A Promise Kept

Mariah closed her eyes as Darya went to work. Not because of any order, mind you, though she would’ve gladly done so at the slightest urging. No, this was a move all her own, a way to make an exciting moment even more exciting. No visual distractions, at least for the moment. Nothing to take away from their enjoyment. Just the pain. Only the pain.

Not that it was truly needed. Darya excelled at this, was capable of driving out the best sensation from Mariah’s body. She tensed up at the crop’s touch, expecting it to come down hard, with enough force to leave welts - but no. Soft. Gentle. Soothing. That was the game they played today. Mariah could feel the hairs along her body stand up and the blood rush through every vein, as her every cell reacted to the incredible energy that was-

Mariah’s eyes shot open at the sound of their charging wives, rushing to meet each other in the titanic duel. Two bodies, glistening in the sun, moving at full tilt, driven by lust and power and the unbending desire to dominate.

”I...love...this.” Mariah muttered through the gag, her words coming out as a slur.

She moaned and arched her back, a stretching cat, as Darya’s crop continued to do its work. This was zen.

Darya and Mariah, like their wives, were perfectly in sync in this moment. They weren't doppelgangers, but they had fallen in love with a pair of doppelgangers, and more often than not Darya knew she could count on knowing what Mariah was thinking and acting in concert with her. Mariah closed her eyes, let herself get lost in the anticipation, letting her other senses fill her with nervous energy as Darya teasingly tapped her back with the crop, holding off on delivering another stinging blow to the backside for the time being.

Their wives were on the screen, and for a moment the two of them were distracted, watching the scantily-clad Bubbles and fully-nude Femke charging at each other and initiating this incredible, decisive conflict. Mariah spoke through the ball gag, her words muffled and slurred, but still intelligible.

Darya sighed happily and nodded, showing a small moment of vulnerability even as the domme. "So do I." She watched Mariah arch her back like a cat, and, at full extension, she swung her riding crop down powerfully on that upturned rear end, cackling softly as she did so and sliding the crop tip back and forth across those butt cheeks.

"So do I."

It occurred to Mariah that this might’ve been the first time in a long time that she’d actually seen a match of Bubbles that she wasn’t personally there for, her first time watching it through a camera lens. She and her wife weren’t too big on going over their old material, tending to devote most of their training time to practice new techniques or weight train. It was a surreal experience, with a part of her wanting to be there with Bubbles, cheer her on as her love took on the greatest challenge of her career, living out her dream match.

But that couldn’t be. She and Femke had to fight unabated, no distractions, and there was a quality to watching it from the camera as well. She could see all the angles, appreciate it from different, savor every pulse pounding moment…

She was drawn out of her revelry by a sharp crack against her butt, filling the room with the sound of leather on flesh and drawing a muffled squeal from Mariah. She fell forward, flopped to her chest, and breathed heavy through her nose.

She needed to please this woman. Needed to.

Staying low, she turned and crawled to Darya’s feet, not even looking up as she found them. She dipped low and nuzzled against them, a puppy looking for affection from her mistress, trying to earn her caring love, supplicating herself.

The crack of Darya's whip could not completely swallow up the sound of the impressive collision between the two combatants on the screen, and a small shiver went up Darya's spine as she watched Femke and Bubbles begin to grapple and grope at each other. She thought about the amazing sex she and Femke had had for weeks leading up to this fight, the Dutch brawler gushing about everything she was going to do to Bubbles, Darya offering modifications and new ideas. That was the best kind of training session, the two of them had always believed: every second imbued with sex. Femke had tested some of her Bubbles-busting techniques on Darya, who had found them very effective.

Perhaps, as the night went on, Darya could try a few of them out on Mariah. Right now, though, after that last hit, the lighter-haired woman was meek and compliant, desperate to please her mistress. She dipped her head down low, and, as tempting a target as that upturned, wiggling butt was, Darya refrained from the whip again. It was better to catch her from behind, anyway.

