Dyke Valiant

By Theda Hudson

Cara Bas is your average Plucky Maid waiting for her knight to ride down the hill and sweep her up. When she's not preparing to be the best sub she can be once she's swept up, she's a magic sniffer, consulting for the members of Denver's magical community.
She teams up with Val Cavalieri, a motorcycle cop with precog powers, to stop the evil shaman before he can destroy Denver's magical community.
They are taken captive by the shaman's spirit helpers and human henchmen to be used to find all the magical folk who have gone into hiding.
Cara must find true love with the knight of her dreams, and stop the shaman before he kills or enslaves all the magicians in Denver.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lilac Moon Books
• Release date: Feb 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476000190

Theda Hudson

Theda Hudson's deliciously wicked short fiction has appeared in Best Lesbian Erotica 2011 and 2015, Best Lesbian Romance 2011 and 2012, Best Women's Erotica 2007, Sex in San Francisco, Pirate Booty, and Best S/M III. Her novels include Dyke Valiant, an erotic lesbian urban paranormal, and The Pearl Witch and Lord of the Broken Tower, both hetero erotic science fiction. She lives in Colorado with four rescued cats, 1000 books, and an understanding partner. She likes to use her writing to share things women don’t usually get to talk about.

Book preview

Dyke Valiant

by

Theda Hudson

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Lilac Moon Books on Smashwords

Dyke Valiant

Copyright (c) 2012 Theda Hudson

Cover by Laura Givens

Copyright (c) 2011 Laura Givens

http://www.lauragivens-artist.com

Discover other titles by Theda Hudson at Smashwords.com

And at http://www.theahutcheson.com

SMASHWORDS EDITION LICENSE NOTES

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Dyke Valiant

Chapter One

My name is Cara Bas and I'm just your average Plucky Maid waiting for her knight in shining armor to pound down the hill and sweep her up and away. Well, maybe not so average.

I mean, it's not like I'm pining away or sitting doing nothing but combing my hair in a tower.

No. I'm learning everything I need to know so when the time comes I won't be found wanting. Oh no, I'll be wanted. Wanted and prized.

You ready, my little Marquise?

That's Frye. She's a modern day Puss in Boots. A wicked top, delicious to look at with her chaps framing the bulge in her well-worn jeans and the scuffed namesake boots planted firmly as she swings the flogger double handed. She wears the sleeves of her T-shirt rolled up to show off the well-muscled arms that ripple as she flogs me or swings the heavy, sparkly paddle.

I know this because lately I've declined the blindfold so I can watch in the mirror.

Yes, Frye, I say. I tried to come up with some name to call her, like she calls me Little Marquise, but there just isn't anything. She's just Frye, magical Frye. I take a big breath of that magic. I don't mean her cologne or her sweat or the combination of the two. I said magic and I mean magic.

It's thick and cinnamon-colored. I've never seen her use it, but I don't think that's what kind of magic it is. It's in her, who she is. Like I said, Puss in Boots.

Just now that magic mingles with the smells of sweat, sex, Clorox, and warm fragrances in a veritable rainbow of scents. It's the perfume of pain and pleasure. I think it smells of happiness.

Then come on over here so we can get this scene started, she says walking to a hard backed oak chair. We haven't got all night.

I don't frown. I know better now. Frye is busy. She takes her job of getting me ready for my knight seriously, but I have to accept that I'm only one maid amongst many.

I take what I get and am glad. Very glad.

I sashay across the main dungeon floor, through little knots of people, heels clicking on the concrete floor, the strands of white Christmas lights creating little stars against the dark walls and ceiling that mix with the bigger lights on the ropes that outline the bar, the demo stage, and the doors.

The satin lining of my black leather sheath rustles and caresses my skin and I feel my hips go loose, languid as I move toward her. I'm nearly naked under it; one pale lace lavender G-string is all that stands between me and the black satin. And that will slip away as soon as Frye gets the bunny fur wrist cuffs set and clipped to the suspension bridge.

She sits down, unzips the toy bag next to the chair, and smiles at me as I stop, throwing one hip out, letting my right foot rest on the thick four inch heel of my new peek toe fuck me heels.

Sure of yourself now, aren't you, little Marquise?

Little Marquise. She calls me that because we are in the middle of a real life modern fairy tale. Come on, I already told you. It's Puss in Boots. And remember, my name is, Cara Bas. Carabas. Get it? I can't explain how I have the name or how I came to be in a fairy tale. I just know it's true. And before you start in on how it can't be because of this and that, I'll tell you I did the same thing over coffee with Frye a few days after my introduction to her exotic land -- the dungeon.

Oh, not the ooky kind with rats and dripping water. Maybe some people do that kind of scene, but not me. I wanted an introduction and Frye was my guide to subspace, the fabulous land she sends me to with a good flogging or a wonderful spanking.

