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Lady de la Dia Ch. 04

By: Gabriel Orr



This is a work of fiction, and is one of a projected series of stories taking place within the walls of De la Dia manor. Unlike the first entry, this (and those following) will not need to do a lot of setup to get to the point, but if you haven't read the first entry a lot of things won't make sense. I appreciate feedback, and thanks for reading!

Chapter 4 The First Morning After

Amy's eyes snapped open at the sharp rapping of knuckles against her door. She let out a prolonged yawn, stretching her pallid arms above her head and arching her back to wake up her abdominal muscles. The night had passed like a fifteenth round beat down... slowly, painfully, and obviously, and she was not yet ready to face the servant girl whose name still eluded her.

For the first three days of her live-in tenure at the mansion of Sarastra De la Dia, cosmetics giantess, Amy Curtis had enjoyed the best time of her life. Free meals, a personal servant, massages, free lodging, and the name of a billion dollar woman on the dotted line had made her stay a pleasant one to be sure. However... she had not been entirely comfortable with Sarastra's apparent obsession with the nature of sexuality, and after accidentally happening upon her personal servant giving frantic oral sex to one of the executives in the mansion she had started to entertain second thoughts. The night had been filled with them, and this morning saw her rising as an achy, worried, and woefully anxious young woman.

After a few minutes of knocking, Amy finally summoned the strength to get out of bed and answer the door. She looked like hell, she knew, but hoped that her wildly out of place blonde hair would give the servant a reason to turn away and afford her a few more minutes. She pulled open the door.

"Good morning, Amy!" The servant girl, who Amy knew only as Sunday, stood in the doorway with her little cart, dressed in a cute-as-hell baby doll dress in pastel yellow with a matching bow. The picture of innocence she may have been, but all that Amy could think of when she smiled her immaculate smile was those generous lips gripping the throbbing shaft of Donovan Simms' cock.

"Good morning, Sunday. Um... I'm sorry about the mess. I didn't sleep well at all last night." 

"Oh, not to worry," Sunday sang in her pretty bird voice as she wheeled the cart inside and began to casually pick up Amy's discarded clothes from the day before. Amy watched her as she worked without complaint, noticing the way her ruffled skirt rode up when she bent to retrieve something. Thankfully, its length sufficiently covered Sunday's indecency, but still it rose far enough to display the beautiful tone of the girl's legs. She couldn't help but recall the end of their conversation, right after their shared swimming lesson the night before, as she let her eyes wander down their creamy, smooth lengths. 

You aren't, are you? Into girls, I mean, Sunday had asked as she stood naked before Amy, drying her pool-wet body with a borrowed towel. Amy had denied it like a witch in a Puritan colony, but last night's show... it wasn't Donovan Simms who had her attention, despite his willingness to taste his own semen in a girl's mouth. It was Sunday, locked in his arms, her sexy ass ramming against him... Sunday, innocent Sunday, who had gotten Amy's pussy so wet that she had lost track of time and allowed her bathtub to overflow upstairs.

"Amy? Here are your clothes for today," Sunday announced, taking a stack of neatly folded articles from the top of her cart and pushing them into Amy's hands. "I thought you might like to try something a little more... beautiful. So I brought you some girly clothes, I hope you don't mind." 

Amy examined the gift, piece by piece. The blouse sang to her in a subdued shade of mauve, and the knee-length plaited skirt shone in perfectly jet black. The undergarments had not changed from those offered the previous three days... basic cotton whites, functional and unflattering. Overall, the outfit held plenty of attractive allure, but lacked the costume-ish feel of everyone else's clothes in that bizarre mansion. In a way, Amy wished Sunday would have brought her something a bit skimpier, maybe a bikini bottom instead of the granny panties. Yesterday's underwear already sat atop Sunday's cart, ready to be taken to the wash. 

"Okay," Sunday bowed her head a bit, chocolate ponytail bouncing. "I am going to go on ahead with my chores for the day. I'll see you before supper for our massage, I hope. Bye!" Without waiting for a word of farewell, the lovely servant girl turned her cart and left the room, leaving Amy still searching for the words she needed to justify what she'd seen the night before. Cursing herself for her indecision, Amy stepped outside of her quarters a moment later and opened her mouth to call Sunday back. 

She froze, just as she had last night. About twenty feet down the lengthy hallway the servant girl had stopped her cart, and now leaned against one of the walls with her pretty face buried deeply in the crotch of Amy's discarded panties. She made a show of inhaling deeply the musky odor of Amy's day-old juices, her eyes rolling back in perfect euphoria at the delicious scent of the new girl.

Amy practically tumbled back into her room. That... pervert! How dare Sunday sniff her underwear like that? Did she do that every morning, so brazenly out in the open? Why hadn't anyone stopped her? 

Her mind rolling with the thunder of too many questions, Amy dressed herself in a hurry. Once she was sure that no one would be there to stop her, she stormed down the long hallway to the office of her new employer, determined to get some answers. 

"What worries you, Amy?" inquired the melancholic voice of Sarastra De la Dia, whose face was ever hidden behind the back of her creepy office chair. With the lighting in her office kept so dark and foggy, Amy doubted that she could have seen this woman's face at point blank, let alone across the room, but tried to keep her irritation with the chair out of her voice. "Has some aspect of your stay been unpleasant? "Damn right... well... no, not exactly. I just..." Amy caught herself stammering over her words, suddenly feeling foolish beyond all sense of reason for stomping into her boss's office to tell such a story. "I'm just a little off put at walking in on Sunday sucking a guy's dick in the pool room, and then the next day catching her sniffing the crotch of my panties outside my room. Is this stuff that goes on all the time?" She sighed, truly feeling ridiculous.

"I told you that my employees are encouraged to love one another, Amy. We must study our subject, here at a cosmetics industrial headquarters... as I said, we are in the business of selling sex. This is part of our agreement, remember... if it offends you, walk away and keep your eyes to the floor. As for your... panties... I'm sure that your servant girl has taken a shine to you. She told me as much, but I ordered that she not come onto you or attempt to seduce you based on your statement of 'not wanting to have sex for anyone's records.'" Sarastra shrugged, allowing her languid, black clad arms to lift into sight. "I am certain that she needs to release her frustrations somehow."

Amy's breath let out. "I'm just off-put is all. It's so strange to be in a place where sex is so out in the open..."

"Amy. If I may suggest... if you are completely opposed to seeing or knowing of lovemaking occurring in your general area, you will have a long six months here. If for no other reason than to assuage your curiosities and ease your concerns, I feel that you should allow yourself to be part of our understanding at least for a bit. If after sampling our lifestyle you are still repulsed, then I will go to great lengths to see that you are not offended in the future. Does this sound like a deal to you?" 

Amy bit gently upon her lower lip, testing the idea in her mind. On the one hand, she was horny as all hell after last night... her pussy had practically spoken English to her last night in its bid for release. On the other hand, she had never seen herself as an easy woman, and if she agreed to Sarastra's idea she would be practically giving her virginity away.

"I'm not so sure," she admitted to the elusive billionairess. "Is Donovan the only guy here? I don't think I've seen any others..."

Sarastra's melancholy tone interrupted. "Yes. He is the only man here, and he services many of the women who prefer the touch of a man." 

"I really don't want to get pregnant or something while I'm here, ma'am. I just... I don't know."

There was a pause, as Sarastra's heavy black chair turned slowly about, so that Amy could see at least a silhouette of her employer. She stepped back involuntarily; something about this woman still left her feeling unsettled in a half-dozen ways. 

"Donovan is one man. I could not ask him to take on another girl anyway, Amy, but you are perfectly free to make love to any of the girls you like."

Amy was perfectly aghast.

"Before you tell me to go to hell, young lady, I would ask you... have you ever experimented with a woman before?" The silhouette rose languidly from the chair, and Sarastra de la Dia stepped around her desk to sit upon it. Amy blinked, her lips parting just a bit in amazement; Sarastra must have been well over six feet in height, and hers was the exotic face of a natural Spanish beauty. Full, pouting lips set beneath a strong nose and a set of wicked emerald eyes that positively dripped sex characterized her features, features that, now, were set in a bemused expression. 

"Well, no, of course not. I would never." Amy nodded as she rattled off her words with far more conviction than she truly felt. She felt warm beneath her chic clothes, the heat of embarrassment flushing into every crevice of her body. 

"Then how could you know whether it is to your liking?" Sarastra's eyes twinkled as she held out her long, enticing arms and wiggled her fingers in a come hither sort of motion. Amy tilted her head curiously, and opened her mouth to ask what was going on, but before the words could form in her throat her feet had already begun to carry her forth. Muddle filled her mind, distorted everything she thought she knew, as she looked into the eyes of that most unusual woman.