She flexed her toes, splaying the five of them on the foot Mariah was nuzzling out, rubbing them casually against the woman's face. "Lick my boot, slave. Ze toes, ze heel. And tell me vhy I should let you be under my foot tonight, my little slut."

Mariah had expected Darya to strike her ass, what with the way she had it raised and wiggling. She might as well have painted two bullseyes on it, one for each cheek, practically begging for the treatment - but no, it never came. No strike. No pain. Darya left her ass unmolested for the time being.

But that didn’t mean Mariah was disappointed. Far from it, really. The mere anticipation was enough to keep her hot and ready, and she shivered, knowing that the pain could come at every second. That was one of the marks of a true domme, in her opinion - one that knew when to strike and when not strike, who didn’t just flail away like some angry child. The fear of pain could be even more effective than the pain itself, when properly applied.

At Darya’s command - not sooner, not later - Mariah began to lick away, lathering her mistress’ boot in saliva, doing her best to leave not a single dry inch. Thorough, quick, eager, she made her way underneath, ignoring any bad tastes, then went to work on the heel, getting it from all sides.

”Because,” She did her best to speak and lick at the same time. ”I know you, mistress. I know you so well. I can tell what you want, what you need. We’re so in sync, so perfect for each other.” She put real pleading in her voice, real longing, and didn’t have to fake much of it.

”Please, let me serve you.”

Darya couldn't help but let her toes wiggle in excitement, even as they were trapped within her boot and could not be properly tended to by her slave. Give it time. A few minutes from now, when they were nice and sweaty after Darya had gotten in a bit of a workout punishing her light-haired counterpart, Darya would remove her boot and let that eager tongue slather its adoration over and between her pedicured toes.

Right now, Darya let Mariah enjoy the taste and texture of leather, and savor the complex flavor profile of the dangerous-looking stiletto heel. All the while, Mariah pled her case, explaining why Darya should accept her as her submissive little slut for the evening (or longer). The Russian woman had to admit, Mariah made a good argument. She had a solid brain on her shoulders. Tonight, Darya would do her best to rewire every single neuron in that skull to serve as an engine for Darya's pleasure.

"Mmmm...all true..." Darya mused, as Mariah's mouth was finishing up on the boot. "Ve have similar taste in vomen, if nothing else. And my Golden vill soon have a good American slut...and I vant to keep up."

And now she brought her riding crop down on Mariah's ass again.

Oh, this was tricky. Mariah knew it, Darya knew it, and that was why she loved it.

Her first reflex at her mistress’ proclamation was to be the good wife and correct her - in heart of hearts, she knew that Bubbles was going to come out on top. Femke would test her like no other, sure, but in the end the Virgin Killer would be victorious. Her wife was like some kind of sexual Hulk - the hornier she got, the stronger she would became, and no one could light her fire quite like her spiritual twin.

But that was what Mariah the Manager and Mariah the Wife would say. What about Mariah the Slave? Mariah the Toe-Sucking Whore?

The crop on her butt interrupted her thought process, but she was back to it soon enough, chewing on her lip before she opened it again. ”She might, mistress.” Mariah spoke in the most subservient tone she could muster as she said those words, and gave Darya’s boot an extra long lick, as to make up for her small attempt at defiance. ”Might.”

She kept her eyes low and focused, but she couldn’t hide the small hint of a smirk...

Darya waited for Mariah to respond to the obvious taunt, a statement crafted carefully by Darya to force Mariah's hand. If she wanted to fight, now would be the time to fight, disputing Darya's claim and perhaps instigating a heated—if ultimately friendly—brawl. Otherwise, she would have to find some happy medium between what she believed to be true and what Darya proclaimed to be true. The Russian woman knew the gears were turning in her would-be slave's mind even as her mouth covered the sleek black surface of that high-heeled boot with saliva.

Mariah chose not to cause a conflict—at least, not an immediate one. There was still resistance in her voice, still defiance. She was not going to concede the point about their doppelganger wives, the argument on which titanic tanned woman was actually greater, just because she was playing the submissive today.

