In Fier City, south of Les Spirites, a click of lesbians travels.
Near the skirts of the city is a compound of lesbians.
The fence is linked. As their car passes the fence, they exchange sighs (of comfort, relief).
At night: as beautiful California was, no one lingers in the dark in the city.
The governess ‘Karen’ greets them. She has brilliant red hair (but it changes every year).
Lauren, Kara, Kelly, Erica, Grace, and Lizbeth greet her with a kiss. They then retreat into their condo: warm, safe, slightly buzzed with alcohol, the stillness of CA air calming them.
Heat flows through the room vents.
Kara and Lauren slowly undress in their room, passing kisses.
Erica – a lithe Irish-German from the tip of northern Texas – sprawls in a chair: her lower nether region exposed to her lesbian lover ‘Grace’. Grace explored it with full lips and tongue in a usual rhythm manner.
For the night, in this compound, a square two miles of land was theirs. By morning, they each go back to their respective lives as hair-dressers, business-women, bartenders, RN, and paralegals. But here: it was no-mans land. Women on women in their own blissful night.
In one room was a chair, crafted carefully. It is oval, sleek, and has straps, a high rise in the rear that accentuated the back. Within the hour, a lesbian would be sitting in it, straped at the thigh, with a woman making love to her lower pelvic region.
Kara and Lauren french-kiss through the hour. Erica groans slightly, not from pain. A knock on the door: Erica is minutes from sweet release. ‘A minute’, she says to the door, her lips parts in anticipation, pearly white teeth showing.
The knock persists: Erica groans from frustration. She sends Grace to the door. Two lesbians stand outside.
As it happened a rash of looting gripped California. That night: a looter passed through the compound’s lax security: but the guards catch her. But it was a problem: it was another lesbian, from Texas: ‘Marian’. They didn’t generally turn on their own: much less convict them of crimes on the compound. Since Karen passed leadership to Lizbrun, the rules changes slightly. Erica hands the matter of Marian to Lizbrun.
Lizbrun is a German lesbian, with strong muscular body. She didn’t formally command lesbians: but she has to uphold a rule. Crime in the compound and its remedy means sitting in the chair, strapped, for one day for every year the crime was punishable. In this case, 3 days (for the 3 years the lesbian would serve if convicted).
Once in the chair: the lesbian could opt out any kind, but would be handed over to regional authorities and charged with formal crimes. Otherwise, if she waited it out, she could skip away.
Lizbrun in her former life was domimatrix, and doesn’t approve of a light sentence. She’d have charge Marian then and there. Marian getting off scot-free didn’t agree with her. So she adds a clause on the other side of the page of a lesbian agreement, for living on the compound. Lesbian if caught in a violation of any rule consigns rights to her loin to her lesbian detainers. Marian signed it, and Lizbrun shows it to her. Marian falters slightly.
Within seconds, her loin is exposed. Lizbrun directs another lesbian to bring Marian to an orgasm. The lesbian obliges – black hair, green eyes – her name Lara – she applied red lips expertly to Marian’s lower lips.
The temperature of the room rises steadily, as Marian’s chest heaves through heavy breathing. Lizbrun calls in her own entourage of lesbians – a dozen – each taking turn in persistently applying their lips to Marian’s loins.
Lizbrun in the next room – naked – her lover similarly kissing her tender, vulnerable loins. They converse.
‘She’s going to give up. She’ll ask to be released from her contract,’ Lizbrun moans slightly, ‘and we’ll hand her over to the hetero-authorities, as I plan’. Her loin turns red-pink, under the persisting lip rubbing from Fiora, her lover.
‘Karen is giving her a way out,’ Fiora says, as she expertly applied lips to Lizbrun. ‘Are you sure that’s wise’.
Lizbrun moans a little deeper. ‘She has rights, I’d never deny her that.’ Marian can quit any time, to be released from these persistent sexual relations. Lizbrun counts on it. It isn’t sexual assault, if Marian stayed in that chair, and if she stays in that chair, she is consenting to relations. She groans as pleasure poured into her loins: the blood vessels enlarged and then constricted, leaving intense tingling as her own orgasm neared.
Marian bursts this hour, the next, and the next. Six lesbians cycles through the room, persistently trying to break her through bringing her to orgasms. Lizbrun twisted her lips nervously, it was near meal-time, and later, bedtime. When would Marian throw in the chips and call it quits? Her hand rests on a phone receiver, certain she could call the appropriate officers and ferry Marian away, as appropriate (in her opinion).
