PRIDE & Punishment
God, Cora Jameson tasted good. Like the sweet, spicy ginger candies she loved so much. That, mixed with the heat of her mouth, was intoxicating.
Pip Jones pushed their protest signs to the floor, hearing the poster board and plastic handles hit the floor with a clatter, before she hopped up on the table. Leaning down to bite Cora’s bottom lip, Pip wrapped her long, pecan-colored legs around the Cora’s bared, aspen-shaded waist. Pip smiled against the shorter woman 's lips when Cora’s hands moved higher up her thighs, lifting her skirt with them.
“Rainbow panties?” Cora laughed and brushed her finger against the brightly colored satin.
Pip shrugged and arched into the touch. “Well, it is PRIDE.” Her breath hitched when Cora's finger dipped beneath her panties' elastic hem. “The most wonderful time of the year.”
“Not so much this year.”
Pip straightened a bit at Cora’s bitter tone. Not that she blamed her. Not when, earlier this month, just in time for PRIDE, President Rosen announced his plans to strengthen religious freedom laws. At the expense of women, people of color, and the LGBTQ+ community. Laws that, under the guise of protecting people of faith, sought to strip people of their civil liberties, their freedom, their homes, their healthcare, and their dignity. Pip, as a black, bisexual woman, understood that bitterness and the beaten down look in Cora’s eyes all too well.
It was why she’d come here, with her walking shoes on and her protest sign in hand, at eight in the morning—an ungodly hour on the Sunday of PRIDE weekend—still sore and weary and a bit hung over from Saturday night’s festivities, to the parking lot of her local CLPA, Civil Liberties Protection Association, to protest the present administration and to protect something no one should ever have to: her right to be.
She’d never been a particularly political person. Sure, she’d grip and debate about the state of the world on occasion before, but her world felt different now, since Rosen took the White House. On the campaign trail, he’d sworn to “Make America Rise Again,” bringing it back to a decade where people who looked like her were seen as different. As less than. Watching the president’s announcement on her phone that morning, on her way home from work, had made her feel so alone. So isolated and almost attacked by her own country. By her home.
It wasn’t right.
Even last night, thrashing and losing herself at the dance clubs with Harlan and Max, it’d felt different this year. Instead of a joyous celebration of community and progress, every movement and note had felt like a burst of emotion. A mad mix of rage, hurt, and defiance. She’d made sure each swing of her hips and shimmy of her breasts were a writhing, grinding middle finger to Rosen and his conservative cronies. Even surrounded by the thick throng of sweaty, swaying bodies filling the club, even while she’d danced with her friends in the deafening dark, Pip had felt hotly rebellious but still alone. It’d reminded her too much of her younger days in high school and college, proud in her heart of who she knew herself to be but stuck in the shadows of the closet.
But, this morning, from the moment she’d parked—three blocks away from the site because she couldn’t find any available spaces closer—something had changed. Looking around in the early sun’s light, Pip has seen pink pussy hats, homemade signs, and rainbow flags and prints everywhere she went. As she’d walked closer to the march meet-up, she couldn’t help but smile.
She’d been surrounded by strangers united by the same defiant desire for dignity. Those like her who refused to have their humanity had been denied gathered in one spot.
It’d felt like coming home again.
The sudden feeling of inclusion and welcome had washed over her, overwhelming her. She’d felt like smiling and crying at the same time. It hadn’t taken long before she spotted familiar faces—friends and lovers from her queer and kinky spaces—in the crowd. Max and Danielle, the kink community organizers were out with bullhorns leading the crowd in protest chants. Elin and Kat were selling PRIDE merchandise—beads and bandanas and tote bags—at the CLPA tables. Even Rand, a cop who’d always been so careful to keep his personal and professional life separate, had a rainbow hanky tucked into the back pocket of his jeans while he talked to the march’s uniform officers on duty.
And then there was Cora. Beautiful in her intricately tied rope crop top, a swirl and twist of color twining around and binding her breasts, offering peeks and teases of tattoos along her body. Pip hadn’t been able to take her eyes off Cora as they marched together, hoisting their signs and chanting in unison. It’d been so hard to wait until the march at least started to die down a bit before dragging Cora off to an abandoned storage room in a nearby parking garage.
But, now, that Pip had her here, she was not going to let that sense of bitter isolation creep back in.
No. PRIDE was about community. About connection. She wasn’t going to let anyone take that away from her.
So, she tucked her fingertips between the ropes of Cora’s top and tugged the woman closer. “Well, you were well on your way to making my PRIDE pretty damned wonderful.”
