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“Henry, you’d better have your homework finished,” Regina chided. “I’d hate to see you take after your mother, insofar as working entry-level positions in her third decade of life…” Emma shot Regina a look. She knew Regina only meant it in a nice way—simply trying, in her own passive-aggressive-minus-the-passive way, to get Emma to finally take a job working the mailroom at Regina’s law firm, with all its benefits, 401(k)s, health insurance. Heck, Regina would probably throw in a company car for Emma at this point. But Emma had vowed when they’d started this arrangement that she was not going to sponge off Regina. Simple as that. It was the only way they could work. She knew they weren’t exactly a conventional family unit. Regina was a Type-Capital-A who had ripped the M out of her law firm’s logo—since it stood for Cora Mills—and replaced it with a slightly different typeface for Regina Mills. Emma was an orphan with perhaps the slightest of complexes. And Henry was the child Regina had decided she had time to raise; just not to do the old-fashioned work of finding a suitable father. Instead, she’d enlisted Emma as a surrogate—something about her own uterus having non-Euclidean geometry—and then, when Regina’s Build-A-Baby had arrived, she agreed to let Emma stick around for a while to say goodbye. A little favor in return for Regina’s obsessive interest in Emma during the pregnancy, actually escorting the pregnant Emma to hear concert pianists (for the fetal Henry’s mental development) and eat at artisanal diners (so he wasn’t born with allergies. Apparently it had worked). That had been ten years ago, and Emma still wasn’t sure what she was. Roommate? Nanny? It all felt very Prince of Egypt. But Emma always, always did her share of the work. She was no kept woman—though for all she know, Regina got off watching her shower with a spy camera. Emma certainly hadn’t known Regina to go on any hot dates otherwise, with either sex. Her number one priority was Henry, and whatever their differences, that was enough in common to bridge the gap between their precarious positions in life. As a matter of fact, Emma had been waiting for Regina to call her out on her work. “Actually, I found a new job. Two hundred dollars an hour. Great work uniform…” Regina arched an eyebrow, impressed despite her own misgivings. Emma’s homemaking, coupled with Henry’s adolescent playfulness, had done more to jeopardize her security deposit than the break-in she’d had the year before the surrogacy. “Really? You’ve left behind the noble profession of bouncer?” “It was a dying occupation. Men weren’t getting drunk and handsy anymore. I blame Hillary.” “Well, I think her ridiculous fiscal policy is more likely to have you catching unemployment benefits than her feminism.” Emma resisted the urge to cover Henry’s ears as he scrawled at his homework. Regina didn’t listen to Rush Limbaugh or anything, but she leaned far enough to the right for Emma to worry how seriously Regina took her Punisher comics. Even if she ‘only read them’ because Emma left them in the little basket in the bathroom that was otherwise colonized by Reader’s Digest and Time Magazine. “So,” Regina asked, as she crossed over to join Emma at the kitchen table, a triumphantly borne plate of Fettuccine not stopping her from brushing her hand proudly along Emma’s shoulder, “what exactly have you gotten into?” “Oh, you know—specialty work.” “Be more specific about your specialty.” “Not in front of the kid,” Emma said, somewhat regretting the distress suddenly written on Henry’s face, but also somewhat enjoying how scandalized Regina was. What, did she think Emma had taken up poledancing? Well, if it paid two hundred dollars an hour… Regina was commendably capable of refocusing. She grilled Henry on his day, went over his half-finished homework with him—Emma long ago having won the battle of letting Henry multitask at the dinner table—then sent him on his way to get some ice cream from the freezer. Then she focused on Emma. “Ms. Swan—“ “I’m a dominatrix,” Emma said quickly. Regina blinked. “Oh. Alright. Why didn’t you just say so? I don’t think that’s included in Henry’s vocabulary…” Emma’s turn to blink. “You’re taking this very well.” “Well, why shouldn’t I? It’s not like you’re a sex worker or anything. Not technically. I just wouldn’t have assumed you had the knack.” Regina’s eyes blinked wider. “Two hundred dollars an hour…” “Obviously, I’m not gonna, you know, let Henry find out or—“ “Of course not. I trust you. And here I thought you’d become a UFC fighter.” Regina shrugged. “At least this way, only the other person will be bruised.” Regina had already decided. She would be supportive, nurturing, and receptive to Emma’s career choices, especially when they were this lucrative. Then she would call Mal and have her book an appointment with Emma, so she could know just what the mother of her child was doing in her off-hours. *** “She’s doing you,” Mal said. With Emma, Regina blinked at asinine statements like that. With others, she didn’t blink. At all. “What?” “The… persona. It’s very clearly you. Have you seen her Facebook page?” Regina reached over to her cappuccino, wishing she had picked somewhere other than a chic café for this conversation. “You know how I feel about social media.” “Yes, yes, cuts into perfectly good brooding time.” Mal took out her phone, cued up something on it, and showed the screen to Regina. Regina hadn’t seen quite so much of that since the one and only time she’d stumbled upon Emma getting out of the shower. “It’s certainly… fashionable,” she reasoned. “You’re telling me that’s not a Halloween costume you would wear? ‘The Dark Queen.’ Wasn’t that your nickname in college?” “Something like that. So she’s wearing a dress that’s a little… avant-garde. That’s not a reflection on me.” “She talks just like you. And the way she holds herself. The whole thing—it’s you. Just with a riding crop.” Mal smiled viciously. “So obviously a marked improvement.” It was then Regina decided to do something that, because she was Regina, was very smart—but, because it dealt with Emma, was also very stupid. She took Mal’s phone and booked an appointment herself. “You know what they say,” Mal went on. “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery…” *** “I really thought this was going to be a different Regina Mills,” Emma said, looking only somewhat abashed at being caught in a dress that had a corset built into it. “How many women do you think there are psychotic enough to name their daughters Regina?” Regina looked around the ‘dungeon.’ It still mostly resembled the office space Emma had rented, just with blackout curtains. And less shame. In the entry room, there was a desk for her to sit at where a secretary would usually be. Emma didn’t sit, but towered over her—owing to a pair of genuinely impressive heels. Regina didn’t know Emma owned anything but trainers. Regina, for her part, had dressed for the occasion. Despite her usually impeccable appearance, she was not a woman who put a great deal of stock in fashion. There were only two looks, to her mind. There was the one meant to be imposing, Regina knowing she looked good and wanting to look powerful as well. Pantsuits. Suit jackets. Skirts over pantyhose over high heels. Then there were the looks like the pattern on a diamondback snake, the stripes on a tiger. Fair warning that you were being hunted. Minidresses. Pencil skirts with blouses unbuttoned just far enough that you didn’t know if it was an accident how much cleavage you got to see or if Regina just didn’t care. Sometimes lingerie, for when Regina had made the kill but wanted to really twist the knife, though the last time she’d worn anything like that had been before Mal got into that triad with Cruella and Ursula. Regina took pity on Emma, though. Her minidress wasn’t as mini as it could be. It emphasized her powerful shoulders over her bosom, her long legs over her shapely ass. It was still hardly fair, but at least Regina wouldn’t feel guilty about it. “I know you’re going to take this as proof that I don’t pay attention to you,” Emma said, “but I never knew you were into… y’know.” “Oh, I find it very therapeutic. Holistic. And, since this is your chosen profession, I do want to support you…” “Yeah, yeah, I appreciate that.” Regina smiled reassuringly at Emma. The kind of reassuring smile that also said you’re fucked. “Come now, Emma. It’s not like this has to be awkward. We’re two professional women who have pooled our resources to raise a child without the socially mandated need for a romantic relationship or conventional family. There’s no reason you can’t treat me like any other client; just as I would represent you if you hit someone while texting and driving.” “Why am I the one texting and driving in this scenario?” “You don’t use the Bluetooth headset I got you…” “I don’t use my phone when I’m driving, period.” “No, you listen to Carly Rae Jepsen…” “Is this about the time you wanted to call me about Henry’s flu shot and I didn’t answer because I was in the car? Cuz I called you right back.” “Two hours later. When you stopped for gas.” “And it was legal!” “Just as a Bluetooth connection in your car would be, if you’d let me upgrade your personal transportation out of the Stone Ages.” “I like the Bug! So does Henry!” “Henry likes Yo Gabba Gabba!” “It’s a great show when you’re high!” Regina smiled dangerously. She tried not to judge Emma, given how partial she herself was to wine, but there was a time and a place for her to be equitable. “Are you sure I can’t pay extra to be the one whipping you?” “Shame I’m just a dominatrix. You really need to get laid.” Emma went to a chest of drawers, opening one, quickly closing it—so flustered she’d gotten the wrong one—then got the right one, a file folder. She took out two forms, both already stapled, and handed the first to Regina. “Disclaimer. Just you giving me permission to, you know—whatever. And making it clear that this transaction isn’t prostitution. We’re not having sex.” “You’d save a lot of time if you had men sign these before you dated them,” Regina said, looking over hers. It was staggeringly well put together. She thought Emma must’ve downloaded it over the internet. “Oh, this clause here and you wouldn’t have had that Killian fellow in your dating history at all.” “This is business, Regina, not my personal life. And I’m pretty sure if I made men sign a contract before dating me, I’d have to pay you royalties.” “I don’t need my men to sign a contract. They instinctively know not to displease me. What’s ‘Level 1’?” “In the footnotes. Basically, it’s that we’re only going to start with certain things, see how comfortable you are with that.” Regina skipped to the footnotes. “’Verbal abuse. Physical contact, sometimes involving mild implements. Removal of clothing and forced displays of indignity.’ Wow. What’s Level 2?” Emma looked at her seriously. “Did you sign up for this just to make fun of me?” “No, no—“ “Because I’d like to think you wouldn’t do that.” “I didn’t.” “But it’s the kind of thing you would do. If you had a bug up your ass.” “When have I ever—“ “I got that bartender job, it was a good job, and you and your lawyer buddies came ‘slumming’ in my ‘dive bar’…” “I wanted to see you work!” Emma stared daggers at Regina. “And it was one time!” Regina continued. “And really, that place was beneath you, you could’ve been stabbed going to the bathroom. Besides which, I had just had my secretary quit—“ “Maybe I didn’t want to be your secretary!” “It’s easy work, I do most of it myself, you really just have to sit at a desk all day—“ “Don’t like desks—“ “Does this place have a metal detector?” Regina asked, suddenly looking around. “Or security cameras?” “Oh my Christ,” Emma moaned. “You are so controlling!” “And you’re so reckless that any amount of responsibility in someone’s life comes off as ‘controlling’.” Emma looked down at the contract. “Level 2 involves nipple clamps, handcuffs, gags. Withholding permission to urinate. Forced control by physical means. Level 3 involves public spaces. Dog collars. Diapers. Anal beads. Having to control oneself in a public setting. Level 4 is sex.” Regina raised an eyebrow. “Not with me. There’s a sex worker I know, she’s good at her job, very reliable. I’m present. I… do stuff.” Emma shook her head. “I haven’t done Level 4 yet.” “How long have you been doing this?” “A couple months. Like I was going to tell you before it was a sure thing.” “Alright then.” Regina signed. “I really am trying to support you.” “Sometimes the way you support people…” Emma rolled her eyes, taking the signed document away, putting the second form before Regina. “If I were your client and you were trying to keep me out of jail, I’m sure having Big Mommy Regina around to tell me exactly what I had to do would be awesome. But I’m your friend. You have to treat me as an equal.” “I do think of you as an equal!” Regina insisted. “Just one who lacks… certain experience.” “Funny, I was thinking the same about you. Remember when we first met and you’d never ridden a motorcycle before?” Regina looked up at Emma like the blonde had just mentioned her ardent wish to be murdered. “Remember when we first met and you’d never graduated high school?” “It’s called a GED. And like you’re at all impressed by public school.” “How effective would you consider a prison that people could just not show up at? Emma, what is this?” Regina demanded, picking up the form. “You’ve been writing on it for the last minute. Don’t you need short-term memory to pass the bar?” “’Name, address, phone number…’ Emma, we live together. Do you really need this?” “One, it’s for my records. Second… there’s a second part. It’s printed on the back to save paper.” Regina flipped the page. “Ooh. A checklist.” “And you don’t even have to fill in the bubbles completely. See how I spoil you?” “’Do you have sexual dreams at night?’ At night is redundant. ‘Do you masturbate frequently?’ Doesn’t define ‘frequently’…” “Please don’t spell-check my form.” “I’m not. I’m just…” Regina went to one of the offending passages, scratched out ‘at night’. “Editing. You haven’t printed out a lot of these, have you?” “Regina—“ “And you misspelled ‘clitoris’.” “You are aware of how bondage works, right? You’re the sub. You don’t even get to capitalize your name!” “Well, that is just poor grammar.” Emma ducked her head. “You know, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I know you want to support me—in your way…” “My way of giving people money and keeping them from making mistakes? Emma, your first sentence here, split infinitive—“ “That’s not even a real rule! It’s just some asshole trying to make English work like an actual language and not like Thunderdome, which it is. C’mon, Regina, that battle was lost the moment Star Trek made everyone realize that ‘to boldly go’ sounds cooler than ‘to go boldly.’” Regina pressed her lips together. “I withdraw my complaint. And—“ She checked a box. “I have fantasized about having my ass eaten.” “’But you should probably refer to it as analingus, or stimulation of the anus via the tongue and lips instead.’” “I don’t sound like that.” “Regina, seriously, if you’re not going to be comfortable with being dominated—which I think is the most obvious thing since the movie Avatar—you can