Miss Eva & Me
3 in stock
Miss Eva and Me by Robin Bond
Lesbian BDSM femdom. Lucy works in publishing. When she meets one of the company’s authors she has little idea of what’s in store. Eva is successful, glamorous and attractive, and Lucy easily falls in love. The two embark on an intense affair, with the dominant Eva taking charge of Lucy, giving her a first taste of spanking.
Before long, Eva imposes rules on Lucy ” forbidding her to masturbate or orgasm without permission. She takes charge of Lucy’s appearance, and forbids her to have a relationship with anyone else, though Eva remains free to sleep around. Lucy, in fact, is owned outright by the domineering Eva. There are regular beatings, strap-on sex, kinky house parties, a nudist colony in France where Eva orders Lucy to hunt the dunes for men to fuck.
When they meet a Danish girl, Inge, who wants sex with Lucy, Eva allows it, but only on her terms. She orders Lucy to have sex with an old women they meet while in Paris. When, back in London, Eva leaves for a promotional tour in America, and Lucy is frustrated and lonely ” that is, until Inge shows up and the two have sex. However, on Eva’s return, Lucy is compelled to confess her transgression with Inga to Eva, and the punishment she suffers is severe. Still, it seems that through every ordeal she endures, Lucy’s devotion to Eva only increases.
Lesbian femdom. BDSM, spanking, pegging, bondage, hard paddling and caning, anal sex, nipple torture, needles, forced orgasms, orgasm denial, cunnilingus. Orgies, water sports, pet training, facials, voyeurism, body modification, sharing.
Cover Art iiphevgeniy – Shutterstock.com
Looking back, I suppose you could say my life began that moment when she set eyes on me, across a crowded room. I glanced away from the person I was talking to and I saw her and she saw me. At first I wasn’t sure she actually had seen me, because I was a person of almost no importance, just an anonymous office girl, and she was, after all, the chief guest. To this day I do not know exactly what made her look at me, and hold her look for several seconds before she looked away. I have asked her many times, but each time a different answer. “Oh, I thought you were someone I knew.” “I just wondered who you were.” “Maybe I was feeling horny.”
What I have always wanted her to say is, “Of course I knew that you were the one, and from that point always would be.” But she wouldn’t give me that satisfaction. “Don’t fish for compliments,” she would say. “It’s not dignified.” I wanted to reply, “But I’m never dignified around you. Isn’t that the point?” When you are needy, as I have always been, you often sound undignified.
Nothing dramatic happened at the party. In fact nothing happened at all. Afterwards, I decided it was just a look, with no significance. But the following week she came into the office about some business to do with her royalties, and I saw her again, and she saw me. She looked a bit longer this time, as if her look might have some significance. But if so I didn’t know what it was, because we did not speak. And then she came in again the following week, and my conceit had me suspecting that perhaps, just perhaps, she had come on the chance of seeing me again. But why would she want to do that, a woman like her, with all the assurance of an older woman, and the extra assurance of success? The day before I’d see her on TV being interviewed about her new book. She looked very glamorous.
But this time it was more than just a look. After talking with her editor she sauntered past my desk and then said suddenly, “Are you doing anything right now?”
Of course I blushed, and blurted out that no, I wasn’t. Except I was supposed to be working.
“I’m Eva.” As if I didn’t know. “Will you take me to lunch? I’m at a loose end because I was due to see a friend but she’s let me down.”
“Yes, of course,” I said. Fortunately she knew where she wanted to go. It was just round the corner. As we walked there she quizzed me quickly, my name, my job at the publishers (shamefully lowly), my previous experience. And then she said, “I suppose you write too? All of you do, it seems.”
I had to confess that I was trying to write, but that it was very difficult.
“Good,” she said. “That’s the first step towards success. So many people think they can write a book, and then they find it’s not that easy, that it can’t be done in a weekend, and they get discouraged.”
I liked her voice, it was low and musical. I felt as if I could listen to it for hours. But I found I had to concentrate on what she was saying. I didn’t want her to think I was just some ditzy office girl. I tried my best to give intelligent answers, without being pretentious.