Sarastra's pale hands settled to Amy's shoulders. "Face my desk. Please, humor me, and do as I ask my child." Amy did just that without a word of question or complaint, though vaguely she felt as if she ought to be voicing those fears instead of keeping quiet. Even so, as she stared vacantly into Sarastra's gorgeous eyes, those fears melted away as if they had never been. 

"You are mine now. Do you understand that?" Sarastra asked, her fingers running idly through the blonde wisps of Amy's hair. "Until I say otherwise, you will do exactly as I say. I will teach you, Amy Curtis."

Warmth filtered throughout Amy's body, growing more and more apparent with every beat of her racing heart. She hadn't come here for this, that much was certain, but somehow could not bring herself to say no. In that moment, all that she could think about was the will and whim of Sarastra.

"Amy. Take off your blouse and skirt," the giantess commanded, the melancholy gone from her musical voice. "Right now." Amy stared in perfect amazement at such an insane request, but could not keep her trembling hands from tugging at the hem of the blouse, sliding it up and over her head in one fluid motion. The skirt's clasp was easily undone, and it fell effortlessly down her supple legs, pooling on the floor next to the blouse and leaving her generous body exposed to her employer in nothing more than a bra and a pair of dampening panties. The breath caught in her throat, and she licked her lips nervously, without truly knowing why. 

"Very good, Amy," Sarastra praised, her gaze traveling over every creamy inch of Amy's tender skin. "You are fat, Amy. You are fat, but not so fat that you aren't beautiful, my youngling. Not so fat that you aren't desirable. And we will deal with your little weight problem together, later. For now..." 

Amy caught her breath again at the cool touch of Sarastra's hands upon her bare shoulders, fingertips tracing the soft curves all the way down to her wrists. Sarastra moved in close and leaned down, pressing her sultry lips against the nook of Amy's neck and kissing hungrily. Amy felt her knees go weak, and she would have fallen had Sarastra's arms not looped around her waist to support her, dragging her in even closer. Her mouth fell open, soft sighs escaping her throat as Sarastra nibbled her neck and brazenly fondled her panty-covered butt. The older woman squeezed and kneaded Amy's soft cheeks as she flicked out her tongue against Amy's neck, licking up and down, and up again, kissing harder with each teasing stroke. 

Amy felt herself leaning forward, her arms clasping around Sarastra's narrow waist for balance. Except for her hips, her entire body felt paralyzed by Sarastra's delicious attentions. She wanted desperately to stop this, to run the other way, but at the same time, she craved this, longed for only this.

Sarastra's fingertips dipped beneath the waistband of Amy's underwear, and Amy's backside jolted against the giantess's legs, a shrill moan rising from her mouth. The feel of Sarastra's fingers on her bare butt sent jolts of electricity up the length of her body, and she clung to her employer, whimpering as her panties darkened with her fluids. 

"Now," Sarastra whispered into her ear, so close that the tip of the raven-haired beauty's tongue flicked against the lobe, "remove that silly bra, Amy. Remove it as your goddess commands you." She leaned back, shoving Amy bodily out of her embrace, and for a moment Amy thought to protest. 

"Why," she muttered incredulously even as her fingertips worked to unhook the uncomfortable bra, a far away look in her eyes, her breathing rapid, her body glistening with hot sweat. 

Sarastra chuckled quietly, her eyes locked upon Amy's newly exposed tits. She reached out and began to slowly caress them, massaging each breast gently before allowing her fingertips to lightly brush over the college girl's soft pink nipples. Amy whimpered at the luscious agony of it.

"Because I said so, Amy. You are mine, remember. Now... your underwear. I want to see your cunt, my little one, I want to watch your juices drip onto my floor. Take them off, and lay them upon my desk," Sarastra commanded, her tone haunting in its depth and timbre. 

Amy's eyes were wet with tears of confusion and joy as she hooked her thumbs beneath the waistband and pulled her underwear down, tugging it hard when the white cotton crotch stuck between her engorged labia. She stepped out of them, now completely naked before the hungry eyes of Sarastra de la Dia, and laid them out across the sturdy mahogany desk. She looked to Sarastra, her eyes pleading.

"You are such a good servant, Amy. I have only one more task for you before I set you free," Sarastra intoned, once again caressing the gentle swelling of Amy's pale breasts. "Bend over my desk, Amy, and grind your face into your panties. Sniff them, lick them, suck the decadent taste of your pussy out of them, and I will reward you further."

Amy turned, guided by the gentle hands upon her chest, and stepped close to the edge of Sarastra's desk. She took a deep breath and bent over, letting her belly rest upon the polished surface, shivering as her erect nipples pushed against the cold finish. The smell of steaming cunt washed over her, both the fresh smell emanating from between her fattened pussy lips and the older scent rising from within her soaking wet panties. She felt Sarastra's hands roaming along her back, kneading her flesh as they traveled lower, ever lower. 

"Eat them, Amy. Eat your sweltering pussy," Sarastra moaned into her ear, giving Amy's quivering bottom a stinging slap. "Hurry, Amy," she urged as her fingertips ran down Amy's cleft and began to caress her dripping slit, "hurry, and make love to them with your mouth." 

Amy couldn't help herself. The cool of the desk hardened her already rock solid nipples, and Sarastra's fingers played the edges of her cunt like a sweet violin... she was so hot that she would have licked out her own panties even without Sarastra's insistence. The young woman buried her face in the warm folds of her underwear, breathing in the heady scent of her own juices. That damp cotton smelled so amazingly sexy to her that she couldn't stop herself from devouring it like an animal. Her tongue lapped at the dampest parts of the garment, filling her wanton mouth with the taste of her own sex.

As Amy ate out her own underwear, Sarastra leaned down and drove her warm, wet tongue into the younger woman's ear. Amy jerked in sudden shock, but could not tear her face away from the undergarments, and found herself whining, begging aloud for Sarastra to fuck her, to end this blissful punishment however she could.

"Oh, god... Sarastra, you're so... oh... " she moaned between licks, "fuck... yeah, fuck me, please, oh please..."

Sarastra nodded without pulling her tongue from the girl's ear, and plunged her glistening fingertips deeply into Amy's aching pussy. Amy howled in delight, her knees going weak again. Sarastra pushed her fingers deeper into Amy's tight crevice, holding her thumb up to massage Amy's nether hole as well. 

"Fuuuuuck!" Amy's head dropped to the desk as she felt her entire body tensing, her back arching to shove her backside harder against her boss's wonderful fingers. She moaned at the top of her lungs, not giving a damn who might be listening. Sarastra's fingers teased and caressed her inner folds, pumping deeper and faster by the moment, squelching and sucking with her wetness.

"Are you going to come for me, Amy?" Sarastra demanded in the voice of a minx. Amy gasped and nodded, panting into her underwear and rubbing her breasts against the surface of the desk with everything she had in her. Her ass thrust harder against Sarastra's skillful fingers, begging them to fuck her faster, more deeply. In her whole life, Amy had never felt anything like this... she'd masturbated plenty of times, but this was something different. Sarastra's hot skin penetrating her heady cunt drove her to the edge of sanity with every thrust, and she knew, as her ass began to quiver and the delicious throb in her cunt began to grow and spread all over her body, that she was about explode.

Sarastra smiled a purely wicked smile as she removed her fingers from between Amy's lips. The coed raised her eyes, her breathing still too rapid to control, and stared dutifully at Sarastra.

"Please," she whimpered, "please don't stop. I'm so close, please, make me come..."

Sarastra's long legs carried her without haste around the desk, and Amy followed her every movement with her sex-glazed eyes, admiring her boss's muscular ass and shapely thighs in equal part. She sat down in her office chair and turned it, so that once again her form lay hidden by the seat back, and Amy cursed inwardly.

"No. I will not make you come, Amy, and neither will you make yourself come. You are forbidden to orgasm, youngling, unless someone else gives it to you." Her voice had not raised, her breath had not sped, not even a little. Amy, still leaning over the desk with cunt juice oozing down her legs, could only stare stupidly and whimper at the tension caught in her womanhood.

"But, please, you said you were going to show me..."

"I did show you. Now you know how it feels to be loved by a woman. You know that it is good, and now, you will go and do as I have said. Get dressed, Amy." Amy couldn't believe what she was hearing. Sadly she reached for her panties, wondering who she'd pissed off to earn this horrible denial. "No, Amy. Only take your skirt and blouse. When you leave here, you will want nothing more than make love to one of my girls. You will crave pussy like you crave water when you thirst, but you will not remember that I commanded it. Do you understand?"