Marian is given rest, food, drink, and rest-room privileges every 3-4 hours. When asked if she would give up, she locks her mouth and willingly sits in the chair. The guards re-apply the straps to her legs and arms. The straps were covered in the softest fur: leaving no marks or usual sores that came from constrictions.
Lizbrun is nervous by the end of day 2. Karen was going to find out. Marian is going to walk out, free. She takes matters into her own hands: retrieves a vaginal pleasuring lotion and applies it to Marian. You’re leaving tonight, she thought, I’ll make sure of it. She applied lips vigorously and expertly to Marian’s soft zone: Marian bursts once, twice, thrice. Marian sags slightly, in defeat, Lizbrun feels jubilant, certain she wins. But it is not to be. Marian makes it.
She crosses her arms, as Marian left the room. She felt miffed, as though justice was denied. But Karen felt otherwise. The lesbian guards arrests Lizbrun with fur-covered cuffs and escorted her to the chair. Her clothes removed, her own compound contract shown to her. Karen comes into the room, and looks at her intently in the eyes.
‘She could have sued you’, she said.
Lizbrun was a proud women. ‘I am not proud of what I did, but she’ll do it again (Marian would do it again). You’re too kind to them (especially to Marian)’.
‘I think Greta agrees’.
Lizbrun falters in the moment. Her chair sentence is 5 days. Karen found out about Marian’s treatment, issued directions for lesbian guards to detain Lizbrun and chair her. She has no way of changing the contract until next year, so she shows it to Lizbrun and passes it to Greta, another Germanic lesbian with appetites comparable to Lizbrun.
Lizbrun groans as Greta vigorously applies lips and tongue to her groin, as she would to the lips of a lover. As lesbian, mentally willing herself not to have an orgasm was an exercise of willing her own biology not to feel pleasure. It’s impossible. She has the body of a Norse or Greek god, shapely, chisel, and firm. Her achilles heel is her tender region that burst repeatedly with coaxing from Greta’s lips.
Karen finally relaxes the sentence after 2 hours. She comes in and probes Lizbrun for signs of change, regret even: some indication Lizbrun feels differently now of how Marian was treated. Lizbrun’s jaw locks and her gaze steely looks ahead.
Karen looks at her, as if to say, this spirit you have towards Marian, I’ll break it out of you with your own medicine. Shapely Greta applies her lips to Lizbrun until Lizbrun seemed to faint after 4 hours. She removes to bed, eats the next morning, even jogs an hour before returning to the chair: she makes the rules, and she lives by it (a strange integrity not found at all in any sane lesbian associate).
She sits again, her chest heaving, her thigh bulging under delicately crafted straps. Greta coaxes an orgasm, and another, and another from Lizbrun. By day 4, Karen offers to release her. Lizbrun refuses to admit anything untoward in her actions, and even returned herself to the chair, the next day. She had the dazed look of a bomb survivor, but her body possesses the constitution of Hercules. She endears, as she bursts again, and again. Karen releases her an hour early, removing straps in annoyance.
Lizbrun looked at her, with a slightly triumphant look on her face. She plops onto her bed and sleeps through 2 days. She awoke: she returns to her job as a banker. With short-cropped cream-colored hair, she is a soft-spoken: gentle as they appear.
When she returns to the compound, things return to normal. Lesbians do not count the cost or the past (for long) when it comes to helping and accepting each other. But no crime would be committed for months, even years. Word of Marian and Lizbrun passes around. If consequences for crime weren’t enough to deter them, the very idea of eternal orgasms in the chair, made them weary. At events or temptations of crime, they look at it, and then glance at their own region. They calculate the rounds their own special zone could endear and their ego generally falters and they return to their normal routines.
Others do the same, remembering:
The Chair
***
Created by a lesbian creative of commons writing group. Penned and submitted by Kelly McPierceson.
This account takes no ownership of stories or particular ideas in stories attached to it. It distributes lesbian stories. We are not always aware of all the ideas or content within every story we share, as our role is not to pre-judge but to make available stories submitted by various lesbians writers on the West Coast and other parts of the USA. So, exercise prudence and sense in finding and reading what you personally prefer and avoid those stories that do not agree with your views, ideas, or preferences. We are not a censorship, so self-censorship if and where needed and appropriate to protect your own views, values, and preferences is your private and personal responsibilities and obligations.