Dressing Room Domme

There is a fine, *fine* line between domming and rape. Usually, that line

is separated only by one party's ability (if not willingness) to cease the

entirety of the scene by use of a signal. The signal might be a safe word;

a tap-out; the dropping of a scarf from one's grip. In that instance, the

remaining parties, who have previously agreed to the notion, will stop

whatever it is they are doing. Commonplace examples include the uttering

of ¨red¨ when a spanking has surpassed the recipient's threshhold, or

moving immediately from the previous action to a cuddling position if a

teddy bear is knocked off the bed.

The glory of this system, or one of its merits, anyway, is that

displays of opposition can thus be integrated into the experience. So

if you really get off on saying 'no' and meaning 'yes,' or just are

the sort who likes to believably struggle, thrash and resist while

getting fucked by a massive cock, being dommed just might be the thing

for you.

None of this is running through Alonna's mind as she whimpers and

gasps against the wall of the Fredericks of Hollywood dressing room.

In point of fact, she is thinking about nothing at all, having been

reduced to a mewling mass of exquisitely exploding nerve endings by

her domme. Or rapist. The jury is still out on this one.

Being a distinction of incredible importance, one might imagine that

Alonna would be more worried about it. And for a while there, before

she was being fisted with wild abandon in the back of a trashy

lingerie store, she was. But as previously explained, it is a fine,

fine line, sometimes, this notion of consent, especially when it comes

to acts that you, yourself, are conflicted over.

Case in point: Alonna could stop this encounter in any number of ways.

Being that she is getting her brains fucked out a mere 50 feet from a

perky, if somewhat oblivious sales representative, it would be no work

at all to shout, scream, cry aloud, shriek, wail, ululate, or even

politely hollar for help, and it would come (ahem) with nary a

moment's hesitation. Instead, she has her mouth firmly clamped, and is

attempting with all the will she can muster to keep the quietude of

the space undisturbed. Apart from her sub-vocal groaning, the

occasional whispered gasp that manages to escape, and the sotto voce

accusations emanating wickedly from the pouty lips of her, let's

choose a neutral descriptor, partner, there is relative silence. If

the brightly smiling associate were to place her ear on the exterior

dressing room door, she might, with some straining, hear the

distinctly wet sounds of a slippery pussy being gleefully hammered, or

the susurrus of breathy moans, squeaks, and mindless cursing that is

consistent with a proper fucking, albeit a clandestine one. But the

eerily cheerful rep is blithely discussing her disaster of a date with

the cashier, and actually could care not a whit that there is a pair

smearing the wall with girl cum. Repeatedly. So, yes, Alonna is

cumming, at this point almost continuously, which is another point in

the favor of "being dommed." There are a few other, quite blatant,

facts that would likewise color the decision of an unbiased third

party, or come to it, a panel of twelve persons, the whole of them

tasked with the burden of deciding the guilt or innocence (definitely

a subjective term, in this case) of the accused.

The most obvious of these is the fact that Alonna could overpower the

other party and be done with the whole exchange. Quite easily, in

fact. There is not a knife at Alonna's throat, nor has some threat

been cast that prevents her from disentangling herself, dressing, and

leaving the premises with due haste. Apart from a goodly number of wet

spots of the clothes she'd need to redon, it is perfectly possible for

her to leave, right now.

The issue, really, is that she miiiight have inadvertently started the

scene, and that she miiiiiight be having some of the most mind-blowing

and effortless orgasms of her life. She has been saying "no," and

meaning "yes," for, oh, maybe 30 million years, it feels like, inside

this sex cell, and everytime she looks in the mirror directly across

from her and sees the scandalously be-laced body of her partner; sees

the tight lines of her pale ass flex as she rams her hand inside

Alonna's sopping cunt; sees the soft curve of her nubile breasts peak

above the cup of the barely there bra - she comes harder than the last

time. In fact, just a moment ago, she looked down, watching the little

fingers with their pink manicure sink deep inside her, and almost

passed out from the sight. Her partner, quite observant, took this

moment to slap a glistening hand across Alonna's mouth, lean in and

whisper

"You like the feeling of my hand slamming inside of your pussy, don't

you? Most people couldn't do this to you, but a twelve year old has

the perfect sized fist, don't you think?"