Lady de la Dia Ch. 04



Amy pulled her skirt up and clasped it, mindlessly speaking the word 'yes' over and over until she was fully clothed again. Her groin still ached, but no matter how she longed to touch it herself she could not bring her hands to do the work. It was as if fingering herself had just become taboo.

"Good. You may leave now."



Lady de la Dia Ch. 05



The third installment of the Lady De la Dia series. I'm still sharpening my intimate writing, and would appreciate any feedback. Thanks for reading! The next installment will be the last, but first, we need to set up poor Amy some more.

Chapter 5: Her Whim be Mine

Amy Curtis sat upon the edge of her plush four poster bed, her face buried between her hands. What a cruel twist of fate this job had become for her! Such beautiful amenities and people, all laid out to cover someone as bizarre as Sarastra De la Dia... and she had blundered right into the trap. She had allowed herself to become engrossed in the rich atmosphere, the carefree lifestyle... and finally, the sexual intrigue permeating De la Dia manor, and now, as she sat upon her bed with the knowledge that nothing she could do would change things, Amy felt utterly, completely, and absolutely powerless.

Powerless and sopping.

After she had left Sarastra's office that morning, Amy had convinced herself of the utter idiocy of her actions behind that heavy door. At the time, it had felt as though she had no say in her body's responses to that gaunt woman's commands, as though every word issuing forth from her delicious mouth had been a mandate of some sort. Looking back, Amy was certain that she had only taken off her clothes in fear of what an angry billion-dollar-woman might be capable. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, Amy had buried her face in her own damp underwear in the hopes of being let out of Sarastra's 'observing the product of sex' lifestyle. 

And she was absolutely certain, beyond even an unreasonable scrap of evidence, that she had allowed Sarastra De la Dia to slip her fingers inside her body simply to maintain her new job. It was the same rationale that had kept her from protesting the lady of the house's decision to not bring Amy to a full climax. Any other time she would have been roaring, to be left on edge like that, and had Sarastra been a man Amy would have punched her. As it was, she could do nothing but sigh, and remember what Sarastra had said to her.

 "No. I will not make you come, Amy, and neither will you make yourself come. You are forbidden to orgasm, youngling, unless someone else gives it to you."

 Simple, mindless stupidity, Amy was sure. She was so certain of this, in fact, that her first order of business after leaving the office was to return to her chambers, bolt the door, and relieve herself of the maddening pressure that had gathered in her loins. She had hurriedly undressed but left her blouse on, feeling sinfully sexy standing before her full length mirror without a scrap of clothing covering her below the waist. She had taken one look at her engorged pussy lips and sank down upon her bed, grinding her fingers up and down her cleft and coating them with her own plentiful juices. She had moistened her feathery bush with it, traced a trail of warm, musky woman all the way up her mound and beneath her blouse, and proceeded to plunge her fingers deeply between her nether lips again and again, and again, determined not to stop until her body could spasm in climax and let loose of the need from which she'd been suffering since the day before.

That had been hours ago. Amy had masturbated almost nonstop from the moment she'd returned until just then, stroking her sensitive clitoris with her thumb and fingertips, sliding the handle of her hairbrush deep inside her voracious womanhood, and rubbing herself against every smooth surface she could get her legs around. She had finally flung her blouse away and attacked her breasts as well, but to no avail whatsoever. Though her quarters smelled strongly of wet pussy and her entire body ached from the strain of endless self service, Amy had never succeeded in giving herself even the smallest orgasm.

Adding to her current woes was the fact that Amy had been too busy fucking herself to notice the coming and going of the lunch hour. By the time she looked at the clock again she was slapped by the startling realization that she was late for yoga with Mia. Whatever Sarastra had done to her in that office had worked flawlessly... Amy had masturbated until her hands and wrists all but throbbed, without even a sign of an orgasm, and now her sexual frustration dominated every one of her senses without question.

Dressing for yoga was a small matter, but Amy knew to select something dark from the sparse collection of athletic attire she was allowed. The last thing she needed was a white leotard with an inevitably translucent crotch for everyone to wonder about. With one last look at her still aching mound, Amy slid the dark material over her skin and headed for the gym on the lower level of the mansion. 

Mia waited patiently inside the converted game room / dojo, instructing the few other students in a few basic stretches. They were, of course, all female, and each attired in functional workout clothes that did little to flatter their bodies... except for Mia herself. Clad in a skintight, blood red one-piece suit, with her hair done up as always in a storm of pretty braids, she looked fantastic. Every last inch of her voluptuous body was displayed to full effect by the snug suit, and the butterscotch color of her skin complimented its crimson gorgeously. Amy found herself smiling at how amazingly good Mia looked in that outfit, wondering vaguely what had changed that would make her take notice of it.

"Hi, Amy," Mia said in her unmistakable Brooklyn accent, smiling a broad smile at the late arrival. "You're just in time, girl. Sit down, and let's get started! We'll go easy at first so you can warm up."

The group went through the familiar paces of stretching, leaning, standing, performing poses and styles as usual. Amy lagged a little behind the others, as her body just didn't want to cooperate that morning. Her eyes, on the other hand, functioned perfectly. She caught herself staring at Mia every single time the instructor looked away, admiring her sleek figure with a more than observant eye and licking her lips as if she'd been doing so her entire life. 

Amy was in the middle of the lotus position, and partway through mentally undressing Mia, when she noticed her scent beginning to become evident in the air. She rocked her hips a little to test, cooing mutely at the rasp of her leotard's material against her slick labia.

"Oh, no... they're all gonna smell me... maybe they won't care. Or notice. It smells like sweat in here... but it smells like pussy, too!

 Time clicked away like it was distracted by something from Amy's perspective. By the end of the class she was practically tiptoeing about, her thighs pressed together to keep her wetness from being evident to the others. 

"You did good today, girl," Mia said to her as she hurried out of the dojo, "but you gotta learn to loosen up. This is yoga, baby, relax. Roll your shoulders a little before you get down on the mat, take some deep breaths."

Mia set her hand on Amy's forearm, a light touch that still sent a shiver down Amy's spine. Mia's voice was like candy, her eyes like flashing jets against her proud face, and though she had no idea why, the newest member of the house De la Dia wanted Mia more than she'd ever wanted anything before. 

"You okay, baby? You really look like you're gonna pass out," Mia observed, giving the slightly taller Amy a nudge. Amy smiled nervously, stepped back, beating down her conflicting feelings for the moment.

"I just, ah, missed breakfast and lunch today. I need to get something to eat," she answered, not lying as much as avoiding the truth. She couldn't very well say what she was actually thinking right then.

Mia, I want to shove your hot black body down on these mats and sex you until we both pass out. Amy caught herself. Did I just think that?

"Oh, I feel ya. Okay, girl, go on and get cleaned up for supper then," Mia nodded, giving Amy a little push. "Donovan said that they're making lasagna in the kitchen tonight, and you'd better bet your big ass I'm gonna be there." Amy grinned, nearly jumping out of her shoes as Mia gave her a firm slap on the butt, pushing her forward. She shivered again, her still hungry loins on fire just like that, but a look at Mia reminded her that it was just a friendly nudge from a very physical person. Amy sighed, and headed to the 'clean room' to get her physical for the day... still wondering when she had become so accepting of a woman touching her ass. 

It went fairly well. Amy gave her usual fluid samples, had her weight and fat content gauged with a scale and skin fold caliper, had her temperature checked, and so on, just like every other day. Even though she had to bite her tongue to keep from groaning when the nurse gave her the usual breast exam, Amy felt like the mundane routine of it had done her anxious body a great deal of good.

"But now what," she asked herself as she stood outside the nurse's office, her breasts still feeling full from the exam. "The steam room sounds good, but a massage sounds... oh god, what am I doing standing here?" Amy practically sprinted to the parlor where the prettily dressed Sunday was waiting for her, a bottle of oil sitting in a tub of hot water and the proper towels already laid out. It was as if she knew the exact moment when Amy would have arrived before Amy did. The servant girl smiled her pretty girl smile and stood from where she had been sitting with her nose in a book, her cerulean eyes twinkling.

"Hello again, Amy! You're a little bit early, but I think we can bend the rules this time." Sunday patted the massage table cattily, her lips pursing a little bit. "Get undressed and lie down. I feel like doing a really good job on you today!"

"Um, Sunday, do you mind if I visit the bathroom first?" Amy blushed a little as she asked the question, hoping that Sunday wouldn't catch on to just why she needed the private minute.

"Of course, but hurry up! I'm in the mood," Sunday chuckled, leaving a veritable stockpile of dirty images in Amy's uncharacteristically wanton mind. She just couldn't put her finger on why she suddenly felt so comfortable with the flirting and the teasing, when she'd been so unnerved by it only that morning. In the back of her mind, Amy thought that Sarastra's speech had something to do with it, but if so, she couldn't remember how... and at the moment, she could not have cared less.

