The Lesbian's Leather Maid

The afternoon heat lay over Lake Como like a second skin, thick and glittering, the water so bright it hurt to look at it straight on. Up on the terraces of the villa the stone radiated warmth, but the summer-house was another climate entirely: white wicker, linen cushions, and a roof of pale slats that broke the sun into soft bars. A fan turned slowly in one corner. Ice melted in a silver bucket. The air smelled of crushed lemon leaves and the warm leather Lorraine had been wearing since noon.

Lorraine was thirty-eight, and the villa was hers outright, bought with money she had made and kept and spent exactly as she pleased. She had built the summer-house for days like this, when the main rooms felt too formal and the lake too exposed. She lounged now on the wide bench that ran along the open side facing the water, one boot hooked over the other, a glass of something cold sweating against her thigh. The leather pants were black and tight enough to show the long line of her legs, the corset laced snug under her breasts, the boots polished to a dull shine. She had not put the look on for anyone. She liked the way leather held heat against her skin. She liked the way it made her feel, even alone.

The door from the garden path opened, and Annika came in with a tray.

Annika was twenty-six, and she had lived in the staff wing since spring, when Lorraine had hired her to keep the villa running through the long season. She was good at the work. She was also, Lorraine had been noticing for weeks, impossible not to look at. Today the uniform was crisp: black dress, white apron, white collar, the skirt brushing just above her knees, her dark hair pinned up against the heat. A sheen of perspiration sat at the hollow of her throat. She set the tray down on the low table and straightened, and the movement pulled the fabric across her hips.

“Iced lemon and the sparkling water,” Annika said. Her voice was a little breathless from the walk up from the kitchen. “And I brought the cloth napkins you like. The others were still damp.”

“You think of everything.” Lorraine did not reach for the glass yet. She let her eyes travel, unhurried, from Annika’s flushed face down the line of her body and back again. The heat in the summer-house seemed to tighten. “You’re warm. Sit a minute before you go back out into that sun.”

“I shouldn’t. The linens—”

“The linens can wait.” Lorraine shifted, leather creaking softly, and patted the cushion beside her. “Sit. That’s an order, if you need one. Or an invitation, if you don’t.”

Annika hesitated only a second. Then she sat, not quite touching, the tray between them and the lake throwing light across both their faces. Up close she smelled of clean cotton and the citrus she had been slicing. Lorraine could see the fine hairs at the nape of her neck, damp and curling. She could see the way Annika’s gaze kept slipping to the corset, to the boots, and then away again, as if she had been caught.

“You’ve been looking at me all week,” Lorraine said, quiet and plain. “I don’t mind. I look back.”

Color rose under Annika’s tan. She did not deny it. “The leather,” she said. “It suits you. I keep thinking I shouldn’t notice.”

“Notice.” Lorraine’s mouth curved. “I wear it because I like how it feels. And because I like what it does to people who want me. You want me, don’t you.”

It was not quite a question. Annika’s hands tightened in her lap. Outside, a boat engine droned far off and faded. The fan clicked. Annika turned her head, and her eyes were dark and steady.

“Yes,” she said. “I do. I’ve wanted to say it. I didn’t know if I was allowed.”

“You’re allowed.” Lorraine reached over and took the glass Annika had brought, drank, and set it down. Her fingers were cool from the condensation when she laid them, lightly, on Annika’s wrist. “Tell me what you’ve been thinking. I want the truth. No polite version.”

Annika’s pulse jumped under Lorraine’s thumb. She drew a breath that lifted her chest against the black dress.

“I think about your hands,” she said. “In those gloves you had on yesterday, when you came in from the boathouse. I think about you telling me to stay still. I think about the pants, how they look when you walk, and what it would feel like if you put me over your knee in them. I go back to my room after I turn down your bed and I—” She stopped, then finished it. “I touch myself. I say your name. I’m sorry if that’s too much.”

“It isn’t too much.” Lorraine’s voice had gone lower. Heat gathered low in her belly, a slow slick ache she had been ignoring for days and could not ignore now. “I’ve wanted my hands on you since the first week you were here. Those hips. That mouth. The way you bend over a table and pretend you don’t know I’m watching. I’ve been patient because I won’t take what isn’t offered. You’re offering.”