Cora let out a breathy laugh, heat rising again in her eyes. “Oh yeah?”
Pip nodded her head. “Uh-huh. Wanna keep going?”
Cora tilted her head thoughtfully. “I don’t know if you’ve earned it.”
Pip snorted. “Says Miss Strolled in at Noon. I’ve been here, marching my butt off, since eight!”
“Marching your butt off, huh?” Cora arched her eyebrow.
Pip barely had time to gasp before Cora gripped her by the waist, tugging her off the table. But her finger tangled in one of the colorful CPLA necklaces draping down Cora’s chest, causing the string of plastic beads to break while Cora flipped her so she was bent over, belly-down ass-up.
Cora tsked. “Look what you’ve done.” She bent down and retrieved the beads. “Each of these cost me a dollar.”
“I’m sorry.” Except Pip wasn’t sure she was. Not while Cora trailed the beads over the patch of skin revealed between the hem of her shirt and the band of her skirt. Besides, Cora had, like, ten of them around her neck.
“You should be.” Cora sighed disappointedly as she let the long string of beads to pool in a cool coil against that heated bit of flesh. “Breaking things and lying to me.”
“When did I lie?”
“Right here.” Cora tugged the band of Pip’s skirt until both it and her rainbow panties slid over the toned cheeks of her ass. “You told me that you’d marched your butt off.” Cora murmured low as she caressed Pip’s ass. “Looks like your butt’s doing just fine.” She pinched one cheek and chuckled. “Better than fine.”
Pip giggled and wriggled her ass a bit beneath Cora’s touch. “Better make sure.”
“I think I’d better.” She trailed her fingers over Pip’s back, tapping her fingers gently over the long column of her spine. “The question is how.” She let out a wicked laugh that had Pip craning her back and neck to see what the other woman was up to. Cora reached around her neck and took off the beads still hanging there. She gathered the ends in her hand, letting the strings flow out one side, before she struck her forearm with the makeshift flogger.
Pip pushed up onto her hands. “You can’t be serious.”
“You know me.” Cora’s grin widened toothily while she caught the beads now sliding down Pip’s butt. “This is my serious face.”
Yes, it was. Pip’s pulse raced at the determined expression on her face and the playful light in her eyes. God, yes. “But not too hard though.” Even plastic beads could leave welts, if swung hard enough, and Pip didn’t really want to deal with the hassle of marks at the start of swimsuit season.
“Understood.” Cora nodded. “But first,” she said, setting aside her beads, “we need to tie you up.”
Of course. Pip snorted at the incorrigible rope top. “Well, it’s not as if you don’t have enough rope.”
“Psh.” Cora waved her hand toward her breasts. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to do this? There’s a reason I didn’t show up until noon.”
She shook her head. “No, we can do better than that.” Then she reached for the collar Pip had around her throat. “Perfect!”
Pip rolled her eyes. “Beads for a flogger, a collar for cuffs. You’re practically kinky fairy godmother.”
Cora smirked and nodded, grabbing Pip’s wrist in one hand at the small of her back. “Except, in this case, my wish is your command.”
Pip snickered until she felt Cora’s grip falter. She looked back again, wondering at the hesitant look on the woman’s face. “What's wrong?”
———
Cora sighed and rolled her shoulders uncomfortably. She had no idea how to explain why this suddenly felt wrong. But, looking at Pip’s beautiful, soft, clove-shaded wrists held tight in her own pale, tapioca white hands...it all just felt tainted.
“Cora?”
Cora released Pip and stepped back. “It's nothing.”
Pip tugged her skirt and panties back on. “Sure seems like something.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “So let’s talk about it.”
Cora winced. “It sounds dumb.”
“Tell me anyway.”
Cora bit her lip. “It just doesn’t feel right, right now.”
“What doesn’t?”
“This. Us.” She shook her head when Pip’s eyes widened with hurt. She wasn’t explaining this well. “I mean, with the president running around telling the country that they should be afraid and suspicious of people of color and immigrants and our attorney general calling for harsher crackdowns on his own brand of law and order while protecting cops who take a shoot-first attitude toward…”
Pip cringed and sighed. “People who look like me.” She shook her head. “What does that have to do with anything?”
She told Pip it sounded stupid. “It’s just…” She grunted frustratedly. “With all that, how can I…” She clenched the collar in her hands. “Much less…” She waved her hand toward—Jesus—the flogger. Cora closed her eyes and buried her head in her hands. How culturally insensitive could she be right now? What what she thinking?
Pip touched Cora’s shoulder. “We’ve played together before and you never seemed bothered by it then?”