I thought I was in love with her ever since I'd first seen her at Dark House, the dungeon club. It's easy to do. She's super sexy, exquisitely nasty, and well versed in all the wicked ways a plucky maid could want -- if she knew enough to want them.

Which I didn't, but after one scene, I was sure she was my knight.

She set me straight. You’re a slut, she said, in love with what I did, and you like the packaging. No, my job is to get you ready for the knight pounding down the hill toward you. I promise you'll be ready when they're close and then I'll be gone because you won't need me anymore, right?

So now, I nonchalantly stick my index finger in my mouth, get it good and wet and trace a line down my chest and over the small swells rising out of the top of the leather bodice.

She smiles wickedly. You've come a long way, little Cara. And they're close and getting closer. Hear them?

I meet her eyes. I did. I've heard those hoofbeats ever since that first scene. They're with me all the time, and she's right; they're louder, turning lately to a rumbling that kicks up dust in my mind's eye. I can't see what's coming, but I know I won't have to wait long.

I think you're nearly ready, too, so the timing is perfect.

That jabs in my heart. Frye's been working me over for almost a year now. I love her, but differently than that day over coffee. She really does belong to no woman, or rather she belongs to every woman who yearns to learn the secrets of this magical land, who desires to step onto the exotic path to subspace and the pleasures to be found there.

She smiles at me. She knows how I feel. I imagine all the other women she's had. The old dykes say she’s been around forever and I believe them. There's a sense of timeless age in her eyes, in her knowing smile.

Here's what I suggest for tonight, she says. You tell me what you want and if I agree, I'll tell you how I'll deliver it. How's that?

She's making me ask for what I want, actually negotiate. This has been hard for me. I'm a slut, but I labor under a lot of social no nos.

Over the last year, she's forced me to admit what I want, to say it straight out and to cry yellow or red when I've had enough. That's hard because I want to please.

And I can't lay it all out in detail; that leaves nothing to negotiate.

I want you to make this evening memorable, I say. I want to make you proud. And I want to come at least twice.

She smiles, nodding. I've left lots of room for back and forth.

You know I want to hurt you. I want see your flesh red, I want to see my marks on you.

Ooh, that means she could bite me, cane me, staple my tits with an electric staple gun.

No blood, please, nothing that penetrates -- except my cunt -- or burns. That covers needles, staples, fire play, and brands. But she could try some breath play. That was super scary.

No choking or ball gags either, please.

Frye shrugs. Up for some humiliation?

She did that a lot in the beginning, breaking down the walls, forcing me to tell her what turned me on so she could see me all laid out and what I'd do to get what I wanted.

I meet her eyes for a long moment, thinking of the dick on a stick and the little strap on vibrator. For you, tonight, yes, I would be.

I appreciate that, Marquise. So you want memories. Why would you want them when you have your knight?

Staring back levelly, I say, Because it's you. I'll never forget you and what you've done for me.

I hope she doesn't either.

Good enough, little Cara. So, a memorable night, but no permanent marks, nothing too scary, but maybe shameful enough to make you blush when you play back the memory. Sure you don't want a souvenir?

I almost say yes. But I've seen her play with heavy bottoms. As much as I might treasure it, I don't think I want to go there.

No, thank you, Frye.

Well, then, let's get to it. She gestures for my hand. I lift the right one, but evade her grasp to stroke her cheek with one finger, the red lacquered tip sliding slowly down her smooth skin and across her strong jaw.

Perky, aren't you? I know just what to do with the perky ones.

Indeed she does.

She takes my wrist and puts the black leather cuff around it. I twist gently so the bunny fur strokes me, moaning just a little.

She shakes my wrist by the large silver clip that dangles from the cuff and smirks.

I offer the other and as she takes it, I trace fuck across her palm with one red nail. I know she knows the rune, because she meets my eyes when she looks up and smiles a crooked smile with one brow quirked.

Very perky. Very, she purrs as she buckles the cuff and clips the two together.

She sits back, lifts one ankle cuff, head cocked, staring at me.

She's thrown the gauntlet down, but I'm ready for her. I've practiced this at home. I know that people watch. Some people only come to watch. I like to give a good show. I want to make a good impression so if my knight asks, people will say that I'm a graceful, kind, and wonderful sub.

I raise one leg slowly, pleased that I don't even wobble as I place the flat of my shoe between her legs, toe against the package that bulges in the crotch of those jeans, a faded circle worn where one ball perpetually settles.

She rewards me with a soft hand brushing up my calf, one finger tracing the intricate clocking that runs up the outside of my black stocking.

Hmm. Points for beauty and grace, she says, her velvety voice rumbling in the center of my chest and falling to my clit, which rises up to receive it.

She snugs the cuff up and taps the top of my foot.