“I’m offering.” Annika’s fingers turned under Lorraine’s and held on. “I want you to touch me. Here. Now. If you want that too.”

“I want that.” Lorraine drew her closer by the wrist, until their knees met and the leather of her thigh pressed the bare skin just above Annika’s stocking. “Come here.”

The first kiss was not careful. Lorraine cupped the back of Annika’s neck and pulled her in, and Annika came with a small hungry sound, mouth opening at once. She tasted of lemon and heat. Lorraine kissed her deeply, unhurried in the way of a woman who had decided she would not be rushed, tongue sliding against Annika’s, teeth catching her lower lip just enough to make her gasp. Annika’s hands found the corset and held on, fingers slipping on the smooth black panels, learning the shape of Lorraine’s waist.

“God,” Annika whispered against her mouth. “You feel—”

“Say it.”

“Hard. Warm. I want more of you.”

Lorraine smiled into the next kiss and let her gloved hand—she had not taken the gloves off; thin black leather, soft from wear—travel down Annika’s side, over the apron, to the curve of her ass. She squeezed, and Annika arched into it, a helpless little roll of her hips that pressed her breasts against the corset. The summer-house seemed smaller. The lake glittered beyond the open wall and neither of them looked at it.

“Stand up,” Lorraine said.

Annika stood. Lorraine stayed seated and reached for the buttons at the front of the dress, working them open one by one while Annika watched her face. The black fabric parted. Under it Annika wore a simple white bra and, when Lorraine pushed the dress down over her hips, plain cotton panties gone a little sheer with sweat. Her body was lush where the uniform had only suggested it: full breasts, a soft stomach, wide hips, thighs that brushed together when she shifted her weight. Lorraine’s breath caught. She had imagined this. The reality was better.

“Beautiful,” she said, and meant it. She slid the dress off Annika’s arms and let it fall over the arm of the bench. The apron went with it. “Turn around. Slowly. I want to see all of you before I take the rest off.”

Annika turned. Sunlight striped her back. Lorraine ran both gloved hands up from the backs of her knees, over the swell of her ass, to the clasp of the bra. She unhooked it. Annika shrugged it off and let it drop, and when she faced Lorraine again her nipples were tight and dark, her chest rising fast.

“The panties too,” Lorraine said. “Unless you want me to ruin them.”

“Take them off me.”

Lorraine hooked her fingers in the waistband and drew them down. Annika stepped out of them, naked except for the sheer stockings and the plain garter belt she wore under the uniform because the marble floors were cool in the mornings. Lorraine left those on. She liked the contrast: bare skin, black elastic, and her own leather so close. She pulled Annika between her knees and pressed her mouth to the soft skin just below her navel, breathing her in. Annika’s hands landed in Lorraine’s hair. She was already wet. Lorraine could smell it, clean and sharp, and the knowledge went through her like a hand between her own legs.

“You’ve been like this since you walked in,” Lorraine murmured against her stomach.

“Since I saw you in the pants.” Annika’s voice shook. “Please. Touch me. I’ve been thinking about your mouth.”

Lorraine kissed lower, just once, a slow open press of her lips to the top of Annika’s mound, and felt the younger woman shudder. Then she sat back, because she wanted this to last, and because the bench behind Annika was wide and cushioned and exactly the right height.

“Turn around,” she said again. “Bend over the bench. Hands on the cushion. I want your ass in the air and I want you to tell me if anything is too much. You say stop, I stop. Understood?”

“Understood.” Annika’s eyes were bright. “I don’t want you to stop.”

She bent. The position opened her, ass raised, back arched, the garter straps framing the curve of her. Lorraine stood and came up behind her, leather pants brushing the backs of Annika’s thighs. She laid one gloved hand on the small of Annika’s back to steady her and brought the other down in a firm, open-palmed smack across her right cheek.

The sound was sharp in the quiet summer-house. Annika jolted and moaned, not in pain so much as surprise and want. A pink flush bloomed under Lorraine’s hand.

“Again?” Lorraine asked.

“Yes. Please. Harder.”

Lorraine spanked her again, and again, alternating sides, the leather of the glove making each strike land with a clean, stinging weight. Annika pushed back into it, thighs trembling, little sounds falling out of her with every blow. Between smacks Lorraine soothed the heat with her palm, squeezing, spreading her, watching the wetness gather and shine between her folds. On the fifth stroke Annika cried out, high and helpless, and Lorraine felt her own cunt clench inside the tight leather.

