As her bus winded through the city, Rose sat patiently and reflected upon the multitude of circumstances that had brought her to this point.

 

The long, often arduous journey to come to terms with her queer self;

 

Meeting the girl of her dreams at her first GSA;

 

Falling in love with that brilliant, fiery, beautiful girl;

 

Facing down her family, and everything and everyone she’s ever known, as that girl pulled the wool from her eyes, and showed her the world that lay beyond.

 

 

 

 

Sigh.

 

 

 

 

 

Feeling beaten down by the world and needing an escape, Rose turned to the one form of entertainment she could enjoy despite the austere circumstances, fantasy. 

 

In her mind's eye, she dreamed of Emma, of the last game they had played together in bed. 

 

She dreamed of pinning her love against the wall, of kissing her supple cheek against the backdrop of twilight, and hearing a soft whimper dance across her lips in helpless anticipation of the chorus:

 

“Mistress”

 

“Surrender”

 

 

The outside world could be so complex, painfully so. Her family's legacy meant even as a humble college student she outranked most Presidents, everywhere she went her life was defined by power, by control. Her parents wanted her to embrace it, raised her to embrace the monster within and devote her life to the dynastic power for which she stemmed, and though she repressed it so a part of her would always be that girl, the villain. 

 

Egged on by her anxieties, conflictions and simple, stifled rage, Rose could feel the thirst for power climb up from her clit, slowly but surely back to the front of her mind. Perhaps a week ago she would have panicked from the urges that came with it, worried she was slipping back into her old ways, but Emma had lovingly taught her since that it was okay to take leisurely strolls from the wagon, as long as you returned to the journey in the end. 

 

There, in her mind's eye, Rose tightened her grip on Emma’s windpipe, and squeezed until she was satisfied, before dragging her whimpering slut of a lover across the cold hard wall onto the warm fluffy bed, a final act of kindness to contrast what was to follow.

 

“Mistress I”

 

 

 

Rose took her striking hand and physically, gently, closed Emma’s lips for her, while her other hand teased her love at her very sex. Finally, after taking a moment to kiss the lightly bruised cheek, Rose spoke in the voice of a flower:

 

 

Emma nodded her head demurely, her small, weak, terrified demeanor undermined only by the wild thrill in her eyes.

 

 

 

It was then that she saw it.

 

Rose had gazed into Emma’s eyes many times before, becoming intimately acquainted with their compassion, their love, their desire. That night however she saw a new side to those eyes, a new side to the normally headstrong girl who wore them:

 

Desperate, weak, pleading. 

 

She couldn’t help but giggle to herself, just a little.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Her teasing hand by now had long abandoned the constraints of mere foreplay, having turned instead to playing the insatiable Emma like a violin. In this endeavor every finger and every stroke was essential in crafting a mesmerizing harmony of composer and instrument, leader and follower, mistress and slave, an almost hypnotic melody which seemed to break the minds of all those who played it.

 

 

 

 

 

“Yes Mistr-”

 

 

 

“No mi-”

 

 

 

An enormous, subtly evil grin emerged from Emma’s face upon hearing those two magical words, one that would only grow larger as Rose laid the groundwork for her next word of wisdom. 

 

With little warning, Rose turned her unoccupied hand to the task of pressing down upon Emma’s neck once again, this time making full use of the bed’s malleability to push ever deeper…

 

and deeper.

 

Soon Emma found herself truly crushed into the softness of the mattress, her body forced so far down she couldn’t even breathe independently; the pace of her gasps controlled entirely by the up and down motion of Rose’s thumb, ‘her’ body being trained to answer to Rose first and foremost in yet another domain.

 

 

 

—————————————————————————————————

 

When the deed was done, Rose and Emma spent the rest of the night cuddling together, so close they could hear each other’s hearts pounding against their chests. What they had just done, it was hot, it was beautiful, and it was terrifying. Though they were both under a small mountain of blankets, the world nevertheless felt cold and hostile, as if everything outside of the two of them was possessed by the spirit of death itself, grasping at them with tentacles of ice. Lying there with the love of her life, Rose couldn’t help but reflect on how similar the moment felt to the days and weeks following the night in the bunker, the night she was forced to stab that poor sod, and see her own soul in the blood that poured out of his body, tumbling down the drain. Everything felt the same as then, the same ice covered the world, the same fears marred her heart, but there was one difference between then and now.