Library of Submission

The abandoned library sat at the far edge of campus, a brick husk the college had stopped heating two winters ago. Simone and Adriana slipped in through the side door that never quite latched, twenty and twenty-one, both of them already flushed from the walk and from wanting each other all afternoon. Dust hung in the late light. Old tables stood in crooked rows. The smell of paper and cold stone wrapped around them as Adriana kicked the door shut and pulled Simone in by the waist of her jeans.

“Finally,” Adriana murmured against her mouth.

Simone laughed into the kiss, bright and eager, her fingers already under Adriana’s sweater. They had been circling this for weeks, stolen kisses between classes, hands under tables in the student union, never anywhere private enough. Here the silence belonged to them. Adriana walked her backward between the stacks until Simone’s shoulders met a shelf of forgotten journals, and then they were all over each other, mouths open, breathing hard, hips tipping together like they had practiced it.

Adriana’s hands mapped her greedily. Over Simone’s ribs. Along the warm skin above her waistband. Down one arm, slow, possessive, until her fingertips drifted across the inside of Simone’s left wrist.

Simone jerked like she’d been struck. A sound tore out of her, high and startled, and her knees went soft. Heat flooded her so fast she saw white at the edges of her vision. Her panties were suddenly soaked. She grabbed Adriana’s shoulder to stay upright, gasping, thighs pressing together without her permission.

“What—” Adriana pulled back, eyes wide, then darker. She looked at her own fingers, still hovering over that soft inner wrist, and something in her face changed. The careful girlfriend slipped. Curiosity sharpened into hunger. “Do that again,” she said, almost to herself, and the command in it surprised them both.

Simone’s pulse hammered under the skin there. She had always known that spot was strange, a private sensitivity she never mentioned, but she had never felt it ambushed like this, never felt her body answer before her mouth could. Adriana’s gaze stayed on the wrist. The closet she had kept that want in cracked open, and she did not look sorry.

“Adriana,” Simone whispered, shaky, already aching. “Please.”

Adriana caught the wrist gently and turned it up to the dusty light. A light pass of two fingers made Simone whimper and rock her hips, arousal climbing so quick she could taste it. Then Adriana laid her thumb along the tendon and stroked, firm and slow, sensual on purpose.

The orgasm hit before Simone could brace. It slammed through her belly and down her thighs, involuntary and blinding, her cry bouncing off the empty shelves. She came standing up, panties clinging, shaking against the journals while Adriana watched her fall apart from nothing but a wrist.

“Oh my God,” Adriana breathed. A smile, small and stunned and wicked, pulled at her mouth. Her hidden want had a shape now, and it fit her hand perfectly.

She tried it again, slower, dragging the pad of her thumb in a firm circle. Simone’s second climax chased the first so fast she sobbed, legs buckling, one hand fisting Adriana’s sweater. The pleasure was brutal and sweet and not hers to time. Adriana held her up with an arm around her waist and kept that stroke going until Simone was panting against her throat, oversensitive and still climbing.

Then Adriana’s fingers changed. Light. Quick. A tickle, barely there, fluttering over the same skin.

The orgasm died mid-surge. Simone’s whole body seized and then emptied, the peak yanked out from under her so cleanly she made a broken noise of loss. The ache stayed. The release did not.

“No,” she gasped. “No, don’t—Adriana, I was—”

“I know.” Adriana’s voice had gone low, steady, the voice of someone who had just found the lock and the key in the same moment. She kissed Simone’s temple, tender and terrible. “Tell me if you want me to stop. Say it plain.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” Simone said, too fast, too honest. Her face burned. “I want—God, I want you to do it again. Please.”

Adriana’s eyes flashed. She stroked again, firm, sensual, and Simone came with a cry that cracked, hips jerking, slick heat soaking through denim. Three breaths of that gorgeous ruin, and then the tickle returned, feather-light, and the climax snapped off like a switch. Simone whined, high and desperate, clutching at Adriana’s arms.

“Please. Please, let me finish. I can’t—Adriana, I’m begging you.”

“You can,” Adriana said, and the closet was gone. The domme stood in the dust and liked what she saw. She walked Simone to the nearest table, an old oak slab furred with gray, and bent her over the edge without roughness, only certainty. “Hands where I can see them. Left wrist up.”

Simone obeyed, cheek against cold wood, ass tipped back, wrist offered like a gift she couldn’t take back. Adriana stroked. Firm. Simone’s thighs shook and she came again, a sharp involuntary burst that made her toes curl in her sneakers. Tickle. The pleasure cut. Stroke. Come. Tickle. Denial. Over and over until Simone was crying pretty, open-mouthed, words tumbling out of her without pride.

“Please let me come, I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, just don’t stop it this time, please, Adriana, I’m yours, I’m begging, please—”

Adriana paused with her fingers hovering, not quite touching. Simone trembled so hard the table creaked. “Say that again.”

“I’m yours.” Simone turned her face, eyes wet, mouth soft, meaning every syllable. “I submit. I want to be your sub. Please. Use it. Use me. I want you to.”

Something satisfied and fierce moved through Adriana’s face. She kissed Simone once, deep and claiming, then reached into the bag she had dropped by the table leg. The small bullet vibe was pink and familiar; they had joked about it on the walk over and never gotten it out of the lining. Adriana thumbed it on. A low, insistent buzz filled the quiet between their breathing.

“Then you stay,” she said. “You don’t pull away. You come when I make you come, and you stop when I tickle you, and you thank me either way. Understood?”

“Yes. Yes, I understand. Please.”

