by Cassandra Cavenaugh

Tags: #cw:noncon #alcohol #D/s #dom:female #f/f #implied-control

A hot flash story about one night at a bar where it’s just difficult to walk away, to say no, and move on.

The night air was warm and humid as I stood in the line to get into Southern Nights. There was just the one lesbian bar in town, and Kayla was determined to have me patronize the establishment post-haste. I’d had a rather ugly break up recently, and she was just trying to help. I’ve never been one for clubs or bars; just not my idea of fun, but it made her so very excited and that joy is somewhat contagious. As we entered the club the music drowned out our menial conversation, and within seconds I’d lost her in the crowd. For a moment I was fearful; being alone in a club wasn’t exactly my idea of fun, nor was it particularly safe. The music shifted, and I found myself in the middle of the bouncing crowd.

A soft voice whispered in my ear, the warmth of its owner’s breath tickling my ear. “Stay. Dance,” it said. I wanted to turn and see the owner of those words; to see who was placing their hand on the small of my back, but I didn’t. I stayed. I danced. Her hand slid up my back to my neck and tickled the base of my scalp with her fingertips. “Good girl. Close your eyes,” she whispered. And I did. My eyes shut, and I felt a warmth against my body, against my chest. Her lips met mine and kissed me deeply; her teeth nipping gently at my lower lip. “Open them, now.”

I opened my eyes and took in my captor. Her eyes were sparkling, and her face wrought with a mischievous grin. “What’s your name, dear?” she queried. “Cassandra,” I replied softly. “Come,” she placed her hand on the small of my back again and led me up the stairs to the lounge. We approached a table in the back corner of the room; a bottle lay iced at the end. She motioned me to sit, and I did so quietly; she sat next to me and placed her hand on my thigh. The warmth of her touch sent shivers up my spine; all the thoughts, the questions I had just vanished. I wanted only to be present in that moment.

She poured a glass of moscato and handed it to me, “Drink”. I sipped it slowly, and nodded my head quietly. I was always a lightweight, and if I planned on surviving this evening with my wits intact, this would be my first and last drink of the evening. “Drink, or I won’t tell you my name,” she said. I opened my mouth to protest, but nothing came out. I took a long sip of the wine, and looked up at her eyes. She smiled and motioned me to continue. The glass rang dry shortly thereafter, and I sighed softly. My legs had already started to tingle, and my mind wasn’t far behind.

“Good girl. It’s Rose, like the flower,” she smirked and moved her hand up my thigh. I felt a warmth growing inside me; contentedness, purpose, or perhaps just alcohol. I looked up at her with wide eyes, and she stroked my hair gently. Her hand caressed my cheek and I closed them; her lips pressed against mine, again, and I gave in. I felt small, vulnerable and altogether warm. “Be mine,” she said. And I was.

She stood, and beckoned me to follow. I rose from my seat wobbly, and she let out a laugh. “Oh my, aren’t we a bit tipsy?”, she grinned as the words left her perfect lips. She led me down the stairs and out the door; her hand still firmly against my lower back. As we approached the street she turned to me and said, “You have a choice. Get in my car and go home with me, or we never see each other again.” It was hardly a choice, really. I knew that, and I’m certain she did too. I looked over my shoulder for Kayla, and back at Rose. She nodded, and opened the car door.

The ride didn’t take long, but it was all but silent. Rose had turned on the radio and let the music fill the void. When the car finally stopped, Rose turned to me and smiled.

“Why did you stay and dance for me?”
“I… I don’t know, really.”
“Why did you finish your drink for me?”
“I had to know your name.”
“Why did you get in my car?”
“Because, well, because...”
“Because you’re a very good girl.”

I blushed crimson, and she stroked my cheek gently as I looked down at my hands. Those words gave me life; they filled my soul and made me whole. She knew that. She opened my door and gave me her hand as I rose to follow her. She held it firmly as we approached her apartment door. She opened the door and ushered me across the threshold; grasping both my hands and meeting my eyes she whispered, “Stay.” And I did.


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