A few minutes later, once Amy had washed herself a bit and stymied the progress of her scent, the coed stripped out of her leotard and lay upon the massage table, face down. The lights had been dimmed nearly off, their electrical glow replaced by the dancing flicker of a half dozen lavender candles set about the parlor. It was a nice touch, Amy thought, and one that helped calm her worried libido immensely. She could hear Sunday's skirts rustling as the servant girl moved around the table, clicking her tongue in appreciation as she always did. This was going to be fabulous, and they both just knew it.

"So Amy," Sunday began as she trailed a line of hot oil down Amy's bare back, "are you hurting anywhere, that I should know about? Any strains from yoga? Stiff neck?"

"No, I'm just... aching," Amy answered smiling down at the floor. She jumped a little bit when Sunday touched her shoulders, but quickly relaxed and closed her eyes, allowing herself to be taken away on a sea of tranquility. Sunday's hands were fantastic, so soft and attentive, so like the rest of her, that Amy's arousal quickly stepped down in favor of a blissful, almost sleepy, calm. The servant girl kneaded and rolled Amy's shoulders and upper arms, singing quietly as she turned the willing coed's muscles into butter. Slowly she moved down, paying special attention to Amy's lower back with the heels of her hands - which felt wonderful - before glancing over Amy's butt and starting again at her feet. 

"I just love your ass, Amy," said a nonchalant Sunday, whose eyes were locked upon the area in question. Amy eeped slightly, lifting her head a bit from the table to cast an alarmed look at her friend.

"I thought you weren't supposed to flirt with me, Sunday." She managed to keep her voice from cooing at the attention her feet were receiving, but certainly did not sound angry.

"Oh, Amy, I'm not flirting with you. I'm stating a fact. Your ass is gorgeous. It's..." Sunday paused a moment in her massage, "... I don't know. It's big and beautiful. I would love to have a butt like yours."

"Sunday, I think you've been cooped up in here too long," Amy couldn't help but laugh. "You have a perfect ass. You have..." she stopped herself. Was she really about to commend a woman on the shapeliness of her butt? 

"I have what?" Sunday grinned as she resumed her gentle caress of Amy's feet. "Come on, spill it!"

Amy held her breath for a moment before answering. This talk was ruining her calming massage. Although... it was certainly heightening something else. Amy let out her breath, and decided to take a chance.

"You have a gorgeous butt, Sunday. I mean, it's high, and smooth, and oh so tight, and you've got just the sweetest little crack, just..." Amy giggled, "just... BAM! You know?" She could feel her feet moving around, and knew that Sunday was stifling her own laughter.

"Yeah. I still like yours, though."

Amy tried to control her breath, but nothing she could say to her body would get it to hold onto that carefree laughter. Sunday gently rolled Amy's calves, spending minutes on each one before clicking her tongue and sliding her fingertips along Amy's supple thighs, feeling here, squeezing there.

"Oh," Amy murmured, unable to bite back on the utterance. Sunday worked her thighs far more gently than the rest of her, and for a second Amy started to relax again; deep inside her needy heart, she suddenly felt as if things had gone back to normal. Sunday's fingertips moved in gentle circles, subtly pushing Amy's legs apart, moving up, and up, and up, until the tips of her fingernails just grazed the flat of Amy's vulva.

Amy squirmed a little, thinking it was just an accident. But now every circle of Sunday's wonderful hands swiped against her gently swelling lips, with a little bit more force each time. Amy wiggled a little more, loving the tingle Sunday had started in her wet box even though she knew she ought to scold the servant girl for it. Involuntarily she edged her legs open. She could already smell herself again, and blushed hotly with the knowledge that Sunday could, too. 

"Ready to turn over for me, Amy," Sunday cooed into her ear as she worked Amy's buttocks, massaging the full, white globes in earnest, "or do you want me to keep working on you..." her hands moved, and Sunday allowed one finger to slide between Amy's cheeks, "... here?"

Sunday's voice was nothing but sugar to Amy's ears right then. Even so, she lifted herself up and turned cautiously, keeping her legs squeezed tightly together and ignoring the soft sigh of disappointment from Sunday. The slick wetness coating the insides of her thighs left Amy no illusions as to what she wanted to happen on that table, whether her head knew it or not. She lay on her back, smiling a detached smile.

"Okay," she cooed, a little bit breathless already, "do it to me, Sunday." The servant girl smiled brightly, and applied oil to Amy's belly, legs, and upper chest. "Mmm... god, Sunday, you're so good at this..."

Sunday just smiled, and continued to work Amy's shoulders. "You should see me with a man, if you think I'm good in here," she purred. Amy almost choked, but kept herself together. Hell yes, Sunday was good with a man, so good that she'd nearly gotten Amy off without knowing she was in the room at all!

The attentive servant took care of Amy's front without any special attentions, and when it was over she just smiled her baby doll smile and bowed her head.

"That's your hour, Amy," she pointed out. Amy smiled too, hiding her disappointment... she'd been hoping for a happy ending, down deep in the back of her mind, and honestly felt as if she'd lain there for only a few minutes. "Aww," Sunday cooed, "don't make that face. You bounced in here ten minutes early." The servant girl grinned. "So let's give you a little more attention."

Sunday leaned down without any warning, spread her manicured fingers and started massaging Amy's breasts, rolling and squeezing them one at a time, and then together. Amy caught her breath, her eyes suddenly transfixed upon those of her masseuse. I have to stop her, she thought without a drop of conviction, what am I doing here? Amy felt that fullness coming back into her chest, and allowed her eyelids to slip shut even though her mind begged her to flee, and flee immediately. 

"The secret to being a good masseuse," Sunday whispered as her fingertips began to circle Amy's areoles, "is to know just what your client wants." With a wicked grin she let her fingertips slide over Amy's suddenly bullet-hard nipples, pulling a sigh from within the bigger girl's lips. Sunday pinched each one between her thumbs and forefingers, stroking and pulling them, twisting them until Amy couldn't help but cry out softly. Every tug sent a stream of fire from Amy's erect nipples straight to her pussy.

"Sunday, stop," Amy pled, but the servant girl continued her agonizing game, tracing the outline of each breast before running her neatly trimmed fingernails between them. After each tug of Amy's nipples, Sunday ran her fingertips down her client's body, then pressed her palms against Amy's flesh and pushed up, cupping her aching tits together before repeating the whole cycle. 

"Sunday, please," she whimpered, "I don't want this, I really, I, ah..." Amy reached up and snagged the girl's wrists, but couldn't find the willpower to shove them away. Her thighs slid over each other easily, hips moving and grinding of their own accord, and Sunday smiled at them.

"Amy, I think you want it. Just look at how wet your are." The servant girl looped her arm around Amy's shoulder and pulled her to a sitting position with surprising strength, cradling her against the soft yellow of her dress. "Look," she whispered as Amy's legs naturally spread a little bit, "see how you're glistening, Amy? Your pussy is so wet, so warm..." 

Sunday reached down before Amy's startled eyes and trailed her fingers through the honey soft bush, running them all the way down and back up Amy's boiling slit. Amy moaned and tried to pull away, but Sunday's grip was just too strong, and she squealed a little as the servant girl's fingers pressed lightly into her hole. She pumped once, and Amy shuddered.

"Here," cooed the servant girl, holding up her shining fingers, "open your mouth." 

Amy shook her head, no. Sunday simply smiled, and let loose of Amy's shoulders. Gasping in disbelief, confusion, and excitement, Amy watched as the masseuse parted her lips and slipped her cum-soaked fingers into her own mouth. Sunday's lips worked her fingers just like they had pumped Donovan's prick before, her tongue lapping up ever drop of Amy's essence right there. She smiled, giggling. 

"You taste so good, Amy. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings," she cooed, as she retrieved a fresh towel for her client. "But... I had to taste your honey. I'm sorry... I could smell you as soon as you walked in, and I knew I wanted you... I still want you, Amy. But..." the girl lowered her eyes. "I won't do it again. I promise."

Amy was perfectly shocked. Was that all? No! Sunday was supposed to ignore her pleas, convince her that everything would be alright. Why had she expected that? What had Sunday done to make her think she would force this on her? And now... Amy felt her eyes welling up at how disappointed and miserable the poor girl in the baby doll dress looked.




Lady de la Dia Ch. 05



"Um, Sunday, I'm sorry, it's really okay," she assured her friend, still gasping for air. "It's just too much too fast. Now don't wear that face, please..." Sunday lifted her eyes, as Amy slid off the table... on the other side, to prevent any hugging that might occur. "Look," she continued, "let's talk about it after your swimming lesson, okay?"