And that, really, is the crux of the problem, here. She is being

fucked, expertly, by a tween, which she acknowledges, somewhere deep

down in the sensible part of her brain, is wrong/dangerous/morally

questionable/illegal and probably just plain dumb. But when the pale

little girl, whom Alonna had been spying on since she walked into the

shop (being, in fact, the very reason she had chosen to enter the

establishment), had chosen a few exceedingly sexy lingerie pieces and

skipped off to the dressing rooms to try them on, Alonna has hastily

grabbed a trashy number herself and followed, hoping for a glimpse of

her taut little ass shimmying into the black lace stockings and

garters she'd selected. Maybe the little girl's door would be slightly

ajar, or perhaps she would be stumped by the complicated procedures

necessary to properly strap into that white corset, and so would beg,

innocent but not without a certain amount of breathiness, for Alonna

to help her out. Smiling brightly, Alonna would answer "Of course!"

and would, from there, be witness to the burgeoning globes of sweet

flesh that jutted ever so slightly from the tween's chest. She would

need to stand close, too, to cinch the corset tight, and so it would

not be too suspect if, when hauling back on the laces, the girl lost

her balance and fell into Alonna. Laughing, the older girl would help

the younger back up: a perfect chance to slide her hands along the

velvety soft (she imagined) skin of her sides. With a critical eye, she

would spin the girl around, then suggest, quite matter of factly, that

the judgment of this corset could not be done without seeing her in

the matching panties. As innocent as the girl was, and as clever as

Alonna was, the former would not begin to suspect that, even with her

back turned, a trick of her eyeglasses would allow Alonna to watch the

undressing process unfold; to see in reflection the tender fold that

Alonna would love to slowly lick open.

Instead, alone in her dressing room, her mind more than a little

preoccupied with these fantasies, Alonna had misstepped when taking

off her undies, and fallen quite loudly on her ass, cussing up an

equally sonic thump to match.

It was then that the, yes, breathy, but still innocent voice on the

other side of the wall has asked Alonna if everything was alright, and

if she needed help. It was a golden opportunity to perv, but she

hadn't gotten two seconds into another fantasy before the svelte form

of the girl had peeked in from the dressing room door, and then,

without hesitation, slinked in. Slink was the right word, here, Alonna

had thought. Slink is a word associated with smoothness, grace and

perhaps a bit of subterfuge, all of which the youngster displayed. She

was also displaying a wide expanse of delicious flesh, quite

exquisitely presented in black lace, from a see-through lace bra to a

diaphanous set of panties, stockings and garters. Alonna could have

made an attempt to cover herself, given that she was currently dressed

in a bra and nothing else, or perhaps whipped out a witty response to

being felled, mostly naked, and vulnerable. She could have done a lot

of things, but instead she just stared, hungrily, at the form of the

girl whom she had only seconds ago been creaming her (no longer

present) panties over. And, following the hazel eyes of the girl, she

only then realized just how obvious that was. Waxed smooth, pantiless,

Alonna's venus mound was clearly visible and just as clearly slick and

swollen with desire.

The girl, all 4 feet, 3 inches of her, smiled. It was not an innocent

smile. It was not even an "oh my gosh, isn't this embarrassing but

also kinda funny" smile. It was...it was... Alonna had watched a

fantastic amount of porn in her life, most of it bad. In recent years,

however, having delineated her tastes and found more stretches of

internet appropriate to her whim, she'd come across (ahem) a few sites

that were consistently in line with her desires. One of her favorite

videos featured a muscular, stunning redhead in full body latex. With

a glee that approached mania, the ginger would fuck tied down women,

men and trannies with a strap-on of significant proportions. Before

the penetration, she would make her slaves suck her magenta phallus,

imparting to them the knowledge with decisive slaps and derisive words

just how slutty, nasty, and perverted they were and were going to

continue to be, for her. Then, she would oil up, stroking the cock

languidly, smile, and fuck their brains out.

This was that smile. And it made Alonna basically melt into the floor.

The little girl, perhaps not so little after all, had seemingly read

Alonna's mind.

"Do you need...help?" she'd asked, her almond eyes glancing from the

swollen mound to Alonna's still shocked/excited/terrified expression.

"You...uh...I should...-"

"That's what I thought," she'd responded with a nod. "You were a

little obvious, you know. I could feel your eyes burning a hole

through my jeans." She paused here, as if considering. "I •do• have a

nice ass, don't I?" Without waiting for a response, she adroitly

popped onto her toes, the muscles of her quads and calves evident

through the gossamer silk of the stockings, and turned 180 degrees.

Alonna gasped. Not just because the tween's round ass was perfect in

every way, and not just because it was being framed quite

magnificently by the not so subtle combination of a thong and a well

made garter belt, but because in the same movement, the little girl

had placed her delicate hands on her own breasts, no doubt pinching

her tantalizing nipples to attention. She looked back over her

shoulder, noting with a certain triumph that Alonna was 1) staring

lustily at her ass and 2) had not made any move to cover herself,

chastize the baby slut, or remove herself from the situation.