Over lunch she subtly pried into my life, teasing out the fact that I preferred girls to boys. Not that I hated boys; but I could never take them seriously, in bed or out of it. You always know where you are with girls.
I already knew she was a lesbian. She never made any secret of it in interviews, though she didn’t go on and on about it, like some do. At this time my experience of sex was not wide; I was a slow starter, and had so far fucked two or three boys and three or four girls, enough to know which I preferred but hardly enough to have become wise. I didn’t always know a lesbian when I saw one, and had been caught out a couple of times, but with her there was no mistake. She didn’t dress butch or anything like that; you wouldn’t have known if you saw her in the street. But she didn’t hide it either. And she certainly didn’t hide it with me. I knew this was a pick-up. I was flattered, of course, that such a person should want me. But I knew it would be a fleeting thing. Hadn’t I read about a partner in the background?
I didn’t want to throw myself at her; I had a feeling that would not be welcome. She must be the one doing the choosing, the seducing. But I didn’t play hard to get either. I simply tried to make it clear that I was available, if she wanted me. She didn’t touch me or anything, not even a kiss on the cheek when we said goodbye, just a brief handshake. But I’d given her my number, my private number, not the office one.
The next day I got a text: “Come to a small soiree on Friday at 6.” It gave her address. Of course like any girl I worried for the next couple of days about what to wear. What was appropriate for a soiree? I had never been to anything you could call that, only student parties and such. I asked Beth, my friend; she was straight, not a friend with benefits.
“The standard answer,” said Beth, giving one of her considered opinions, as she liked to do, “would be the little black dress.”
“I haven’t got a little black dress,” I said.
“You could buy one. However, it might be a little too formal. You’re sure she wants to seduce you?”
“Fairly sure,” I said.
“How do you know?”
“One just knows,” I said.
“Is that a lez thing?” she asked.
“Maybe. Anyway, what to wear?”
“Wear a skirt,” Beth said. “You’ve got good legs and she’ll like looking at them.”
“I’ve got a black skirt. It’s a bit tight and short.”
“Perfect. And on top?”
“I’ve got a silk blouse, I said. “It’s red. It might be a bit bright.”
“Will it show your tits? She’ll probably like looking at them too,”
“Are you sure you’re not a lesbian?” I said.
We both giggled. “Not yet,” said Beth. “You must wear good shoes. Heels, though not so high you fall over.”
“I did once,” I said. “I knocked a man’s soup into his lap.”
We giggled again.
I arrived exactly at 6.10, neither too early nor too late. Eva welcomed me in, but then introduced me to a very boring man in sales and went to talk to a woman who was evidently an old friend. Immediately I felt I shouldn’t have come. I knew no one and none seemed to want to know me. Everyone else, though, was among friends, or so it seemed. Once or twice Eva noticed me and smiled, and even made the odd remark to me, but I wasn’t comfortable. I felt out of place; almost everyone was older than me. Including, of course, Eva, who (I’d looked her up) was forty-three.
I was thinking about leaving when Eva came up to me and whispered in my ear, “Wait till they’ve all gone. Please.” Of course my mood immediately shifted. I looked around the room, willing them all to leave, and at last they did. I was standing looking out of the window at Eva’s pretty little garden and she came up behind me. I made to turn round, but she whispered, “No, don’t move.”
I had a wine glass in one hand and she took it from me. Then, still behind me, she bent over and lifted up my hair and kissed the back of my neck, a feathery kiss, very light. I shivered. She kept kissing, her lips making a slow progress across my neck and then reaching the back of my ear. I gasped when she kissed me there; it’s such a sensitive and intimate spot.
I could feel her pressing up against me, very lightly, scarcely touching. She started to stroke my cheek, the other side from where she was kissing. This was beginning to get seriously troubling. I was trembling and something was happening between my legs, a kind of prickly feeling. I knew I was getting wet already. She kept up the kissing and the stroking, and then the hand that was caressing my cheek moving round to my front and began to undo the buttons of my blouse. She went right the way down and then peeled my blouse off. I could feel my nipples perking already. She slid a finger inside my bra and touched a nipple lightly, then caught it between two of her fingers and began to squeeze it. I gasped; any kind of pressure on my nipples gets me panting.