Adriana pinned her properly then, one hand spread between Simone’s shoulder blades, the other bringing the vibe to the inside of that left wrist and holding it there with firm, unrelenting pressure. The vibration sank straight into the nerve. Simone’s back arched off the table. The orgasm did not crest and fall. It opened and stayed open.

She came, and came, and the pleasure did not let her down. Continuous, shuddering, a rolling seizure of sweetness that locked her jaw and blurred her eyes. Sounds fell out of her that were barely words. “Ah—Adri—can’t—oh God, oh God, I’m—” Her hips ground helplessly against the table edge. Wetness slicked her thighs. The vibe hummed and hummed, and every second of it dragged another wave through her until she was sobbing into the dust, barely coherent, thighs quivering, panties ruined.

“That’s my girl,” Adriana said against her ear, voice rough with want and command. “Look at you. Coming just from your wrist like a desperate little sub. You don’t even get my fingers in you and you’re soaking through. Say it.”

“Yours,” Simone managed, the word shredded. “Your sub—please—don’t stop—”

Adriana did not stop. She pressed the vibe harder, a fraction, and Simone screamed into her own arm, another orgasm stacking on the one that had never ended. Her knees knocked the table. Her free hand scrabbled at the wood and found nothing. Adriana’s dirty talk poured over her, low and filthy and sure.

“You’re going to come until I decide you’re done. You’re going to shake for me in this filthy library and thank me for every one. Such a good slut for me already. Listen to you. You can’t even talk.”

Simone tried. “I—thank—please, more, I can’t speak, I—” The sentence dissolved into a moan as the vibration held and held. Her vision went soft. Her cunt clenched on nothing, over and over, each spasm punching a fresh sound out of her throat. She was a mess of yes and please and Adriana’s name, none of it landing clean.

Then the vibe lifted.

Fingers. Light. Tickling.

The continuous climax severed. Simone wailed at the loss, body still twitching, the ache roaring back twice as mean. “No—no, put it back, please, I was coming, I need it, Adriana, please, I’ll be so good, I’ll do anything, just let me—”

“Beg prettier.”

“Please, Mistress—please, I’m your sub, I submitted, I want it, I want you to torture me with it, I want to come until I can’t stand, please give it back, please—”

Adriana’s breath caught, pleased. She set the vibe against the wrist again, firm, buzzing, sustained. Simone detonated. The orgasm slammed back into the hollow the tickle had made and filled it past the edges. She shook so hard Adriana had to pin her tighter, forearm across her back, mouth at her neck, talking her through it.

“There. Take it. Take every one. My sub doesn’t get to choose when she stops coming. I do.”

“Yes—yes—thank you—oh fuck, I’m coming, I’m still coming, I can’t—”

Adriana alternated with cruel precision. Ten seconds of vibration, Simone crying out in helpless, submissive ecstasy, words slurring into nonsense. A brief tickle, the peak ripped away, Simone begging in a rush of broken pleas, promising to kneel, to wait, to be hers in the daylight too, anything, anything. Then the vibe again, pressed to the tender inner wrist until Simone’s voice went thin and high and she came in a long, shuddering ribbon that seemed to have no end. Adriana kissed her shoulder between commands. She told her she was beautiful like this. She told her she was owned. She made her say thank you while she could still shape the sounds, and when Simone could only gasp, Adriana accepted the gasps as thanks and kept going.

Dust rose around them. The old library held their noise and gave nothing back. Simone’s sneakers slipped on the floor. Her jeans were open now, Adriana’s free hand shoved down the front just to feel how wet she was, two fingers sliding through slick and staying there, not even moving, while the wrist did all the work. Simone clenched around those fingers and came again, a full-body jolt, babbling.

“Yours—yours—can’t talk—please—more—tickle if you want but please don’t—no, I mean—whatever you—Adriana, I belong—ah—”

“I know what you mean.” Adriana’s smile was in her voice. She tickled once more, short and merciless, and Simone’s plea cracked into a sob of pure want. Then she settled the vibe back into place and did not lift it.

“No more denials,” she said. “You submitted. You begged to be mine. So come. Keep coming. Don’t you dare try to be quiet.”

The vibration stayed. Firm. Sustained. Endless.

Simone broke open and stayed open. Orgasm after orgasm rolled through her without a gap, each one feeding the next until she could not tell where one ended. Her voice went to pieces. She managed Adriana’s name, and yes, and a string of sounds that might have been thank you and might have been nothing but need. Her body quivered against the table, sweat cooling on her neck, cunt pulsing around Adriana’s still fingers, wrist burning sweet under the buzz. She was a wreck, incoherent, owned, and she did not want it to stop. Adriana held her through all of it, murmuring praise and filth in equal measure, claiming every shudder as hers.

When Simone’s sounds thinned to whimpers and her legs would not hold, Adriana finally switched the vibe off. The sudden quiet inside Simone’s body was almost as shocking as the pleasure had been. She collapsed forward, shaking, breath hitching, tears on her cheeks that had nothing to do with pain.

Adriana gathered her up at once. She turned Simone in her arms and sat on the edge of the table, pulling the spent girl into her lap, tucking her close. One hand stroked her hair, slow, over and over. The other cradled the sensitive wrist without touching the inner skin, protective now, careful.

“You’re mine,” Adriana said softly, the command gone gentle but not gone. “My sub. I’m your domme. That’s what this is, if you still want it when you can breathe.”

Simone nodded against her throat, breath hitching, voice small and sure. “I belong to you now.”

Adriana kissed her hair and kept stroking. Outside, the campus went on without them. Inside, the dust settled. Neither of them spoke again. The library held its silence, and they rested in it, heartbeat against heartbeat, until even their breathing grew quiet.