Heiress

green

by xangoh

Tags: #cw:incest #cw:noncon #dom:female #f/f #sub:female #brainwashing #clothing #corruption #degradation #enslavement #masturbation #smoking

For a while, there was nothing of Cassie but orgasm.

The first thing that registered, as it subsided, was vaguely Miranda, leaning over the steering wheel into the rearview fixing her lips. They were parked somewhere green. Cassie drew a sharp breath then heard herself sigh it out again, slow and heavy.

Coming back, sugar? Miranda talking to the mirror.

Coming back. Cassie didn’t know from where. She was in a beautiful dream. Miranda was with her. Nothing else mattered.

The older woman shifted in her seat. The girl’s cum-stunned gaze stayed lost in the green. Miranda put a finger to her chin and pivoted her head with it, like turning a doll’s head, and met the girl’s eyes.

Cassie’s hand was already at her crotch and her fingers started moving in the wetness there. Her skirt had got pushed up over her hips. She thought of Miranda seeing her exposed, seeing what a slut she was, and a whimper escaped her. Chuckling, Miranda caught her hand and brought it up. She licked the middle finger with her long tongue and then put it to Cassie’s mouth.  “Enough of that now, Greedy Gus.” Cassie’s lips parted automatically. The taste of herself made her head swim.

Miranda drew her eyes down to where the front zipper of the dress was parted, down almost to the girl’s navel. She pouted a little. “Shame about the dance, though.” She flicked at the ring pull. “We were gonna have so much fun tonight with you in this!”

Miranda’s voice was like the leaves plying shadows on the windshield. Somewhere beneath, the only thing that moved in Cassie’s small, dim mind, the thought party dress stirred. It felt like something she was about to forget. Or maybe remember. The shadows would tell her which, in their own time.

Miranda turned away and gave herself a last primp in the rearview. “Fuck, and I guess I better catch Beedee up on her dress while I’m at it,” she told herself. She glanced back sidelong at Cassie, still sucking automatically at the honey on her fingers, and wryly pulled the girl’s hand back down. “Alright, dummy, funtime’s over. Still got all this shit I gotta take care of.”

Cassie heard the driver’s-side door crack open. Nice doing business with you, Miranda cast over her shoulder, and stepped out in a flash of sun. And then the car was only shadows, no Miranda and no Cassie, and the beautiful dream had never been.


She stayed there, resting her forehead on the steering wheel, for a while after she had finished. She was in the weirdest mood. The pink of the slut dress, ruched up wantonly at the crotch, glowed in her half-closed eyes like a heat. She’d yanked the zipper down far enough she could paw at her tits. The big ring pull, shuddering with her breath, dangled like a lewd smile over her smeary thighs.

She really wondered sometimes if she was starting to lose it. For weeks the idea of the party dress had worked in Cassie like a dark magic. Like it had practically turned into the sole meaning of her life. She’d been in a lather of anxiety all the time it was being altered, fearing something would happen to it, and then when it came back the same superstition kept her from ever putting it on until the day of. Sometimes she could make herself come just from thinking what it would feel like that moment when the dress first slid across her naked skin.

And now here she was off the road in an old makeout nook, no one around thank God, the dress all bunched up and hopeless and her Mom’s shitty Volvo reeking of sex. There, that’s where all the masturbating gets you.

A dress that Beedee could have worn. That’s why she got so fixated. She had this image of herself dancing the way Beedee danced, like there was no tomorrow, vamping the boys like Beedee—the girls too, if we were being honest—all eyes tracking her, all helpless. The party swirling around her like a vortex. And then her mother arrives in a golden chariot at midnight to waft her home. Miranda. The name seemed to conjure light in the air. When Cassie said it to herself it made her pussy flutter.

You had to have fashion to be a fashion slut. All Cassie had was her Mom’s shitty Volvo. And a dress that was tragic even before she’d pulled off and all but fucked herself with it. If Beedee had anything like it it cost ten times as much and fit her like she was the only girl alive who could wear it.

Imagine thinking Miranda would notice anything about Cassie and her dress, except maybe how cheap both of them were. Imagine Miranda noticing Cassie at all. Miranda wouldn’t even know she existed.

The late sunlight shifted across the windshield, and the shadows changed. Cassie sighed. She’d have to go home and get a fallback dress and sneak it out with her. Shower. Make something up. Her parents hadn’t fought her over the party dress at all, really—usually they were such prudes—but she was sure as shit not ready to let them know she wasn’t going to be wearing it. That was a whole level of discussion she was not ready to have. She'd fix it so she was only a little late.

Keep the windows open on the way, she thought. Air the stank out.

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