She knew that. But, instead of being comforting, it made her feel worse. “Things are different now.” For God’s sake, they were at a march fighting for their right to be themselves. To love who they wanted to love. To live how they wanted to live. To be treated with the same respect everyone else in this world got to have.
They shouldn’t have to do this.
In the face of all that, how did they do this? “It didn’t used to be like this.” Sex. Play. With all this tension in at the forefront, how could Cora play act some sexy, kinky game—however unintentionally—at the injustices rearing its ugly head in the worst ways? “All I can see is me, this white woman, doing this to you…”
“A black woman.” Pip smiled. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I was just as black the last time we played.”
She knew that too. “But it feels different now.” She couldn’t look at the world today and not see it all differently now.
Pip reached for Cora’s hand, her collar pressed between their palms. “Even if this is what I want.” She leaned down and kissed Cora, touching her hand to tip up the other woman’s chin. “If you’re what I want.”
Cora sighed and kissed her back. God, she wanted Pip too. She just didn’t know, with the weight of the world around them, how to want her. She pulled away slightly, just to rest her head against Pip’s shoulder. “Tell me what you want.” Tell me how to do this.
Pip cupped the back of her head, running her hand through Cora’s short brown hair. “You’re right. The world is crap right now.” She turned Cora’s face to look into her eyes. “And, to be honest, it’s always been crap; we’re just seeing it more clearly now.” She wrapped her arms around Cora and squeezed. “But, right now, I want to stop thinking about it. I want you to stop the world, if just for a moment.” She kissed Cora again, longer, sweeter. Against her lips, Pip murmured low, “I want you to tie me up and spank my ass until the world disappears and all I can think about is you and what you make me feel.”
A small laugh slipped past Cora’s lips. She could do that. If that was what Pip wanted, she could do that. Cora caressed Pip’s cheek before pulling her in for a kiss. She moaned and licked her lips, smiling when Pip opened her mouth, welcoming Cora’s tongue. Cora wanted little more than to melt into that kiss.
So she did.
For a moment.
A long, amazing moment.
Then she held Pip at arms-length. Pip arched a curious eyebrow at her, but Cora just smiled and narrowed her gaze. She tilted her chin down, but pointed an intimidating look up at Pip—a short girl’s trick that came in exceedingly handy as a top. Her chest swelled with pride when she saw Pip’s eyes widen and her breath catch. Pip did so love a strong-handed woman. Cora held out her hand and in an uncompromising tone, she said, “Wrists.”
Pip grinned and her eyes were alight with anticipation. She held out her hands, wrists together and palms up. The gesture was so trusting, so inviting, and so very, very promising, Cora felt her heart rate race and her body heat. She leaned down and pressed her lips to each wrist before twisting the collar tight around them both. Truth be told, it wasn’t a good hold. All Pip had to do was twist her wrists to slip free. In fact, she would likely have to be careful how she struggled against the binding to be sure she didn’t break free from it too easily.
But Cora was working with what she had and it would have to do. “Is this okay?”
Cora held her breath and watched Pip swivel her wrists, testing the tie to find out what, given the constraints, what she could and couldn’t do. Cora let out a relieved sigh when Pip shifted her wrists, consciously causing the leather to twist and trap, before she looked back up at Cora.
I want this. The thought was so clear in Pip’s eyes. I want you.
Cora reached for the discarded beads again. “Turn around.”
Pip turned, tugging her skirt and panties down so they fell to her feet, and Cora’s body tensed in guilty arousal. She looked down at the vulnerable position Pip was in, back bent, feet spread wide. Pip was bared before her, open and giving. Her fist tightened around the makeshift beaded flogger, feeling the plastic bite into her flesh.
God help her, Cora did find that shift of power, the sweet sign of submission in Pip’s stance and the rush of dominance coursing through herself, so fucking hot, but it wasn’t about race. Sure, Cora couldn’t lie, it was in part about Pip’s gorgeous body bent over, her smooth, dark skin stretched taut over the curves of her hips as she gave a playful, excited wiggle of her ass. But, when Cora gazed at Pip, she didn’t see politics. She saw Pip. Her play partner. It wasn’t that the inevitable cultural baggage between them didn’t exist—of course, it did and there wasn’t anything either of them could do to change that. But they were so much more than just that.
They had their relationship, this incredible mix of friendship and attraction. And, for Cora, there was a kind of power in looking at centuries of heavy history and division and, while not denying the effect it had on them and what they were to each other, knowing it did not have to define them.
