Clara’s view was that her place was to give Jen the answers she wanted, which were not usually predefined and frequently not traditional; it was also her job to entertain her, and when what she wanted was to make Clara snap and say, “Fuck you,” the best way to amuse her was to push back by smiling sweetly, saying, “Yes, Mistress,” and doing whatever was technically ordered.
Tonight was one such night.
Jen had been buried in something for work most of the morning, and in a playful, touchy mood most of the afternoon. She came up behind her while she was making a late dinner repeatedly and touched her and teased her and smacked her with whatever was closest.
Dinner ready and on the table, she ordered her to kneel next to her, ignored her for a few minutes, and then started feeding her pieces of food from the neglected plate she’d set for herself. First on a fork, then with her fingers, then simply tossed a piece onto the floor next to her and gave her a challenging look, a swat on the wrist when she reached for it with her hand. Clara glared at her.
“You might want to beat the cats to that if you’re hungry,” Jen said, eyeing the two that were approaching. Clara closed her eyes and obeyed. At least she’d cleaned the floors earlier.
The rest of dinner went like that, and only one of the cats remained interested enough to need nudges out of the way, which of course made Jen laugh and Clara scowl.
“Last one,” Jen told her, and when Clara had eaten it, she smiled at her. “What do you say?”
Clara mirrored the sarcastic smile back at her. “Thank you, Mistress,” she said, voice dripping sweetness.
Jen smiled at her again. “Run.”
In the split second before the chaos, Jen reflected that it was one of those orders that one of those shy and obsequious types she had tried dynamics with again and again wouldn’t have obeyed. They valued the appearance of submission, their reputation, more than her, more than the reality. Thought they knew what she should want because so many seemed to want the same thing. Told her she wasn’t demanding enough when she tossed aside certain etiquette but defied her when she did make a demand like this that actually pushed them. Couldn’t handle orders that challenged the traditional norms of respect and deference.
But Clara could. Without question. She took off in the opposite direction as fast as she could get up from the floor, and Jen stood and caught her quickly, grabbed her wrist; Clara twisted her way out, flailed her other arm out of her reach. Jen’s fingers brushed her waist but didn’t manage to grab her—she could get a better edge on the stairs, if she could make it that far. Jen caught her collar but the grip was fragile—still, she choked for a moment as she twirled out of her grasp and it threw her off enough for Jen to almost manage to trip her, but she stumbled and recovered instead as Jen swiped at her hair. Ran.
Stairs. Jen failed to trip her again. She was several steps ahead by the top, a cat darting out of the way, managed to get a shut door between them to stall, for a moment, Jen flinging it open as soon as it hit the frame; Clara grabbed a spare blanket, tried to use it to keep space between them but had to surrender it to not get tangled herself. Jen caught her arm; she pulled, but the grip was good this time, painful, though she stumbled over the blanket now on the floor. Jen pushed her against the wall. Her other arm was pinned; didn’t flail fast enough. She squirmed, but it didn’t work this time.
Jen let go of her with one hand for a moment, but not long enough, shifting to pin her one handed and produce a knife with the other, managing to flick it open at her throat without letting her go again. “I can improvise weapons, too,” she said.
Clara’s eyes flicked down, though the blade was too close to see. “I don’t think that’s improvised.”
Jen laughed, a little breathlessly, and let her go, folded the blade back into the handle and put it back in the pocket it had been in. “And what do you want to do now, darling~?” she asked, kissing her cheek.
“Shower and go to bed?” Clara asked hopefully, knowing she was unlikely to get it.
But, “Fine idea,” said Jen cheerfully; “I’ll help you.”
Of course there was going to be a catch.
Jen led her by the hand to the bathroom and turned the shower on, turned all the way to cold.
“I’ll kill you,” said Clara before she could stop herself.
“Mm, I don’t think so. You’re like, as dangerous as the cats.”
“There are cat species that could tear you apart.”
“Yes. But not you, darling. You’re a spoiled little house pet who needs table scraps. You wouldn’t make it in the wild,” Jen cooed, playing with a few strands of her hair.
“At least I didn’t make it through the third series of Warriors and think kittypet jokes are a valid form of degradation.”
Jen hit her. Clara laughed, unable to help herself, as reflexive as reeling. “At least I didn’t read all thirty-four books of Gor,” Jen countered.
“At least I got into Warriors because I was living with an eleven year old with a special interest.”
“I’ll kill you.”
Clara laughed again.
Jen tugged at her shirt. “Strip.”
“Yes, Mistress.” There was that sweet smile again. She undressed without making a show of it, but Jen’s eyes followed her movements anyway. The moment she was done, Jen shoved her towards the shower hard enough she stumbled over the edge of the tub trying to not just run into it, and as the cold water hit her, she scrambled against the far wall of the shower in a flurry of motion that resembled a startled cat.
Jen laughed and yanked her to her knees by her collar, effectively forcing her into the water. Clara gasped and shivered, goosebumps rising on her skin, arms wrapped around herself protectively, though she leaned back, away from the water, as if it would make a difference.
