Images In a Fractured Mirror IX
The picture on the screen is restricted, the viewpoint static, a scratch or hair in the gate drawing a blemish across the scene. Muffled snatches of sound come through: the blonde is speaking to the smaller dark haired woman, who nods emphatically. The blonde shrugs, shoves the other woman towards the bed.
The blonde seems to be getting worked up, poking and prodding. The brunette is hurrying to get undressed, impeded by the blonde's harassment. Once the brunette is naked she stands submissively as the blonde continues her assault. The blonde grasps a handful of the other's long dark hair and turns her face up. A question; an unsatisfactory answer? The blonde slaps her, and the brunette's face flushes darkly. The blonde releases her hold to slap her face again, the other side, methodical and cold.
Now the brunette is bent forward, her face registering the pain as the blonde knots her fingers in the thick hair and forces her down. The sharp report is loud enough hear clearly, the brunette jerking and struggling, the impression of a hand clearly imprinted on her pale skin. The blonde is laughing as she pulls the brunette by the hair, jerking her repeatedly off balance as she continues to spank her, each slap hard and precise. The brunette's yells faintly audible after each slap.
The brunette is thrown onto the bed and the blonde pins her down before starting on her with a hairbrush. The brunette is struggling but cannot displace the blonde's superior weight. The flesh rippling under each blow of the hairbrush is clearly visible.
The blonde rolls her victim face up: the tear tracks down her cheeks sparkle in the light of the solitary lamp by the bed. The brunette's mouth opens in silent pain as the blonde twists her nipples. She lies, seemingly powerless to resist as the blonde stands back running the thongs of a black leather flogger between her fingers. The blonde strikes, the thongs slashing a broad fan across the stomach and breasts of the open waiting body. The brunette jerks convulsively, her right hand flying out and sending the table lamp toppling to the floor.
With the fall of the lamp the scene vanishes, the blackness broken only by the small red recording light's reflection scattered and elongated in a flaw. There is the faint sound of a scuffle and the scene flairs into visibility again as the main light is switched on. The blonde is curled up in one corner in some distress: the brunette is hurriedly pulling on the last of her clothes.
The brunette's face comes closer to the camera, peering uncertainly, holding something in her hand. The light flares again as the tinted glass screen shatters and the final image is of the brunette reaching for the camera.
Molly flicked the video remote to 'off'. The tape was an unexpected bonus to her afternoon's diversion. And she'd thought it quite justified to take back the blonde domme's fee, in the circumstances.
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