Sunday's eyes lit up again, and she nodded vigorously. "Okay!"

Despite Amy's efforts, Sunday stepped around and hugged her tightly. Amy cringed for a moment, before putting her own arms around the masseuse's waist. At first, standing naked and wet in the arms of a girl, it was a little uncomfortable. Then it was kind of nice.



Lady de la Dia Ch. 06-08



The final installment of the De la Dia series. Thank you for the positive feedback I have received, that has driven me to actually finish a piece of writing for the first time in a while. This section is my gratitude for the attention, votes, and feedback, as it justifies the rest of the story for you! Enjoy, and please, don't hesitate to let me know what you think!

Chapter 6: Come Sunday

Amy couldn't bring herself to work on the day's journal. Even now, hours after her massage, arousal and excitement held her body in their feverish grip; concentration upon work was the last thing on her mind. Of course she had performed one final test of Sarastra's little command, as soon as she had returned to her quarters, just to make certain that the first time had not been a fluke. She had peeled out of her gym clothes and all but leapt into bed, slipping her finger into a pussy that still steamed from the pretty servant girl's touch. For a half hour she caressed her dripping slit and attacked her aching breasts, to no avail whatsoever. Oh, it felt wonderful, but just as before, her rampant sexual tension had done nothing but build and grow, grow and build until she wanted nothing more than to go outside and viciously fuck the first person she met. 

Instead, Amy bided her time. She read through the most vapid and dull magazine she could find, but put it down when a movie advertisement had coaxed her fingertips back down to her clit. She lay stroking that hard nub for fifteen minutes before tearing herself away from it, tears of frustration gleaming in her eyes. 

"What's wrong with me?" 

Amy lay there, her hands covering her eyes, chest heaving from the pure sex setting her bloodstream ablaze. Despair threatened to overtake her.

I'm not a lesbian. I'm not even into girls.

 But... I just... I want it so bad...I can't help myself, I want them.

 So don't be a lesbian. Just 'experiment'. 

Amy's eyes snapped open as that thought ran across her inner monologue. Of course! She was at the right age to try new things, and... to be perfectly honest, she knew that all she needed at this point was a damn good excuse. She rose from her bed, suddenly feeling quite a bit better about everything, and went straightway to her closet. Yellow... pink... blue. Blue. 

She selected a cornflower yellow string bikini from the racks inside, where little aside from gym and swimwear was kept. Carefully she pulled the bottoms on, cringing in blissful irritation when the thin material nestled in between her engorged labia, and tied the top as well as she could. It was at least a size too small, but Amy knew that going in. Smiling a wicked smile of triumph to herself, she grabbed two towels, admired her camel's toe in the mirror for a moment, and sauntered her way to the pool on the bottom level. She had only to wait.

* * *

Amy gathered her towels at the ten o' clock hour, wrapping them around herself to conceal the string bikini she had chosen to wear. Sighing quietly at her foolishness, she stormed back to her room to perform her journal entry for the day and get to bed. 

Sunday was nowhere to be found. Whether she had second thoughts, or had just been stringing her along, Amy could not tell. Her frustration prevented her from realizing just how badly her feelings had been hurt by this indiscretion, but more so, prevented her from understanding how heightened were her senses of betrayal because of it. It hurt, and she could not understand why.

The journal entry that night seemed to take forever. No matter how she tried to concentrate, Amy simply could not hold her thoughts together. She kept thinking of the servant girl, their embrace at the end of that... enlightening massage. Their promise to meet. And every thought simply drew more anger from within the heart of the coed. 

The next morning saw Amy awakening in pain. The fitful, restless night had left her with a wicked crick in her neck, while her prolonged sexual frustration had begun to cause back aches with greater and greater frequency. She could not wait to confront Sunday at her door, and find out just what the hell had kept her from coming to the pool and mercifully relieving Amy of this nightmare.

But Sunday never came. Upon leaving her room Amy discovered a simple basket with the day's clothes folded inside. Sunday, it seemed, was indisposed, and though she knew better, Amy hated her for that. 

The day went by slowly, every second made excruciating by the pain in Amy's spine. After her physical she decided to check by the parlor and see if the servant girl had returned, but found to her great irritation that all of the lights were out, and the doors locked. Her second choice of the steam room only seemed to make her feel worse, and, by the time she sank down before her borrowed computer to write up her journal entry, Amy was positively miserable.

The next day brought more of the same. By supper, Amy's frustration with Sunday had begun to transform into concern, and then flat out anxiety. Mia seemed to know nothing about the servant girl's disappearance, and neither did the librarian, or the cooks. 

Her heart sank when she discovered that no one knew anything about it. The memory of her naked body pressing against Sunday rang fresh in her mind, mixing now with her angst to draw tears from her eyes. She didn't know why, but... when the full, wonderful feeling of the hug dissipated into the emptiness of not knowing, she could not stop herself from weeping.

"Amy?" A concerned male voice floated up from the stairwell and through her open door that night, drawn by the sound of sobs from within her quarters. Donovan appeared in her doorway, his handsome face drawn up in concern for her, and his eyes traveled along Amy's disheveled clothes and tear-streaked face. 

"What happened, Amy? I could hear you all the way downstairs," asked the personnel manager as he sat upon the vacant computer chair. Amy favored him with a melancholy look. 

"Nothing," she lied. "Well... Donovan, I'm having... I mean, I'm just... confused. I felt... I just..."

"Amy," Donovan interrupted sternly, "calm down, and talk to me. If you're unhappy, I need to know about it. Personnel manager, remember? I keep the talent happy." He smiled, but her spirits failed to lift. "Talk to me, Amy. Whatever it is, it won't leave this room."

Amy gulped deep breaths of air, misty eyes fixed upon the ceiling.

"Donovan, I saw Sunday with you a few days ago. She was... going down on you. I watched, I couldn't help myself."

Donovan took this surprisingly well, nodding grimly.

"Yeah. Sunday and I do favors for each other sometimes. It's nothing to cry about, though..."

"No, Donovan, it isn't that. It really worried me, because I liked what I saw. But I'm uptight. I went to Sarastra and tried to find a way to keep from seeing things like that, I mean..." Amy paused, sniffling, "... if it was going to keep happening. But... she said all these creepy things to me, and then she... touched me. I couldn't tell her to stop, it... it felt so good... but she didn't finish. And the next day, I couldn't..."

"Couldn't what?"

Amy sighed. She might as well tell him everything. After all, Donovan Simms had been Sarastra's associate for some time. Perhaps he held the answers she craved so badly.

"Donovan, I couldn't orgasm. She told me that I couldn't, and then, I just... I couldn't. I tried, for hours, I tried, but I just couldn't do it. I kept thinking about Sunday with you, and how great she looked, and... then I went for my massage, and she... she got me so hot, just talking, but I wasn't ready. I'm straight, at least I think I am... but I wanted her so much... and we hugged, and she held me..."

Donovan nodded. "And now she's gone."

Amy's head snapped up from her pillow. "What do you mean? Where did she go, Donovan, tell me!"

"We saw her touching you in the massage parlor, even though you didn't want it. Cameras everywhere, remember? Lady de la Dia has always held a strict policy against forcing someone into sexual encounters, Amy." The personnel manager sighed softly, regret thick in his voice. "She's being punished as we speak. Then, she'll be reassigned away from you."

Amy sat bolt upright. "No! I don't want that. Donovan, I..."

"Listen Amy. Sarastra De la Dia is a difficult woman, yes, but there is far more to her that you aren't ready to know yet. I was very fond of Sunday, too, but I know better than to worry about it. If I were you," he stood, "I would just forget about her." From his pocket, Donovan produced a small piece of paper and a black pen. He scribbled something down on the paper and left it there, right next to Amy's computer. "Forget her." With that, he walked right out of her room and disappeared down the hallway, leaving Amy speechless at the harsh words he had just spoken. 

"I think I'm in love with her..." she had been about to say. How could she have meant something like that? Amy slid from her bead, her heart still pounding. Love. With a woman... and so quickly! Doubt sprang forth almost instantly, burying the passion of the admission with logic, but the word danced at the tip of her tongue anyway. She had little experience with that word, but... there it was. With a woman... and now, she was gone.

"I'm so sorry, Sunday," Amy whimpered, looking up to the ceiling as if in prayer for a moment. With a concentrated effort she took up the piece of paper Donovan had left, and read over it. Written in flowing red script at the top, the note read: 

Donovan,

 Escort Tessa to the holding cells behind the massage parlor. She must not see the light of day for at least one week, until her tune has changed. I will start processing her transfer orders. Due to her years of faithful service and the light nature of her crime, she will not be expelled. Tell no one where she is. Destroy this note as soon as you receive it.

