knew her. This was our fourth date. We had kissed only once. I was confused as to what was happening, but my body was responding as if we were fucking in this moment. I had gotten wet the instant she asked me to come over, the moment she extended the thread to me.

“Did you not hear me?” she asked. “I said take off your dress.”

The space between us felt tense in a way that made me feel nervous-excited as I set my wine glass down and stood, the question of “what’s next?” rolled through my mind as I reached behind me, breath caught in my lungs as I unzipped my dress and let it fall to the floor.

Her eyes sparkled with desire, interest, and lust. “Good girl.”

The warmth flooded my limbs again hearing those words. She pulled the invisible thread, wearing that Cheshire cat grin, and said, “Come sit.”

I joined her again, in just my black bra and thong, tucking my legs underneath me, reaching for my wine.

“You seem scared.” she correctly observed. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

I rolled around thoughts of how honest I should be. The more I said, the more control she’d have knowing my inner workings and I didn’t know if I should share that just yet.

“I had different expectations for tonight.” I started.

“What were they?”

“Something more mutual than me sitting here half naked.” I looked down into my wine glass.

“Is that so? Are you not enjoying yourself? Because I imagine if I asked you to take everything else off, I’d find how wet you are.”

I looked up feeling her amusement.

“Do you want me to take them off?” she asked, nodding at my hips.

“I can do it.” I replied, placing my wine on the coffee table, my words surprising me, my fingers yanking hard on the silver thread between us rushing to find the end of it, to find out what was here.

“Good girl.” The look of approval she wore on her beautiful features unlocked something deep inside of me, and the part of my being that had slipped underwater was above it now, gasping for air, here and present.

A pile of the sparkling thread was at our feet. I was still yanking on it, finding it to be nearly endless as she told me to stand in front of her and take off my bra.

I did so and watched her look me over. I stepped forward, still wanting to kiss and touch her.

She put her hands on my hips and held me in place. “Stay put. I’m going to put my mouth on you, and you’re going to come when I tell you like a good girl. Ok?”

I nodded. I wanted it. I wanted her. I wanted to be told I was good.

She started at the inside of my hip, kissing and licking one before moving to the other. With the tip of her finger she traced a line up the center of my calf, then hamstring until she reached my ass and took a handful of it, pulling my body to her mouth.

Her tongue pushed me open and my legs went shaky and slippery. The warm, wet of her pushing into me, those glossy lips consuming my pussy had me wild with desire.

I tilted my hips forward. She found my clit. I took handfuls of her hair, that silver thread draping over her, pooling at my feet. I felt her nails digging into my thighs as I pushed my hips against her mouth.

My legs shook the more she moved her tongue back and forth over my clit. I propped my foot on the edge of couch to feel more of her.

“Come.” she said, pulling back for a moment to look at me, and I nodded.

As she went back to my clit with her tongue, I stopped pulling so hard on the thread. It stayed wrapped around many of my fingers, and piled all over her and the floor. The spool was still on the couch. The other end of it was somewhere, and this moment wasn’t the final destination, but it was a moment and I didn’t have to ask anything else from it.

There was something here for me. Not only was there something to know, something to learn, but something I was choosing. The lesson wasn’t going to come any faster tonight just because I was yanking on the thread she offered.

When I came, head thrown back, eyes shut tight, my voice calling out, I saw in my mind a kaleidoscope of thread from other people I had encountered before now. Some were just bits of it, and some pieces were so long they could wrap around the earth twice.

None were silver though.

I placed my foot back down on the floor and looked down at her, knowing I had that blissed out deeply satisfied expression on my face.

She grinned at me and said, “Good girl.”

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/xprs2e/the_thread_ff_3540_femdomlight