Her other hand deftly undid the hooks of my bra and she slipped it off. Now she cupped both my breasts in her hands, kneading them, caressing, squeezing, teasing the nipples, drawing them out. I looked down and it was embarrassing how big they had got. I tried to turn round but still she wouldn’t let me. While holding one of my breasts, she put the other hand to the waist of my skirt, found the zip and began to undo it. Then she undid the little button there and used two hands to inch the skirt over my hips, letting it fall to the floor. I was wearing tights. I hate them and much prefer stockings, unlike most women, I think, but tights are the only practical things when you wear a short skirt. Eva slipped a hand inside my tights, inside my knickers too and began to rub my belly, and then soon her hand went lower and found its way between my legs (shamelessly, I parted them slightly to help her). She cupped my cunt with her hand and resumed kissing the back of my neck. It was hard to stand upright, I was trembling so much.
At last she took her hands away from me. She took me by the hand and said, “Let’s go upstairs.” She made me go in front and I felt self-conscious knowing she was undoubtedly looking at my ass as I proceeded up the stairs. Once in the bedroom she told me to get the rest of my clothes off and get into bed. I sat there watching her undress, which she did without either false modesty or any coquetry. I got a quick sight of her body as she walked to the bed and pulled back the sheets. She was slightly above average height, with a slim and athletic body, no longer young but in very good shape, with nice full breasts and a flat belly and long elegant legs. At that moment I wanted her with a fierce desire. But I knew I would have to wait for her to make the moves. I had no idea then of what was to come later, but already her personality had imposed on me, made me the servant of her wishes.
She got on top and put her arms round me and I opened my legs a little and could feel her groin pressing against mine. I had glimpsed a thick knot of pubic hair, which had surprised me a little, since all the girls I’d been to bed with were shaved. But I reasoned that she was of a different generation; maybe the fashion for bald cunts had not travelled up the age-range yet.
She leaned down and kissed me, a real, deep, passionate kiss. Her tongue went right to the back of my throat and then dipped into all the nooks and crannies and slithered over my own tongue. Then she lay alongside me and caressed my breasts. I quite like them; they are neat and firm. Not as large as hers, more girlish. But I felt that was as it should be. And I have good nipples, which get very hard and long, as they proceeded to do when she played with them with her strong fingers, elegantly manicured and painted. She bent her head to my breasts and took a nipple in her mouth and sucked it hard and then nibbled it. I gasped.
It may seem strange, but up till this moment I had no very developed sense of what place pain might have within the domain of sexual pleasure. One boy had spanked me a little and I hadn’t liked it much, but looking back I think that was because he was a boy. None of my female partners had tried it, or anything else of that kind. I knew of course, in a theoretical way, that there were people who went in for that sort of thing, spanking and so forth. Beth had even told me about what goes on in Story of O, which she had read. But I was still an innocent.
Hearing my gasp, Eva bit my nipple a little harder, I squealed and pulled away. She didn’t pursue the matter, instead, she put her hand between my legs and began to fondle my cunt, stroking, pulling on it, folding back the lips, and eventually starting to stroke my clit.
The boys I’d been with had made half-hearted attempts at that. But their inaccurate fumbling made me pull their hands away. The girls had done better, but all of them attacked my clit with more determination that finesse, which wasn’t much better.
I don’t know how, but Eva sensed right away how to pleasure me. Her finger circled, went very slowly over the top, lubricated it with the juice that now flowed copiously from my cunt. I lay back and luxuriated in pleasure, and after a while I felt the orgasm growing, from a long way back but getting closer all the time just so long as Eva did the right thing, which she did, and I exploded, shaking, locking my legs together, trapping her hand, and moaning like a mad girl.
When I had calmed down she smiled and kissed me, and settled down beside me. I wondered if I should reciprocate, but I was shy and anyway I was sure she was not too inhibited to ask, so I waited for an invitation. Instead, she got out of bed and went downstairs, naked, and came back with a bottle of wine and two glasses. She poured one for each of us and got back into bed.