Amy could not believe her eyes. She read on, though, noting that the scrawl at the bottom of the note was in black, the ink fresh.

I can't say out loud. Cameras. Tessa Sunday's name. In parlor, move blue painting, comb. 3-12-32 Show Sar. You care, forgive Tessa. Then get her back. Destroy note. Do not proceed if can't handle truth.

How cloak and dagger of him. What had he meant by 'if can't handle truth?' Surely he wasn't suggesting that she couldn't handle her feelings for Sunday... was he? Amy wiped her eyes, sniffled, and promptly ripped up the note and flushed it. She slipped immediately into shoes and all but ran for the massage parlor, a thousand horrible thoughts running through her mind at once. Holding cells? What sort of maniac was this Sarastra anyway? She didn't dare call the police... certainly, if every room had cameras, then the phone lines were almost certainly tapped as well.

Inside the parlor, Amy quietly removed a blue painting of a seascape, discovering, to her great dismay, a heavy combination lock hidden beneath. With careful precision she input the combination Donovan had left, and caught her breath at the soft click of a lock releasing against the far wall. 

Amy couldn't believe it. An honest to goodness secret door! Cautiously, her heart racing in fear of being discovered, she crept down the dimly lit hallway hidden within the bowels of the mansion. This was insanity. Absolutely mad, but... Amy had to know. She could not continue to stay in that place ignorant of the dark side of it, and though terror gripped her from foot to face, the memory of standing in Sunday's arms kept her going. If for no other reason than to know for certain what was going on, she would continue... though it would be wonderful to learn just what was the swirling, warbling feeling in her heart.

At the end of the clandestine hallway, the walls opened up into a much larger chamber. Several pillars of brown stone stood in the center of the chamber, each one equipped with weighty iron chains and solid-looking manacles; it looked like something fresh out of a Persian dungeon. Amy held back her disbelief at the enormity of the chamber, held her breath, and began to explore the macabre depths of that unreal setting. 

"Who..." a soft voice hailed her as she entered. Amy kept her lips tightly shut, her steps as soft as she could manage, and followed that voice to the far northern end of the chamber. There, she lifted her eyes to the wall.

"Good lord," Amy whispered incredulously, staring openly at the heavy chains binding the hands and feet of a disheveled Sunday, "are you okay?" The servant girl smiled a weary smile, nodded in answer. Amy bit down upon her lip, holding back the overjoyed squeak that had so nearly escaped her throat. Her heart sang, her eyes ran wet in relief, but her voice held back its admissions and sobs. Time enough for that later.

"I am. I'm making up for doing what I did to you," Sunday whispered back, looking at Amy through pitiful eyes. Amy shook her head fiercely, reaching up to tug at the impossibly strong manacles with both hands.

"No, Sunday, you didn't do anything to me. I've been... I've been a fool, an idiot. I..." she growled as she released the manacle. It was just too heavy, too thick for her open. "Sunday, I didn't know how deeply I felt for you until you were gone." Amy lifted her head, their eyes meeting, locking onto one another. "Sunday, I'm sorry. I know... I told you that I wasn't into girls, that I didn't want your attention, but... I do. I want to be flirted with, and touched, and hugged," Amy felt her eyes welling up again, as the words tumbled out of her mouth one after another. "I want you. I can't lose you so soon, Sunday, please..."

"Amy..." Sunday cooed quietly, her misty blues sparkling, "... there are cameras in here, too, honey... they'll know that you're here."

Amy's eyes shot open. Fuck! Had Donovan set her up, knowing she wouldn't be able to keep from coming in here?

"What do I do?" Amy felt ridiculous, asking a prisoner what to do, but Sunday simply smiled that beautiful smile, and lifted her weary head.

"Kiss me, Amy," she softly urged, "kiss me, and it will prove that you are okay with my love... but... only if you are okay with that..." Amy practically melted, right there on the floor. Sunday hung her head, her shameful tears spattering upon the stone below. Amy had seen enough. 

She could hear the footsteps approaching from the parlor, a steady roll of at least three people en route. What else could she do? In front of her, a beautiful, affectionate girl hung by her wrists and ankles, her eyes dark with worry and hunger, but her lips full with the word that Amy felt so at a loss to understand. Behind was the way out, where the only obstacle for her would be a furious conscience. Her heart thudded against her chest, her shoulders bending beneath the weight of decision. Safety... or Sunday...? Freedom... or...

"Love..." Amy whispered. Her arm lifted, setting trembling fingertips to the cheek of the bound servant girl. Gently she lifted Sunday's chin, gazed deeply into those weeping ceruleans. "I do... Sunday... I love you, too." 

Amy leaned in close, her chest heaving with excited anxiety. She held her gaze upon Sunday's glittering eyes, losing herself in their infinite wonder one more time, allowing herself one final, immaculate gaze.

Softly, searchingly, they kissed. 

Amy quivered in shame and wonder at the softness of Sunday's lips, so different from those of a man. Her eyes slid shut as her heart sang out... and finally claimed victory over her mind. It was a simple kiss, lips but slightly parted, soft, and without a drop of the lust Amy had been hoarding for three impossibly long days, but it didn't matter. It was their kiss, hers and Sunday's, and it filled them both with warmth.

"Amy," Sunday whispered through tears of pain and elation, "I'm so sorry I put you through this..."

"But did it not turn out nicely in the end...?"

Amy whirled about at the smirking music of Sarastra De la Dia's voice. Mia and Donovan flanked the vivacious Spaniard, but they did not wear the bemused expression she did. 

"Sarastra, let her go. What kind of maniac are you, chaining her up like this?" Amy demanded, her tears only sharpening the fire in her voice. "You're crazy! You're all insane!"

"Amy, stop talking," Donovan warned, "before you dig a hole for yourself. Just... listen." Amy held her tongue, wondering just what the hell was Donovan's game here.

"Amy, my little one, Tessa knew the consequences of forcing herself upon you. She knew my orders, and what would happen should she disobey them," Sarastra explained softly, as her long legs carried her across the dungeon floor. Amy stepped aside, unable to stop herself. "Tessa disobeyed me. But..." she shook her head, her fingers wrapping gently around Sunday's cheek. "Mia and Donovan told me that you did not yet know what you wanted. That you gave mixed signals to my dear Tessa." 

Before Amy's shocked eyes, Sarastra leaned down and kissed Sunday roughly on the lips, her fingernails scraping gently along the servant girl's cheek. Amy couldn't believe it, but Sunday returned the kiss as if she wanted nothing more than do so. 

Amy sank back against the wall, eyes wide, wracked with disbelief. 

"You have been playing me this entire time? You..." she blinked, teeth grinding together in fury. "You bitch! " Amy would have continued, but Mia laid her hand upon her shoulder, shaking her head.

"Amy, you weren't being played or tempted or anything. You were being eased into a life you wanted to have, deep down. You wanted to be one of us," she smiled, "I could see it in your eyes, baby girl. I caught you staring at me more than once."

"You're all crazy..."

"But are we wrong?"

Amy paused, her heart still hammering.

"No."

"Then what are you so sad about?"

Silence. Amy stared at each of them in turn, trying to stifle the embarrassed, shameful tears that slid down her cheeks. 

"Sunday, what about you..." she whimpered, "... were you part of this setup? Please, tell me the truth..."

Sunday lifted her head, blinking the wetness from her eyes. 

"No. I just..." she paused, "... I just fell for you, Amy, I fell so hard, that I couldn't pull myself out... I couldn't warn you. I thought you might get scared away if I did..."

Amy stood straight again, eyes closed. "Sarastra. Let her go, please... please let her go... she didn't force herself on me. She just... I..."

Sarastra tilted her head to one side. "What? You what?"

Amy stared at her, defiant. "I am in love with her. Now open those fucking locks, right now."

Sarastra just smiled, and nodded to Donovan. "Is that so...? Then... I have made a grave error." Her expression faltered, the melancholy that so dominated her lovely voice infecting her features. "Free her," said the lady of the house, "and get her something to eat. A bath. New clothes." Sarastra stepped back, eyes beginning to well up as Donovan snapped the manacles open with a sharp pick, catching Sunday as she fell against him. 

"Mia," he quietly said, "help me carry her. You'll be okay, Tessa."

Amy watched all of this in furious wonder. Lunatics, the lot of them... but, still... she looked to Sarastra, who looked as if she would fall to her knees and weep right there.

"Amy, there is still so much that I cannot yet tell you about myself... and this place. I have made such a mistake..." she whimpered, and Amy felt her heart soften for such a powerful woman reduced to such a state. 

