Lady Sylvia. Part 3
Fyokla did everything as her mistress Sylvia told her; she even acted as a top to achieve the goal, which was not easy for her at all, but the feeling of duty fulfilled inspired her as she reported to her mistress that the newly minted bottom bitch Lena was ready for her first session.
— So then—the mistress began, casting a glance at the ceiling—make it so—she said, lounging languidly in her chair, graciously offering her hand to her bitch for kisses. This, by the way, is an integral, unbreakable part of a bitch's greeting to her mistress. Meanwhile, she was already sitting before her, completely naked on her knees with her thighs spread wide and her bottom on her heels. The only clothing
on Fyokla was her personal choker (a type of short fabric necklace, resembling the elastic from lacy, beautiful panties), which the mistress herself had once put on her, thereby initiating her as her bitch and making it clear to the closed circle of tops (mistresses, ladies, tops) that she was now someone's bitch and already had a mistress!From now on, the mistress had the RIGHT to access her body ALWAYS! Following her orders was absolutely non-negotiable! Fyokla could only thank the mistress for every gesture and decision, even after every spit in the bitch's mouth—the bitch was obliged to thank her mistress, who experienced catharsis from her position (a short-term mental state characterized by a sudden feeling of relief, joy, lightness, and freedom). This feeling was similar to achieving orgasm, but even stronger, and experiencing it even once made one addicted, like to a powerful drug. Fyokla felt the same sensation, experiencing her position as a bottom bitch and the superiority of her mistress Sylvia over her. For a single word from her, she could throw herself out of the highest window and do it without a second thought, and by the way, throw out anyone else too.
— Call that bitch and tell her where and when she must wait for me and in what. Also, go over the etiquette of meeting the mistress with her—she looked at Fyokla—well, I don't need to teach you, you know yourself what's what and how, and that there should be no surprises! Otherwise, you will answer for it personally!
Whether Fyokla was jealous of her mistress for looking at other girls, or for the new potential bitch Lena, or anything like that, remains a secret even to Fyokla herself, as every move of her mistress satisfied her, and jealousy was no exception, also evoking a sweet obsession.
As Fyokla continued kissing the mistress's hand, she remembered how she had once run away from a party with her friends, where drunk males tried to grope her, making dubious compliments and trying to win her over, but this only annoyed her. She dreamed of female love, of tenderness she could give to that one special person who wasn't by her side yet, and of the warmth she would feel from her imaginary girlfriend while in her embrace. Being a bottom probably wasn't on her mind then; she wanted to find an older friend who could protect her and shield her from the cruel world in which Fyokla was alone! Entering one of the bars she came across, Fyokla went to the bar counter to order a double whiskey on the rocks; she didn't want to go home at all. To her surprise, behind the bar counter, she saw a beautiful girl in a strict, tight—no, probably figure-hugging—dress, with beautifully and perhaps even impeccably styled hair. A sweet perfume scent emanated from this bartender, driving Fyokla crazy, and probably not just the scent drove her mad, but also the posture with which this slender and beautiful girl carried herself, her impeccable appearance, the clicking sound of her steps as she hurried toward Fyokla. This clicking was clearly audible to Fyokla, even though muted music was playing in the bar, and it was probably louder to other patrons' ears than the clicking of this goddess's steps. Fyokla noticed that the gaze of this, at first glance, sweet girl was quite stern, even though she was smiling at Fyokla—Fyokla even slightly hunched her shoulders.
— What brings you to us?—Fyokla heard the most pleasant voice in the world.
— I want a whiskey on the rocks—Fyokla said in an uncertain voice—a double—she added.
— You look a bit lost—said the unfamiliar beautiful bartender, whose badge read "Sylvia"—of course, Sylvia—that's the name of the bar, Fyokla recalled the bar's name as she entered.
— Yeah, kind of—Fyokla replied reluctantly—the day didn't go well.
— Don't whine and don't beg!—the bartender suddenly said in a stern but still sweet voice, handing her a glass of whiskey.