I want you to stop the world, if just for a moment.
Cora wasn’t sure she could actually do that. But, for Pip, she wanted to try.
So she tightened her grip on the beads and struck her forearm again, to both build Pip’s tension—letting her hear the sharp lash—and to remind herself how hard to strike to hurt, but not harm. After all, this was about pleasure as much as it was about pain. It was about reaching a level of pleasure one could only experience through pain.
Cora smiled at the way Pip’s thighs flexed for a moment in anticipation. Cora placed a grounding hand on the small of Pip’s back, helping to ease her. She instantly felt the woman’s body relax under her touch. “Ready?”
Pip nodded. “Yes.”
Good. Cora pulled the beads taut between her hands and aimed, before letting them hit firmly, but not hard. She made sure the beaded tails connected in a group along the side of her hip with an almost tender thud, dulling the ends’ sting on the fleshiest part of her behind. Cora was pleased when Pip’s ass gave a shocked little bounce before pushing out again as if seeking another strike.
So Cora gave her one before asking, “Harder or softer?” She knew the answer, had learned it during all their past play and could read it now in the way Pip squirmed, but she wanted to hear her say it.
“Harder.” Pip’s voice was low and throaty with need. “Please.”
Cora grinned. Good. She pulled her toy back again and hit the same spot but with a bit more force. The skin bloomed a dark rose beneath Pip’s pecan skin. Cora let her hand slid down to caress the reddened flesh, both thrilling at the heat there as well as soothing the sting. Then her hand returned to the base of Pip’s back. “Harder or softer?”
Pip arched her back, defiantly ready. “Harder.”
All right. This time, she changed the angle this time, striking the center of her ass so the sensation spread along both cheeks. It wasn't that she'd swung any harder, rather Cora made certain her strike would be more keenly felt. Cora wanted to whoop at Pip’s breathy gasp that swiftly turned into a moan. “Careful,” she warned, nodding to the small room’s window that was opened just a crack, “don’t want anyone to know what we’re doing in here, do we?”
Pip bit her lip and swallowed the sounds of her pleasure, but Cora had a better idea. Through the window, she could still hear the small, but resilient crowd chanting. “No hate, no fear. Everyone is welcome here. No hate, no fear…” She felt a wave of pride that, even this far away, the sounds of the march could still be heard. She leaned down and stroked Pip back and whispered against her heated flesh, “No hate, no fear…”
She grinned when Pip responded softly, but gamely with the rest of the chant. “…Everyone is welcome here.”
With that, Cora stood tall and took aim. “No hate, no fear…” She struck.
After a sharp intake of breath, Pip replied a little louder, “Everyone is welcome here.”
Good. Cora changed her style again, this time gathering the flogger’s tails more loosely, allowing them to strike Pip’s ass in a wider burst so those ends snapped her skin with more sting, causing Pip to squeal out the end of her chant. Cora paused and let Pip catch her breath, stoking Pip’s behind, while the protesters outside switched chants.
Cora thought a change of pace did sound nice. So she set aside the beads and reached down for her sign.
“Aww,” Pip sighed sadly when Cora tore the plastic stick from her sign, “I really liked your sign. Why would you ruin it?”
Cora looked down at the now ripped poster board reading, “Love is love is love is love” in large, bubbly, colorful letters. She just shrugged. “The march is almost over anyway.”
Pip shrugged. “It’s not as if there won’t be more marches.”
Cora wrinkled her nose. Yeah, that was true. Given the state of the world, this was not their last protest. She leaned down and kissed the base of Pip’s back. “We can make new ones together next time, okay?” For right now, Cora paused to listen to the marchers still going strong below. She aimed the stick, bringing it close to Pip butt only to draw it back again. “When civil rights are under attack, what do we do?” She snapped the stick against the sweet spot of Pip ass, just under the delectable curves where her thighs meet her behind.
Pip jerked against the table and threw back her head, joining in with the new chant, “Rise up, fight back!”
“What do we do?” Cora cracked the stick again.
“Rise up, fight back!”
Fuck, yeah. Cora swung again and again, keeping time with the protest cries like a lust-fueled drum beat. Cora stared at the fading, almost rope-like marks left by the beaded flogger and the darker red crisscross of the stick’s strikes. She sank into the rhythm of their combined voices—yes, she and Pip, but also the crowd outside—making the intimate scene in this storage room feel somehow larger, connected to something more meaningful in both the wider world as well as within.
