Free Stripped Down by Tristan Taormino Page A

always told me she didn’t like blondes, she only liked brunettes, like me. My ex-boyfriend told me he didn’t like women with large breasts, he only liked women with smaller chests, like me. You can
imagine where that went when we broke up.
    By the time I got ready, Kate was already in bed, tucked up to her chin, journal in hand. I didn’t know what to expect. Was this really just a friendly sleepover? Were we going to get it on? Even worse, I didn’t know what I wanted to have happen. I got into the bed and she stopped writing, ending the entry with an exaggerated flourish of her pen. She put the journal on her nightstand, and I realized that I’d never seen her write in a journal before. Was this a new thing? So much can happen in two months, I thought as I ducked down under the covers.
    She shut off the light and moved closer to me, placing her arm around my waist. I didn’t know whether to burst out crying or kiss her desperately. Either way, the weight of our separation was apparent, and we melted into each other as if nothing had happened, as if we’d never broken up.
    I rolled on top of her and held down her arms. She was my prisoner.
    â€œI’m your prisoner,” Kate said playfully.
    â€œOh, yes you are.” I reached over the side of her bed and felt around for her wrist restraints. They were still attached to the bed frame, one on each side. It was nice to see my girl hadn’t lost her lust for pervery. I turned her around, belly down, bottom up and tightly fastened each wrist.
    â€œStick your pretty ass in the air,” I whispered in her ear.
    She did as I told her, pushing her ass out in exaggeration. I pulled her satin blindfold off the bedpost, fastened it around her head.
    â€œOh no!” she cried.
    I opened the bottom drawer of her night stand, where she kept the supplies and felt around for her riding crop. It was at
the bottom. Did this mean she hadn’t used it in a while? Was blondie not into spanking?
    I spread her knees farther apart and fastened each ankle in its restraint.
    â€œDon’t move,” I told her and smacked her ass hard with my hand just to emphasize the seriousness of the situation.
    â€œYes,” she answered.
    â€œYes, what?”
    â€œYes, Ma’am,” she answered. This was all part of our game, and I was ecstatic to hear that she hadn’t forgotten the dialogue. Then I picked up the riding crop, got off the bed, and walked a few feet back to regard the situation; my little domestic butch prisoner was waving her ample ass in the air just waiting for it. No one else had ever done this to me—turned me into such a dirty foul-mouthed bitch with a bad attitude and a steady, sadistic hand. Before Kate I was not particularly interested in much outside the typical fucking and sucking that had been part of my existence as a bisexual woman. But something about her just brought out my femme top.
    She was really begging for it now, waving her bottom in the air.
    â€œYou better smack my ass soon, or else,” she implored, barely able to move any part of her body except her ass which was thrusting wildly. I could see her pussy slick and glistening from behind.
    â€œOr else what?” I laughed, my own juices bubbling over inside my panties. “What are you going to do to me? You’re all tied up.”
    â€œI’ll smack your ass,” she said defiantly. She knew that was never going to happen.
    â€œYou’re going to smack my ass?”

    â€œYes, I’m going to smack your ass if you don’t start smacking mine. Please, please don’t make me wait any longer.”
    I stepped closer to the bed. She whimpered in anticipation. I ran my implement across her cheeks, down her crack, and separated her soaking wet lips with the tip of the riding crop. She began to tremble all over, practically falling over on one side, her ass falling toward the bed.
    â€œGet up. Put your ass back in the