— Oh, yeah—Fyokla quipped sarcastically—of course! Don't whine! And don't beg! Very easy to say, but hard, and sometimes impossible to do!
— What's your name, little one?—asked the bartender.
— Fyokla—she replied, slightly calming down—sorry, I'm just all wound up.
— That's no excuse—said the bartender, now leaning her elbows on the bar counter and placing her size-three breasts between her arms—in our life, there are moments you must see and seize!—she demonstrated a grip by clenching her fist—as your own! Understand? As something that belongs to you! And no one else! Catch it like this!—again she clenched her hand into a fist.
— And what's your name?—asked Fyokla this, as it seemed to her, very wise and pleasant interlocutor, whom she particularly lacked today.
— Sylvia—she pointed to her badge and smiled.
— Ahhh—Fyokla drawled—I thought that was just the name of the bar on your chest.
— Yes—Sylvia replied, smiling—that's the name of my bar.
— Yours?—Fyokla asked in surprise—then why are you serving me here? Don't you have bartenders?
— I was waiting for you—Sylvia smiled at her—and I have plenty of bartenders.
— Me?—taking this joke at face value, Fyokla took a sip of whiskey with a surprised face.
— Yes!—Sylvia continued, seeing how Fyokla believed her word—I was waiting for you—and possibly, already believing, following her advice, she hoped she had met a turning point in her life and tried not to miss this chance, but Fyokla was thinking the same thing and somehow strangely transmitted her thoughts to Sylvia.
Sylvia was essentially a mistress, a top, a DOMINATRIX, a MISTRESS, and she had long since calculated that before her stood a not-yet-self-aware, bottom, and quite beautiful bitch! Why did she see a bottom bitch before her, and one desiring female love? It's simple—there are no women who deny the female flesh; all women are inclined, or rather predisposed, and subconsciously seek the warmth and comfort that only women can provide. This is ingrained with mother's milk in every person, regardless of gender. Only a woman can give female affection and love, and that is precisely what both men and women seek, and only the conventions of our life still somehow deny this truth. But a man is needed only as a male for procreation and providing for women's well-being; they cannot create coziness or give that sexual happiness either, as they are by nature very crude and cannot even comprehend this with their minds, no matter how they hide it, and those who are feminine are not men at all! But a woman top, a MISTRESS, is perceived by girls as protection, reliability, tenderness, and ultimately an understanding of the universe, which was once created by AMAZONS, whose descendants we are.
Sylvia stroked Fyokla's hand with her own and looked intently into her eyes—Do you want to plunge into a world of dreams and fantasies, debauchery and devotion?
— Yesss—Fyokla almost came from such an unexpected offer, her face lighting up, who a second ago had been tense as a spring in a gun, ready to shoot anyone who made an improper advance or gave her those already annoying compliments about her appearance. What Fyokla heard from her interlocutor, who had so deftly discerned her desire, brought her to that feeling I described above, called—catharsis, but Fyokla didn't yet know what it was. A volcano of passion churned within her womb; an inexplicable feeling of love arose in her from just one look from Sylvia. She was ready to fall to her knees and kiss them, lifting her dress higher and higher with her own hands, inhaling the scent of this mistress, which emanated from her, intoxicating Fyokla's mind.
— Then endure—with these words, Sylvia took a bottle of tequila, poured a shot, placed it in front of Fyokla, then took her hand, turned the palm upward, and with her sharp fingernail on her index finger, scratched her wrist.
— Fffttss—Fyokla slightly jerked her hand.
— Jerk again and I'll leave!—Sylvia said sharply, not taking her stern gaze off Fyokla, to which Fyokla only nodded like a guilty kitten and relaxed her hand.
— Good girl—said Sylvia, sprinkling salt on the bloody wound, then let a thin stream of saliva fall onto the wound with the salt—lick it and drink to us!—Sylvia's voice sounded like an order to be carried out, and Fyokla, not daring to resist, immediately bent to her hand, licked off Sylvia's salty saliva mixed with her blood from the wound, and drank the shot of tequila, which burned her throat, releasing into this world a completely new girl named FYOKLA!