Neighborhood Domme

Charlie and Valerie soak in the afternoon sun, their bikinis barely covering anything. The new backyard still smells like fresh lumber and chlorine. Boots on the concrete break the quiet. Lora Cross steps up, tall, dark-haired, wearing a tight black skirt, tiny bralette, and shiny domme boots. She wants five percent of the house sale. Cash. Now. It’s in the fine print, she says. The girls don’t have it. Lora smiles like she knew. She’s ready to take payment in rope instead. They can squirm, moan, and earn their way out if she films every second. They agree. Rope tightens around their wrists and ankles. Ball gags slide between their lips. Fishnets cling to damp skin. Lora works them over with toys and fingers, turning the pool deck into a slick, gasping playground. By the time she’s done, the water isn’t the only thing that’s soaked.