"I'm not ready to forgive you, Sarastra," Amy spoke softly, her voice free of accusation. "But... I made a deal with you, too. I'm not going anywhere. And you can start making it up to me, right now, by undoing whatever it was you did to me in your office."





Lady de la Dia Ch. 06-08



A soft chuckle escaped Sarastra's lips, and she turned her warm eyes upon the coed.

"I cannot. But, if your love for Tessa is real... she can help you. Now leave me be, Amy... I must think. I must... atone."

The night passed in stern silence. The aura of Sunday's punishment hung heavily in the air, and though Mia, Donovan, and all others involved apologized profusely for what they allowed to happen, Amy still felt the weight of betrayal strangling her heart. Sunday had been placed in a private bedroom so that the strain of her days in bondage could be lifted, but Amy was forbidden to see her. Something about keeping the stress level down. It was bull, and she knew it, but she did not question it.

Her journal entry that night was probably the most vulgar, obscene piece of material Amy had written in her entire life. She had skipped athletics, her physical... pretty much her entire day, done the entry, and went straight to bed. For the time being, she wanted absolutely nothing to do with De la Dia manor or any of its insane traditions. Were it not for Sunday, she would have packed up her few possessions and fled. As she lay there, she wondered just why she hadn't done exactly that in the first place.

Chapter 7: An Interloper 

Amy's eyes few open, her lungs working overtime as the rap of knuckles against her door ripped her out of her nightmares. She sat up, hand over her heart, and simply waited. The knock came again.

"Who... at four in the morning..."

Slipping a soft robe around her shoulders, Amy turned the knob on the door and pulled it open just a crack to peek out. 

Sunday smiled at her through the crack.

"Hi. I need to talk to you."

Amy blinked. The fog had begun to lift from her mind, but she still wasn't quite sure that this was not still a dream.

"Yeah," she whispered, "come in, S... Tessa."

Sunday stepped inside, the edges of her baby doll dress rustling against Amy's bare knees as she stepped past. Amy shivered just a bit as her eyes devoured the servant girl. She had forgotten how pretty Sunday could be when she wasn't hungry and exhausted.

"Please don't call me that," the servant girl pled, turning to look Amy in her eyes. "I love it when you call me Sunday, Amy. It's... cute." She smiled her sweet little smile. Amy returned it, ignoring the way her heart melted in the face of such a look.

"So... what did you want to talk about?" Amy asked, rather unnecessarily. She knew damn well what they were going to talk about.

"Well," Sunday began, her lithe fingertips weaving themselves together, "I just... wanted to thank you for what you did today. It's okay that you didn't mean it..."

"What? Sunday..." Amy caught her breath, somewhat hurt at that. "You didn't believe me?" Sunday gazed meaningfully at Amy, her cheeks already wet with tears. 

"Of course I didn't, Amy... you told me yourself that you didn't want me, and it's okay. I just..."

Amy bit her lip. "Sunday, hush. I meant every word of what I said down there." The servant girl smiled a little, disbelieving smile.

"Really?"

"Really."

"You really love me?"

"Yes, I think... yeah. I do."

"And... you really want me?"

Amy grinned, her heart fluttering in her chest. Now or never. "Hell yes." Sunday squealed and took her feet, all but leaping against a still lethargic Amy. Her arms wrapped around the bigger girl's neck, and she laughed and cried in the same gentle breaths.

"I'm so happy, Amy, I don't know what to do with myself!"

Amy worried with her fingertips, her anxiety clearly etched onto her face. She lifted her eyes, gazing upon Sunday's child-like features, lingering upon the gentle curve of the girl's jaw line. 

"I think..." she quietly began, her heart lurching, "... I think I know exactly what to do with you, Sunday." Amy stepped daintily forward, her free hand tugging closed her chamber door as their lips and hands settled together.

Chapter 8 - Amy's Journal, Day 8

I hate to do this over... heaven knows I'm not a fan of extra work. But the entry that I wrote earlier today just didn't fit with how my day actually ended, and I'd like to get this down on paper while it's still fresh in my mind. I have to be quiet, or else I'll wake up Sunday... she looks so peaceful, so pretty lying on my bed. I couldn't bear to wake her. I just wish that I had noticed just how lovely she is a few days earlier, and saved us both the pain of that insane 'holding cell' episode.

But don't let me get started telling you about something unpleasant. I want to tell you about something incredible, something wonderful. I've been here for nine days counting this morning (it's about seven a.m.) and since day three, I've been bombarded by sex. Every day, I've walked around this palace admiring Sarastra De la Dia's erotic sculptures and artwork, drinking in the sexy bodies of her employees, reading delicious, sensual stories in her library... and so on. That, and seeing firsthand how her employees love each other. I don't want to dwell on that, since it's already been covered in previous entries, but... I think my attraction to her started that day by the pool. As I watched her towel herself dry, sure, I was looking at her body, but... her eyes just held me. They are so... beautiful isn't a good enough word. They are captivating, and I was her prisoner... I just didn't know it.

Then Sarastra did whatever the hell she did to me, and for the next several days I couldn't orgasm. Just... couldn't. I tried until it hurt, and all I got was a back ache and a lot of frustration. I know I was fighting my real, hidden feelings at the time, but when Sunday slipped her fingers inside me that day on the massage table... well, it felt better than hours of self-stimulation all rolled together. Her touch was magical, but still, I held back... fearing something that, right now, I can't really name.

And then... I don't really want to talk about it. That holding cell... incident... I still think they're all insane. But Sunday's okay... and honestly, I'm starting to think that it was just another of Sarastra's tricks to get me to sleep with girls. Whatever the reason... I nearly lost her, as a friend and anything else... and it hurt more than anything I've ever felt. 

I thought for sure she would hate me, until she came to my door this morning. We talked briefly... I think she was scared that I was lying about the way I felt. I can't blame her. I was a straight girl who had rejected her twice already, it made sense to be worried. But I couldn't lie to that face, not again. I was, I am, in love with Sunday. I love her spirit and her heart just as much as I love her perfect ass and enchanting smile. I told her that, and she just smiled. 

And then we kissed.

Her arms were wrapped around my neck, and though I know she could have pulled me deeply into it, Sunday took her time and kissed me gently. Her lips were so soft, so responsive to mine that I couldn't help but enjoy it, and I think she knew then and there that I spoke only the truth. 

Despite my admissions of affection for the pretty littel brunette, I was still a little bit hesitant to make love with another woman, even one as purely beautiful as this Tessa. I think she could feel my reluctance, as her kiss remained soft and cautious for a long time, until I was more ready. I slipped my arms around her long, thin neck and let my tongue slide out again. Her lips parted to accept it, to grip it in her own, and I felt my heart begin to race. Sunday had all but abandoned our kiss and had set her attention upon sucking my tongue, back and forth, drawing me more deeply into her warm, wet mouth. My entire body was tingling, my nipples as hard as bullets with just one kiss.

Our lips separated with a wet pop, and those misty blue eyes settled upon mine. Sunday smiled a breathless smile and hugged me firmly against her chest.

"I'll go slow, Amy," she whispered against my ear, her hot breath sending a shiver up my spine. "But tell me... do you want it hard, or do you want it gentle?" Her lips settled to my neck and sucked upon my soft flesh, and my head fell back with a whimper.

"Let's start with gentle," I cooed, my fingers digging into her scalp, "and see where it goes from there." Sunday's hand slid down my tummy, slipping the already loose sash of my robe with little trouble at all. I straightened my shoulders and thrust out my chest, allowing her free access to me, letting her know what I wanted first. She kissed me again, so gently that I hardly knew it was happening. Her fingertips slid my robe from my shoulders, and her lips followed with gentle nipping kisses that made me jump a little bit.

It wasn't the first time that I had been nude in front of her, but... I trembled anyway, knowing that my virginity, my real, pure virginity, was fast approaching its end. Sunday surveyed me, clicking her tongue as if she liked what she saw. That made me feel so much better... I know that I'm a little fat, but if a girl of her physical fitness could find me so attractive, I just don't care.

"Sit on the edge of your bed, Amy," Sunday commanded as she devoured me with her eyes, "I want to suck on your tits." I stepped back, breathing hard as I sat upon the very edge of the four poster bed. The language Sunday used only made me hotter (as if that were possible). I could smell my girl scent rising up, and I loved it.

Sunday reached down, taking hold of my knees with both hands. "Honey, I need a place to stand. Let me help you..." and she pushed my legs apart, just like that. I started at her aggression, but the look in her eyes told me that she wanted this just as much as I. She kissed me again, pulled me against her pastel clad chest, and lowered herself onto her knees before me. I wriggled in anticipation... my breasts have always been sensitive, but even I never made a habit of giving them enough attention. 