It was too good, the sight and sound of Pip pleasure. She dropped the stick to the ground to cup Pip ass in her hands, feeling her heated blush against her palms as Pip pushed into her touch. Cora closed her eyes and focused on the needy sounds that dripped between Pip now breathy words, feeding the need building within Cora too. Cora squeezed Pip’s flushed flesh. “More?”
Pip groaned. “God, yes.”
“What do you need?”
“You.” She swallowed hard. “Inside me. Now.”
Cora made a low, satisfied sound when she reached between Pip’s thighs and felt the woman’s wetness, thick and silky. She dipped her fingertips into Pip’s liquid heat just deep enough to tease, to tempt. Pip gave a longing moan as Cora pulled her fingers back.
Poor Pip, she would have to be patient. Cora had every intention of sinking her fingers deep within her. But she wasn't quite done playing yet. Sliding between her slick lips, Cora found Pip’s eager clit. She rubbed the ready flesh, loving how Pip’s hips would grind in time to her touch. Her voice sounded harsh and husky, hoarse and raw from all her earlier, impassioned cries. Cora could hear Pip’s pleasure peek with each guttural grunt and groan. Could feel it in the flood of heat flowing onto her palm. She was almost there. So close to the edge. All she needed was a push.
So Cora did, plunging her fingers deep within her, even as her other hand continued to caress her clit. Curling her fingers, she thrust in and out of her at an insistent pace. She bit her lip and reveled in the tight clench of Pip’s wet pussy as their flesh gripped and slipped together. Her movements and moans turned frantic as Pip raced toward release.
Then her body tensed against Cora’s on a sharp inhale. Keeping her fingers still inside her, marveling in the snug seize and slack of Pip’s orgasm, Cora wrapped her other arm around the woman's waist, holding her up while Pip’s knees buckled.
They stayed like that for a long moment, with Pip lost in sensation while Cora stood strong and in awe with this amazing woman in her arms. Slowly and a little reluctantly, she slipped her fingers from Pip so she could pull her tight against her, wishing this moment would last forever.
———
Pip sighed as she slid, blissfully boneless, in Cora’s embrace until she sunk her pleasure-lost weight onto the cool cloth of her skirt and panties that still sat pooled at Cora’s feet. She took deep, shaky breaths and rested the back of her head against Cora’s soft, bared belly while the world came back to her. “Thank you.” The words sounded distant and weak, even to her own ears, but she felt them echo, so sincere, in her soul. “Thank you.”
With her wrists still bound, Pip turned and struggled to face Cora on the floor, resting against the leg of the table. Looking up, Pip met Cora’s gaze, seeing an intoxicating swirl of heat and tenderness there. Pip smiled before reaching out with both hands to tug at the band of Cora’s shorts, pulling her closer. She undid the buttons, tugged on the zipper, then slowly, inch by inch, peeled the fabric down Cora’s body.
Spreading Cora’s legs, Pip pressed nipping kisses all along her partner’s thighs. Pip leaned in and, while the tremors of her climax still throbbed between her legs, inhaled the scent of aroused woman. Fuck. Her mouth watered. Hungry, she nuzzled the curls Cora’s mound. “How should I thank you?”
Cora’s eyes fluttered and her hand rested on Pip’s shoulder. “Why don’t you tell me?”
Pip peeked her tongue out to tease Cora’s pink flesh. “Why don’t I show you?” She flicked her tongue over Cora’s clit, making her gasp and tighten her grip on her shoulder, before Pip closed her mouth over that needy nub. She suckled and licked that slick silken skin, Cora’s taste and scent overwhelming. Wanting more of her, Pip reached up and slipped her fingers inside Cora’s core.
Pip could hear Cora moan as she rode Pip’s fingers, pumping Pip deeper within her and tasting sweeter, hotter. “Faster.” Her nails dug into Pip’s shoulder. “More.” Pip felt Cora’s knees begin to weaken, but still she sucked. “Please.”
Pip twisted her wrists and freed her hands, just as Cora’s back arched and her head fell back. Cora cried out, her pleasure a burst of sound covered only by the crowd outside still chanting. “Love, not hate, makes America great. Love, not hate...”
Pip caught her as Cora’s knees gave way and she fell into Pip’s waiting arms. With her mouth still sticky with Cora, she kissed up along Cora’s arm, her shoulder, her neck, then her lips.
“Dear God.” Cora’s weight was welcoming and warm against Pip’s and Cora’s breath was hot against her neck. “Thank you.”
Pip kissed Cora’s temple, the rebellious yet rejoicing sound of love and freedom streaming through the window and filling the small room. Pip sighed, leaning against the table again, and pulled Cora close. “You’re very welcome.”
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