She allowed her own eyes to roam over Alonna's form, take in the amble

tits, luscious pussy and glittering, wide eyes, even now almost sick

with lust. She'd seen that look before, was in fact well acquainted

with it. When she'd seduced her babysitter, uncle, Girl Scout troop

leader and even a few teachers. They would hem and haw, worry about

the consequences, sometimes even make a half-assed attempt to dislodge

her dainty hand from their turgid cock, or glistening pussy, but...if

the internet had taught her anything, and it had taught her a LOT,

especially about sex and stuff, it was that most people just love it

when you "force" them to do something they don't want (but actually

super duper DO want) to do.

She rolled her ass a bit more, not above a little showing off, and

then swept back around and dropped to the floor in one, fluid,

practiced motion. Before the woman could react, she kissed the exposed

thigh, running her nails lightly across the goosebumped skin.

Alonna moaned, her cunt clenching, her mind reeling. This was

definitely a Bad Idea and she should immediately Remove Herself From

The Situation. She found herself, with no idea how she'd gotten there,

on her feet, the traitorous panties still wrapped around one foot,

back to the wall. This was the moment in which she worried, as noted

before, about all the consequences. It didn't last long, because

halfway through it, the lolita confidently approached, placing one

soft hand on Alonna's cunt and another, single finger, to Alonna's

trembling lips.

"It's okay," the little vixen murmured, "I won't tell if you won't.

And I know you won't," she added, wickedly, "because we would both get

in hella trouble if you do. And anyway," she continued, slipping one,

two, then three fingers inside the woman's already dripping quim, "

since we both want this, it's not like we're doing anything wrong,

right?"

"My name is Natasha, and you are going to cum for me, because I know

that you want to, and because I say so."

Three fingers had led to four, then the entire fist. Alonna's fright

and immobilization had been taken advantage of to the point where the

loli was covered up to her elbow in cum, and was demanding more.

Sometimes, she would switch hands, ramming the one still sticky and

redolent with cum into Alonna's mouth while working the opposite deep

inside the pervert's pussy. At one point she had stopped long enough

to command Alonna to take off her bra, which had happened so fast that

both were surprised. This allowed Natasha to bite, nibble and lick the

creamy tits that were precisely at mouth level, something she

especially enjoyed doing when Alonna was about to cum. Which was every

five seconds, it seemed.

All of which leads, inevitably, to the present, where 'Tasha has just

pointed out Alonna's perverse enjoyment of a little girl's ability to

make her cum. Alonna's eyes have just rolled into the back of her

head, her knees buckling from both her crushing orgasm and the sheer

effort involved in standing after cumming 87,000 times. Cum drips down

her thighs, gleams against the wall, and moistens the hardwood floor

beneath her as she finally sinks down.

Natasha beams in pride and accomplishment, then grabs a handful of

Alonna's tresses, moves aside her not yet bought but already

completely soaked Fredericks of Hollywood's panties, and says, simply:

"My turn."

Alonna has about a picosecond to process what is happening, then finds

her mouth buried inside the hairless cleft of a twelve year old, her

tongue tasting, lashing, licking in wild abandon. Her hands,

apparently of their own accord, have wrapped around the nubile form of

the baby domme (rapist?), and are currently busy trying to slip inside

her tight pussy.

"That's a good girl," gasps Natasha, who has never experienced the

tongue and ministrations of a practiced girl-lover. She knows this is

the right thing to say because all the porn stars of any worth say it

to their slaves, and, more importantly, because everytime she does, it

inevitably leads to a groan, moan or orgasm from her slave. Which is

exactly what happens now: a deep and vibrating moan escaping from the

throat of Alonna, which resonates marvelously on the pink and swollen

clit of the little girl. She cums explosively, surprised by both the

fact and intensity of the orgasm, nearly toppling over. Alonna, her

mouth delightfully awash in little girl cum, her mind now completely

given over to the experience, holds the negligible weight of Natasha

steady and recommences licking, finger fucking and cradling her domme.

Yes, domme, she has decided, without actually thinking about it.

She takes a moment to uncouple her mouth from the sweetest pussy she's

ever tasted to say her first, and only word since this all began.

"Again."

Natasha smiles, slams Alonna's lips back against her swollen own, and

feeling another amazing orgasm coming on, thinks "I think I've made a

friend."