Sunday was obviously not in a patient mood. Her arms wrapped around my middle, stroking me as she would have done at the massage table, and she nuzzled my tits so excitedly that I lost a little bit of my nerve. After that she slowed down, though, and began to gently kiss the soft flesh all around my nipples, never once touching them but skirting around them, teasing them. She licked my smooth skin, always hugging me close to her hungry lips. I wanted to tell her to stop fucking around, I had been horny for five days and really didn't want any foreplay, but... her face, her lips, those little whisps of brown hair that hung down and tickled my collar all felt so good that I kept my mouth shut. 

Gradually her kisses and licking slowed, and centered upon my bumpy, rough aereoles, and I couldn't take any more. I reached down and pressed my hands to both sides of her pretty face, pulled her away from my heaving chest, and kissed her hard. Sunday let out a little 'mff' of surprise, but soon was frantically returning my kiss. Our tongues wrestled against each other, sliding over and around one another as we loved each other's mouths for a long, blissful moment. 

"Sunday," I said, breathless, "please stop teasing me. I need you to put me out of my misery." Sunday kissed me softly, eyes narrowing a bit.

"What do you want me to do?" she cattily asked, the little minx. "Tell me exactly what you want."

"I want you to get me off!"

"How?"

"Sunday!"

"Amy?"

"I want you to..."

"What?"

I was desperate, my heart hammering, but I was even more desperate for release by this point. I grabbed her face roughly, kissed her once, and pushed her head down and into my wriggling crotch. Sunday was happy to oblige, and I think my uncharacteristic aggression thrilled her, made her want it even more than me.

"I want you to lick my pussy, you fucking slut!" 

Had I really said that?

Sunday just smiled. She kissed my big, wiggly thighs each in turn, sucking little pink marks onto both of them, before leaning forward and giving my steaming slit a long, slow lick from bottom to top. I shuddered, my legs parting a little wider as I fell back onto my bed. Sunday kissed my pussy lips just like she'd kissed my face, pelting my outer lips with lustful affection before parting them and nipping at the inner, pink folds. She licked slowly from bottom to top every few kisses, making me wriggle even more as lightning shot from my pussy through my whole body. I gasped for breath. My hands found my own nipples and picked up where Tessa had left off, pulling and rolling them between my fingertips until they stuck out hard and proud, begging to be sucked.

"Mmm... Amy, your honey is so sweet," Sunday moaned from between my legs. She leaned in and thrust her tongue into my hot folds, pulled it out a little, and thrust again. She continued tongue-fucking me in this way until my hips started to lift, my butt tightening as I reached the edge, and then she backed off, grinning her devilish smile at me before kissing my thighs and vulva again. I wanted to slap her... I was ready to explode, and she just wouldn't set me off!

"Please, Sunday, please fuck me, make me cum, make me cum you beautiful bitch!" I cried, literally crying from how wonderful and terrible this felt. Sunday licked her lips and leaned in, teasing the hood of my clit with quick flicks that set me to wriggling again. She pushed up on the little piece of flesh until my nub showed itself to her eager lips. She flicked it once, and I cried out "oh!" She giggled, and flicked it again. "Mmm!" I felt my pussy contract, little quaking spasms rolling through it as a small orgasm rolled over me. I gasped, and moaned, but I was far from done.

Sunday was like a tigress on the hunt, no longer the innocent little doe in my sights. That gentle cum turned her into a sexual beast! She smelled her prey, tested it with her nipping kisses until I had called her every dirty name in the book. Then, all of a sudden, she leaned forward and snatched my clitoris between her lips, holding it in place while she assaulted it with her tongue and sucked it, sucked me, into euphoria. "Mmm, oh, Sunday! Fuck!" Her hand lifted, and she slipped one slender finger into my dripping cunt, pulled it out, and added a second finger, pumping them in and out like slippery pistons in my sopping hole.

"Girl, you... ah, fuck! Eat me, oh Sunday, fucking yes, eat my pussy!"

It didn't take much of that. I felt my butt tense again, but this time, she didn't let up. Another small orgasm welled up and I felt my juices oozing between my pussy lips, but Sunday never stopped or slowed. She opened her mouth wider and took my entire pussy between those gorgeous lips, lapping at the trickle of my cum until I felt the floodgates beginning to strain. I did that fast dance, my hips lifting and falling and swinging, as a third orgasm rose up and exploded all over me. 

"Mmmmmmoohmmmyyyyyiii'm cuummmiiing!"

I wrenched my nupples, my hot cum gushing into Sunday's eager mouth as I wildly fucked her face, smearing her pretty features with my slick juices. Somehow she held on, and kept lapping up my girl cum, but it must have been like riding a wild bull because I kept hearing hearing my cunt smack against her face. She let me down gently, tonguing my engorged lips until I finally settled back on the bed, gasping for breath and struggling to stay conscious. That... it was the most amazing thing I've ever felt. Blame it on five days, if you want but... fuck, could that girl eat a pussy!

Sunday sat back, breathing hard, her face shimmering with my slippery cum. She smiled her innocent smile at me, but as I lifted my head to look I saw that her babydoll dress was open, her perfect little tits exposed and heaving. She raised her puss-soaked fingers and trailed them down her neck, and onto her chest, eyes twinkling. I couldn't trust myself to speak, but I tried my damndest.

"Sunday..." I moaned, filled with the bliss of my afterglow, "I can't believe what you just did to me."

"Really," she asked as she stood, letting her dress slide to the floor. I ate up her body, shiny with sweat and tight, so tight you could bounce an egg off her belly. Like a sultry leopard she leaned over me, giving my pussy on last lick before wriggling up my body, kissing everything she could get those delicious lips around. I wrapped my arms around her waist, one hand settling on her smooth, unblemished ass. "Well. Believe it. And here," she whispered as she leaned down, grinding her pebble-hard nipples into my bullets, "is proof." She kissed me feverishly, and my eyes snapped open. The taste on her lips was incredible... and mine. I frantically returned the kiss, loving the way my pussy tasted on her breath, but... maybe more, loving her for doing this for me. 

I couldn't help myself. As we made out, exchanging my feminine juices with every suckling kiss, I pushed her ass down so our cunts ground together, slippery juices letting them rub effortlessly over one another. Her shaven slit felt wonderful against my groomed bush, and I know she felt the same because she started to moan into my mouth in a hurry. I squeezed her bubbly butt, but I didn't need to guide her any more. Her hips thrust hard against mine, and our pussies kissed and seperated with a loud, wet squelch every time. I let my head fall back again, giving her full access to my chest and squirming as she sucked my bullets into her mouth. 

"Sunday... fuck! Don't stop," I cried as my asshole clenched, my hips pushiing up so hard that I could hear our dripping quims slapping together. Sunday's ass tightened, those soft cheeks going rock hard as her orgasm set off quakles all over her luscious body.

"Aaaammmyyyyy!"

I wasn't far behind... but as I came one more time, I shouted out things that I wouldn't want you to read, ever. We kissed and hugged as our bodies settled down, and fell asleep in one another's arms within five minutes time, both completely exhausted. Even better... both completely satisfied.

I told you it was unreal. Now, I see her sleeping on my bed (I woke up a few minutes later, and slipped out of her arms) and I know that... I'm glad I waited. I'm glad I decided that I was in love with her, before... being physical. Because now, I want to do it again. Hell with experimenting. I only want Tessa, in my heart and in my body. And that is all I have to say on that subject.

Epilogue:

The soft glow from the security camera's moniter bathed the face of Sarastra de la Dia in a cold blue light. She gazed intently into the screen, lips parted, held back far enough that the soft shimmer of her elongated fangs could be seen in the light. Of course, she had long since lost the use for those fangs and the taste for blood, but she had kept them anyway. Sarastra was proud of her heritage, even though her meat was no longer the blood of man, but the sensations of the human mind. And what a feast she had enjoyed on this night!

"Hey," Donovan Simms's husky voice called up to her from between her long, smooth legs, "you were spacing. Are you okay?"

Sarastra smiled at the screen, and quietly apologized to Donovan. "I was watching Tessa initiate Amy into our world. Your sister really is an inferno in the bedroom despite that innocent smile." She looked down, and settled her long fingers into Donovan's dark hair. "Just like you. Now..." she smiled her wicked smile, shoving his head between her thighs, "... who said you could cease sucking my cunt, Donovan? Eat me you little bastard, and do it now."

Donovan smiled a dazed smile as he nuzzled Sarastra's fragrant wetness, and kissed her slick lips.

"Yes, mother."