support me in other ways. Just… buy me lunch at Red Lobster, we can go right now, we’ll beat the rush!” “I can absolutely handle not being in control. I played that ridiculous videogame with you, didn’t I?” “Mario Kart? Yeah, not really the same thing.” “The controls were faulty. I wouldn’t call the frustration sexual, exactly—” “You just suck at video games.” Regina gave Emma an incredulous look. “I don’t believe I agreed to the verbal abuse yet.” “Are you done with the questionnaire? Because most people get it done in two minutes. But then, it did take you six years to graduate college…” Emma needled. “It’s called law school,” Regina insisted, though she did hurriedly finish the checklist. Then write down an e-mail address. “This is a very good proofreader, he knows far more about grammar than me, you just mention my name and he’ll go through all your documents for free.” “Regina!” Regina held up a finger. “How can you dominate people if they don’t respect you? And how can people respect you if you have three run-on sentences.” “You know what?” Emma slipped the paper away. “I don’t need this to know what to do with you.” “But it has my e-mail address on it!” Regina quipped. “Face the wall. Right now,” Emma ordered. Her voice was suddenly low. Regina had never quite heard it that way before. *** The rustle of paper. The crisp creak of Emma’s leather minidress as she walked, heels clicking like claws on the floor. Obligingly, Regina faced the wall as Emma took up position behind her. “Safe word is apples,” Emma said in her ear, her voice hushed, like she didn’t want someone to overhear. “Say it back to me.” “Apples.” “You’re not going to hesitate if you’re uncomfortable? You’ll say it?” “Yes.” “Good.” Emma’s voice dropped again. Became almost sympathetic. The Emma that called Regina when she was caught up at work, giving her an excuse to come home and sleep, or brought her soup while she was working at home. “Last chance to back out.” “Not on your life.” “Alright then.” Another rustle of paper. Emma had Regina’s questionnaire in your hand. “Not many kinks mentioned. You’re not very self-aware, are you Ms. Mills? Ah. Here’s one. You want to get your ass eaten.” “I marked that down as a joke—“ Emma was suddenly wrenching Regina’s head back by the hair, Regina’s neat ponytail flaring with pain in Emma’s fist, and Regina had a sudden vision of Emma thrusting her head back forward, slamming her face into the wall. “Don’t you fucking backtalk to me, bitch. If I want you to say something, I’ll tell you what to say. Otherwise, it’s just ‘yes mistress’ or ‘no mistress’. Is that simple enough for you or should I put it in crayon?” Regina rolled her eyes. Was this really how Emma thought she’d be as a dominatrix? It was violent, sure—passionate—but Regina knew that in Emma’s hooker heels, she wouldn’t have to lay a finger on her sub to get them doing as she wanted. “Yes mistress,” she said, with teenage derision. Emma gave Regina a shove, firm, but still gentle enough for Regina to get her hands up and catch herself on the wall. She grimaced. Could’ve broken a nail. “Now,” Emma said. “You want me to eat your ass. Well. Let’s have a look at it, shall we? I’d love to see your idea of an ass worth my time.” “I’m sorry, are you actually going to tongue my ass? Because I thought you weren’t a prost—“ Emma crashed into Regina again, forcing her against the wall with her hands trapped behind her back. With practiced ease, Emma kicked Regina’s legs open, like she was straddling an invisible horse. Regina struggled to maintain her balance—easier when she was jammed against the plaster. She’d forgotten Emma had almost graduated police academy before that drug test. “Do you like me punishing you, Mills?” Emma raised her knee, prodding the hard bone between Regina’s legs, and Regina felt with some alarm her skirt being forced upward, the material of her panties rubbing against her sex. “If you did, you should’ve put it on the list. Maybe you’re one of those little bitches who thinks she can get off without permission. Trick me into punishing you while all the while you love it. This isn’t about your pleasure, bitch, it’s about mine. And I kinda liked the idea of eating your ass, but if you think I’m going to spank you just because it’s cheaper than hiring a hooker, you can think again. I’ll just tie you up, leave you in the closet, and play Angry Birds for your whole session. I can do that. It’s in the contract.” Regina found herself growling. Emma’s knee wasn’t going anywhere. Regina thought it should be… somewhere else. She didn’t know where. “Are you ready to be a good girl, or should I just fucking gag you? You might like that, but I guarantee you won’t like what I do next.” “Yes, mistress.” The words leaped out of Regina. Seemed to satisfy Emma. She took her knee away. That was good, right? Regina didn’t feel so flushed anymore… “Now,” Emma said, pulling away, letting Regina up, but also plucking a hair from Regina’s head to make her jump. “I believe I gave you an instruction. Good girls follow their instructions, don’t they?” Regina bit her lip. She supposed she should’ve respected