I raise it up slowly and set it down, breathing a silent sigh of relief for my other foot. The shoes are beautiful, but there is a price to pay for this kind of beauty, especially on concrete floors. Luckily, the play spaces have foot mats to save the bottom that kind of foot killing discomfort from standing so long on concrete if the top desires to take advantage of it.

I hope Frye's so thoughtful tonight.

The other foot goes up, also pressing lightly against that well-worn spot in her crotch and I'm rewarded by a slight shifting that moves against my toe.

She traces a line up my calf with her fingertip when she finishes with that leg and I realize she is answering my secret message on her palm.

I will, oh, believe me, I will, she traces up the inside of my thigh, plucking the garter's elastic.

I take that as permission to put my foot back down and shift from foot to foot, feeling the fur inside the cuffs stroke my ankles.

Shall we then? I've reserved a private room.

I suck air in sharply as a sharp twinge pierces my chest and dives to my pussy. A private room. This is to be very special then. Very special.

She gathers up the bag and stands. I smell the magic thick between us. I breathe deeply and she touches my cheek gently. I turn and take her finger gently between my teeth for the briefest moment.

I'm not magic. Never have been. Oh, I can do the simple intention kinds of spells that any wannabe can do. But my real strength is that I can smell it. I know when someone uses it. I can find the weak chinks in any spell or ward. I can follow it like a blood hound. It's what I do for a living.

Lately, I've had a few jobs that I think Frye had something to do with. I don't know for sure, but I've caught the faintest whiff of her scent when I've gone to meet clients.

Let's go then, she says, pulling me back to now and following as she leads the way to a broad stairway, carpeted in a faded crimson floral pattern, the balustrade worn by thousands of hands skimming it as they make their way up toward a meeting with nirvana.

I climb the stairs like a queen, head held high, back straight, cuffs jingling, hands held out as if in prayer, which they could be. My time with Frye is coming to an end, the thundering approach of my knight is louder every moment, rushing to answer my prayers, my hopes, my dreams since childhood.

At the top of the stairs, Frye pauses, looks down the hall to the left, ahead, and then nods as she glances to the right. The tall walls are papered in crimson and cream stripes, the doors, frames and baseboards gleaming white, the knobs and sconces brass and crystal. The light from the crystal chandeliers makes rainbows on my skin as I follow her down the hall.

Much love has gone into making this place; I feel the satisfaction it reeks. I love visiting here and have left my mark during those work parties, laughing and letching while we create the spaces we take our pleasure in.

Two-thirds of the way down the hall, on the left, Frye stops, puts a key in the heavy white lacquered door and turns the handle. She gestures me in when it swings open and I pause, wanting to fix everything about this moment in my mind.

The generous white painted room is covered in mirrors on the three walls in front of me. On the wall in front of me a suspension bridge sits in the center, a small scaffold to the left, a pair of straight back chairs perfect for bending over to receive the paddle stand to the right, between them a side table, near an exam table that has an assortment of pussy swelling knobs and eye bolts attached for keeping a sub still for whatever ministrations a wicked top can conjure. The center has been laid with mats, just right for rolling around on. The walls on either side of the door have shackles built into them.

Being chained to a wall in the dark makes me desperately scared, with sweats and shivers. That's when I learned to finally let go and accept the fear and the pain that was coming and that I could not only master it, but control it. I think that's when I really learned how to be a sub.

I wonder if we will wrestle tonight. That is fun. Wrestling is intimate, more about domination than the beat down.

Really, though, I just think she likes the sweaty flesh to flesh contact, the earnest striving, the groans, and inevitable victory.

I do, too. Especially the victory. She is very wicked when she wins. And she always wins.

Take your position, Little Marquise.

She hasn't specified a location so I move near the exam table and stand, legs spread shoulder distant, hands clasped at the small of my back, which is arched to show off my meager, but proud, cleavage.

Chapter Two

Frye closes the door and walks to the straight backed chair where she sets the toy bag down, setting the food and water on the side table. When she unzips the bag, I shiver. This is it.

Frye reaches in and pulls out the blindfold. She dangles it in front of me. I'm tempted for a moment; the sheepskin lining is soft and the molded leather cups force me into myself, leaving me only one direction to go -- straight into subspace.

But I want to have this last time together impressed on every sense.

I shake my head no and she cocks her head the other way and shrugs, dropping it back into the black leather toy bag.

She pulls out a pair of black leather gloves and slaps them on the palm of her hand. It does not escape my notice that it's the same hand I scrawled fuck on.

She grins and goosebumps break out down my arms and back. Her smile widens as she watches. Her boots thump on the oak hardwood floor as she walks to me. She brushes the glove over my skin and I sway, halfway to subspace already.

I can smell the leather, the oil she rubs in them to keep them