“Look at you,” she said. “Flushed. Dripping. You like being handled.”

“I like being handled by you.” Annika’s fingers knotted in the cushion. “Lorraine—please, I need your fingers. I’m so wet it almost hurts.”

Lorraine slid her gloved hand down between Annika’s thighs. The leather was smooth and slightly warm. She traced the soaked slit once, slowly, gathering slickness, and Annika whimpered and spread her feet wider on the stone floor. Lorraine pushed two fingers into her, careful of the glove’s thickness, and the heat and softness closed around them at once. Annika was swollen, clutching, so wet the leather shone. Lorraine fucked her with a steady rhythm, thumb finding her clit on each stroke, the other hand gripping her hip hard enough to leave marks she would feel later.

“Oh—oh, that’s—don’t stop.” Annika rocked back onto her hand, chasing it. “Deeper. I can take it. I want it.”

Lorraine gave her a third finger, stretching her, curling just right, and Annika’s knees nearly buckled. She held her up with an arm around her waist and worked her until Annika was gasping, close, shaking, saying her name like a plea. Then Lorraine eased her fingers out, slow, and brought them to Annika’s mouth.

“Taste yourself,” she said.

Annika sucked the leather clean without hesitation, tongue working between Lorraine’s fingers, eyes half-closed. The sight made Lorraine’s breath go ragged. She was aching, the seam of the pants pressed tight against her own clit, the open crotch she had chosen that morning—a private indulgence, a zipper and a slit she could undo without taking anything off—already damp against her skin.

“On your back,” she said. “Now. I want your mouth.”

Annika turned and lay down on the wide bench, hair coming loose, breasts rising, thighs parted. She looked up at Lorraine with an expression that was all hunger and trust. Lorraine stood over her and opened the concealed fastening at the crotch of the leather pants. Cooler air touched her, and then she swung a leg over and lowered herself until she was straddling Annika’s face, leather thighs framing her, the open crotch bared directly over Annika’s mouth.

“Lick me,” she said. “Through nothing. I’m right here. Make me come on your tongue if you can.”

Annika did not wait. She gripped Lorraine’s leather-clad thighs and pulled her down, and her mouth opened against Lorraine’s cunt with a greed that made Lorraine’s head fall back. Hot tongue, flat and sure, licked a long stripe from her entrance up to her clit. Lorraine groaned, low and rough, and ground down, leather creaking, boots planted on either side of the bench. Annika licked her like she had been starving for it—sucking her clit, thrusting her tongue inside, moaning so the vibration went straight through Lorraine’s pelvis. Slick sounds filled the summer-house. Lorraine rode her face in slow circles, then harder, one hand braced on the back of the bench, the other tangled in Annika’s hair.

“That’s it. Good girl. Just like that. Don’t you dare stop.”

Annika didn’t. She held Lorraine open with her thumbs and devoted herself to the swollen bud of her clit, flicking, sucking, then soothing with the flat of her tongue when Lorraine jerked. Lorraine could feel the orgasm gathering, tight and bright, and she chased it, grinding, leather sticking to the sweat on Annika’s cheeks. When it hit she came with a broken sound, hips stuttering, cunt pulsing against Annika’s mouth, flooding her tongue. Annika drank it down and kept licking, gentler, until Lorraine shuddered and lifted herself just enough to breathe.

“Jesus,” Lorraine said, laughing once, shaky. “You magnificent thing.”

Annika’s mouth was wet, her eyes dazed and proud. “I want you inside me. All the way. I saw it in your drawer last week when I was putting away the scarves. The leather one. I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

Lorraine had brought it out to the summer-house that morning and left it under a folded towel on the side table, half hoping, half not letting herself hope. She reached for it now: a thick strap-on, the shaft wrapped in supple black leather over a firm core, the harness already buckled loosely around her hips beneath the open pants, hidden until she needed it. She had worn the harness under the leather all afternoon like a secret promise to herself. She tightened the straps, seated the base against her still-sensitive cunt, and slicked the shaft with the wetness on her fingers and a palmful of oil from the little bottle she kept with it.

