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.”

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