“Cold?”
Fuck. You. “Y-yes, Mistress.” She yelped and jumped when Jen splashed some of the water towards her face, the cold quickly absorbed by the metal bits of her collar.
“Poor darling. You just can’t escape me tonight, can you? And you’re trying so hard to be good and I just keep being mean to you, don’t I? Here, let me help.” She grabbed the bar of soap and ran it under the water briefly, then held it to Clara’s lips. “Open,” she ordered, and Clara relented and took it. “See, that’s better,” said Jen, withdrawing her hand and petting her hair where it was almost still dry. “Now you don’t have to worry about your words. You can’t say anything like that. And after, hopefully they’ll be a little cleaner, won’t they?”
It was barely worth glaring at someone when you were in a freezing shower on your knees, trying hard to balance a bar of soap in your teeth to keep it off your tongue, jaw shaking from the cold and effort. The soapy water on it had definitely dripped into tasting range, though. It wasn’t strong, but it was unpleasant.
Jen pressed on the drain to plug it. The cold water started to pool, lapping at Clara's legs. Fuck.
“I’ll tell you what,” Jen said sweetly. “I’ll unplug that when you come. And you can have some warm water and rinse your mouth out. Would you like that?”
Small, shivering nod. Almost dropped the soap entirely.
“Then you better start trying.”
She shifted, gasping ineffectively around the soap as the water flooded new places, and started touching herself. God, she wanted to come and have this be over with, but her freezing body had other ideas. She whimpered, pressing at her clit desperately trying to at least get wet enough for penetration to let her come quickly, an old standby.
When she slipped her fingers farther back, she was surprised that she was fairly wet already, thrill and humiliation, maybe. Also practically underwater, wet in another sense. She tried to find a good angle, slip one finger inside herself, then two. At least that felt warm. She moaned, bit into the soap harder despite herself. It had been a while, for her—days; if Jen let her come as promised tonight, it would be almost worth it.
“Do you enjoy doing this in front of me?” Jen asked her as if she could answer. “Touching yourself for my entertainment? All gagged with soap like a disobedient child?”
Clara whimpered; arousal, at least, seemed to be warming her up, even as the water neared her hips. Moved her fingers faster and prayed. Knew, a second before she did, that it was going to happen—the soap fell from her mouth as the shaking got out of control, the bar just a little too thick.
Jen laughed as it fell in the shallow water with a loud thud. Picked it up. Clara tried to spit out the soapy water in her mouth, though the actual bits of soap weren’t budging, and this made it somewhat worse. Jen ran the bar near where her fingers were trying to work a miracle, until she moved them out of the way at her nudging, let her get some of her fluids on it if anything stuck despite the water. Jen withdrew it quickly. “Go on.”
Clara went back to what she’d been doing; God, she hated that this—all of this—turned her on. Jen placed the soap back in her mouth. The effect of using it on her was very faint, more a scent than a taste, but there. The fresh run through the water made it lather even more in her mouth.
She moved her fingers faster, willing herself to reach that edge. She barely felt the water, the cold and shivering now a background sensation, waterline nearing her waist, kneeling.
“If that water gets deep enough to be convenient, I’ll drown you in it,” Jen threatened. “Would you like that?”
Clara whimpered around the soap gag. Probably. Yet, right now, she just desperately wanted an orgasm and a warm shower and to not be holding this fucking soap in her mouth, and bed.
“You would, wouldn’t you?” Jen asked. She splashed more of the water at her. Clara yelped, as much as she could. God, she was close to that edge, not there, but in that zone, where she knew she could near it— “Useless little masochist. Can’t help yourself. You like suffering for me, don’t you? Being my little plaything I can torment for fun?” She yanked at her hair, forcing her to look up at her.
That was it—something in the pain, even slight with all they did considered, of that yank on her hair, got her very close to that edge. It should have distracted her, but she didn’t stop her ministrations. Barely there, but… want became need, pain fading out, cold fading out, discomfort fading out, humiliation fading out, everything just fuel for near blinding arousal.
She whimpered a plea that must have been wordless to Jen’s ears, but she said, “Come.”
Clara did. Her body trembled with it in a way that felt different from her shivers; she cried out and barely noticed she had dropped the soap again. She panted as her hand slowed and reality returned. Not the strongest orgasm she’d ever had, but God, it would do.
Jen laughed, watching her come down. “This would be a rough angle for drowning, still,” she said, eyeing the water solidly at Clara’s waist but no higher. It was a slightly generous assessment. She turned the water to warm and pulled the drain.
Clara sighed in multiple forms of relief as she started to thaw from the cold, a stiffness fading from her muscles she had barely been aware of over the sharp surface sensation. Her jaw stopped shaking, but she was still trying to avoid tasting the soapy water. “Thank you, Mistress,” she got out finally. Not a rule, but a habit nonetheless.
“You’re welcome. I’ll see you in bed.”