Annika watched, lips parted, and spread her thighs wider. “Yes. That. Please fuck me with it.”

“Say you want it.”

“I want you to fuck me. Hard. I want to feel it tomorrow when I make your bed.”

Lorraine knelt between her legs on the cushion and guided the head of the leather-wrapped cock to Annika’s entrance. She pushed in slowly, watching Annika’s face, giving her time to open around the thickness. Annika’s mouth fell open. Her hands flew to Lorraine’s shoulders, then dropped when Lorraine caught her wrists and pinned them above her head against the cushion, leather gloves firm around her pulse.

“Stay,” Lorraine said. “I’ve got you.”

She sank in to the hilt. Annika cried out, back arching, cunt gripping the shaft so tightly Lorraine felt the pressure travel straight to her own clit through the harness. She held there, buried, letting Annika adjust, kissing her mouth, tasting herself on Annika’s tongue. Then she drew back and thrust in again, deeper, and set a rhythm that was deliberate and rough.

The bench creaked. Leather slid against bare skin. Lorraine fucked her in long strokes that bottomed out and made Annika gasp, then shorter, harder ones that slapped their bodies together. She kept Annika’s wrists pinned with one hand and used the other to rub her clit in tight circles, never losing the angle. Annika met every thrust, heels digging into the cushion, stockings rasping against Lorraine’s pants, moaning without shame. Words spilled out of her—yes, harder, don’t stop, you feel so big, I love it, I love your cock, please—and Lorraine answered with her body, driving into her, grinding the base of the strap-on against her own cunt until sparks climbed her spine again.

“Look at me,” Lorraine said, breathless. “I want to see you come.”

Annika’s eyes locked on hers. Her face was flushed, mouth open, utterly lost in it. Lorraine fucked her faster, thumb relentless on her clit, the leather shaft shining with her wetness. Annika’s thighs began to shake. She yanked against the grip on her wrists, not to get free but because she needed something to strain against, and Lorraine held her down and gave her everything.

Annika came with a loud, breaking cry that carried out over the water and came back softer off the stone. Her cunt clenched in hard pulses around the shaft, milking it, and the sight and the pressure and the sound dragged Lorraine over with her. She shoved in deep and ground there, coming again, sharper this time, a white-hot clench that made her vision blur. She kept moving through it in small helpless thrusts, fucking them both through the aftershocks until Annika was whimpering and oversensitive and Lorraine’s arms were trembling.

They stayed like that, joined, breathing hard, foreheads nearly touching. Sweat cooled on Lorraine’s collarbones. Annika’s wrists flexed once under her gloves, and Lorraine let them go at once, bringing those hands to her mouth to kiss the insides of her wrists.

“All right?” she asked, voice rough.

“Better than all right.” Annika laughed, wrecked and happy, and pulled Lorraine down into a kiss that was slower now, sweet with salt and satisfaction. “Don’t pull out yet. Just—stay a second.”

Lorraine stayed. The lake glittered beyond the slats. A breeze moved through the summer-house and lifted the damp hair at Annika’s temple. When the trembling eased, Lorraine withdrew carefully, inch by inch, and set the harness aside. She gathered Annika against her on the wide bench, leather still warm between them, Annika’s bare leg thrown over hers, and kissed her again—temple, mouth, the corner of her jaw—until Annika sighed and went soft in her arms.

They watched the sunlight break and scatter on the water. Annika’s fingers traced the lacing of the corset, idle and fond.

“This doesn’t have to be once,” Lorraine said. “If you want it. I want you in this summer-house whenever the heat gets like this. I want you in my bed when the evenings cool off. It can be part of what you do here. Not instead of the work. Alongside it. Because we both want it.”

Annika smiled against her shoulder, sated and sure. “I want it. Regularly. You can consider it agreed.”

They kissed again, unhurried, while the fan turned and the ice melted and the lake kept its bright, indifferent shine. Lorraine held her and did not say, not yet, that a second pair of leather pants—cut for Annika’s hips, soft as the ones she wore now—was already waiting in a box on the chair in her dressing room, ordered weeks ago on a hope she had not dared to speak. Annika did not need to know that today. Today there was only this: skin, leather, sunlight, and the quiet certainty that they would be here again.