Darya had no qualms with that. Truth be told, she would have welcomed any response from Mariah, from full-fledged agreement to open contradiction. In the years she had spent with Femke, since her own in-ring career ended, Darya had learned the need for flexibility, for a give and take. She had learned to be excited by it. And now that she had learned it, she was tempted to test herself against a woman of roughly equal size and strength—an athlete, someone who may not have the same in-ring experience as Darya, but who had perhaps done more to hone her body and mind for battle over the last two or three years—in a fight that featured all the same brutality of old, but based on mutual admiration and friendship, as Femke and Bubbles had found in each other.

After a moment's pause, Darya would move her crop up to Mariah's face—not to strike it, but to gently lift that chin up from her shining boot with the tip of the implement, looking Mariah straight in the eyes. Staring deep into them, taking her measure. She caught a fleeting glimpse of that smirk, and her own face would be graced by one much more obvious, and with a touch of the sinister about it.

"Zat is a naughty girl," she said lowly, her smile spreading. "Talking back to your mistress. You have earned ze five lashes on ze bottom."

She pulled her crop away from Mariah's chin, then waved her other hand in a small circular gesture. "Face down, ass up, slave. And you vill count each lash as I give it to you. Or do you have a problem vith zis?"

It was the waiting that drove Mariah crazy, here. So many mistresses would’ve rushed this whole thing and not taken the time to really make it an enjoyable experience. They would’ve seen the hint of disobedience and sought to immediately squash it with wild whipping and barking orders and maybe some slapping thrown in for good measure. And that wasn’t necessarily the wrong way to go about things, if there was even such a thing. There was something to be said for the rough, dramatic approach, and the wife of Bubbles Burste could hardly complain about a little forcible foreplay.

But this, the way Darya let silence reign for a little while, the way she drew things out, it was all masterful and forceful and so alluring. The woman could teach classes on intimidation, and that accent only hammered home the illusion. Mariah found herself shivering as the crop raised her face up and brought it to stare into those dark pools. A malicious grin spread across Darya’s face, one of a cat with the poor mouse she was playing with. Utterly devilish and devious and so delicious.

Five lashes. Mariah’s cheeks clenched without even thinking.

She was eager to take that punishment, but she didn’t want to show it - not too much. She pouted. Batted her eyelashes. Then turned around and did as told with a slow, sensuous swivel, bending over to place stick her rear high and giving her compatriot easy access.

”None at all, mistress” She cooed, bit her lip, and closed her eyes, ready for the oncoming onslaught. ”I’m sure the better woman will win.”

And, naturally, that last sentence was dripping with sarcasm, a thinly veiled taunt, almost as if she were asking for more lashes.

Which she was.

Mariah played her role perfectly. She was eager, but did not look eager, as she pouted and fidgeted. She looked like a spoiled brat who had no choice but to obey, one who was scheming and cursing her mistress but who knew she could do nothing that would change the outcome of events. And Darya knew that Mariah truly believed her wife was going to win the match on the big screen beside them, which made the punishment that much more real and the game that much more fun.

The American woman gave another confident little assessment of the match, and Darya smirked. She knew exactly what Mariah was doing, and she was going to play her role. "Ve vill make it ten, slut. And do not lose count," she warned, as Mariah turned over and assumed the position she had been commanded to.

Darya reached forward with her free hand, grabbing the waist of Mariah's daisy dukes and yanking on them hard, trying to slide them down without the need to unbutton them. While she wasn't trying to destroy the short bottoms, if they tore, they tore. They were in her way. She did not want one inch of Mariah's rear end to be safe from her predations. Once those daisy dukes were bunched around Mariah's middle thighs and her ass was exposed, Darya would swing the riding crop up, letting it go through a wide arc on that upswing that passed hardly an inch above Mariah's head, letting her both see and feel that the weapon was on the move, but not know when the blow would fall on her ass.

Darya paused. She let seconds go by.

And then, hard and fast, she let the biting end of the crop fall on Mariah's pale, bared bottom.