Emma’s commitment to professionalism—oft times she’d thought it was one of Emma’s core deficiencies, lacking that. But Christ, did she really have to be so… controlling? It made Regina want to fidget, having so little leeway. Emma had said she’d wanted to see Regina’s ass. Regina took a deep breath, let it out slowly as she drew her skirt up over her ass. Her panties were black. Her ass curved elegantly with her hips, ample but not at all surplus to demand, fit and toned with spin class, golden with tanning salon light. Regina felt the heat of Emma’s gaze from behind, another warmth up front. “Well now,” Emma said. Her voice sounded wet. “That’s quite an ass. I suppose if I were some man—one looking for a hooker or something—I’d really be impressed. But all that fat…” Emma reached down and groped a thick cheek; Regina found herself squeaking, felt an angry glare in response, silencing her. “Funny how you got a surrogate to have your kid for you, then you pack on the pounds anyway. I can’t believe you expected me to put my face somewhere so disgusting. I mean, you’re paying me—that’s the only way I can stand the sight of it, by the way—but actually touching it? I don’t think you could afford that!” A hot feeling of shame, quickly covered with anger, lit up Regina’s gut like it’d been filled with gasoline. She whirled on Emma. “Listen, you tarted-up little--!” “No, you fucking listen!” Emma shoved Regina, this time hard enough to bounce Regina off the wall. The back of Regina’s head hit the plaster, making Regina think worriedly about the drywall as her thoughts jumbled. She’d lost her train of thought—all she could think was how now she was standing in front of Emma, facing her with her skirt up and the front of her panties on display, the nylon clinging to her labia. She felt exposed. Like there was some secret there she couldn’t let Emma see. Regina shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs, reclaim the anger that made her the most feared woman in New York law, but just as suddenly Emma had her hands around Regina’s throat, thumbs pressing down hard on her tonsils. She was gagging on the breath she tried to take. “You fucking listen,” Emma repeated herself, calmer now—like she was explaining things to a small child. “You paid me to overlook what a disgusting little whore you are, to actually consider you worthy of my time, when there are people who would kill to be my good little girls. And you fucking raise your voice to me? I should fucking kill you. I should fucking kill you right now.” Regina felt a rush of panic—adrenaline, endorphins, all the well-rehearsed feelings she tried to capture with horror movies, roller coaster rides, whitewater rafting, the occasional courthouse fling. That out of control feeling. But it had never been like this. Her body was buzzing. She was almost afraid—she was on the cliff overlooking fear—but she couldn’t quite manage it. Not with Emma. Deep in her marrow, in the oxygen of her blood, in the reptile of her brain, she knew that Emma wouldn’t hurt her. Emma was her friend. Emma loved her. Regina didn’t have to answer the well-trained beast inside her, the one demanding (so quietly this time) that she outmaneuver, outthink, outlast, that she take control so she didn’t have to be the one without control ever again. She could ignore it, for once—now that she was on top of the world, senior partner, ten million dollar apartment. She could let the adrenaline have its way with her and not drown in it. “But I think killing you would let you off too easy,” Emma said, still not taking her hands away as Regina’s vision blurred. “And you did make out your check to cash. Maybe I should give you one more chance. You’re a bad little girl, Regina. But I know how to make bad girls into good ones.” Emma let her have air. Regina felt a mad urge to thank her for breathing as Emma pitched her around, like some sort of fucking judo throw, only she was forcing Regina in position to be frog-marched across the room, arm locked behind her back, Emma’s strong hands biting into her so Regina couldn’t go anywhere but the desk. Emma shoved her down on it, bent her over it, and then those forceful hands were ripping Regina’s panties down her thighs. “Well. The sight is a little bit better without those panties in the way. I don’t want you to wear these anymore.” Regina wanted to moan as the panties breezed down her legs, off her feet. “If you see me again, you’ll ask what panties I want you to buy before you come over. Maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll let you come by wearing nothing at all. I know how much you love saving money…” “Yes, mistress!” Words boiling out of Regina. Her heart was pounding so fast, how could Emma not hear it? Could Emma really not know what she was doing to her? Then Emma stooped down, to Regina’s feet, undoing the straps on her sandals and peeling one off her. She came up, staring at the faux wood heel instead of the jeweled thong. “Nice sandal, cunt.” She raised it high. Regina’s mouth was already open as it came back down, tanning her ass darker than any salon ever could. She was coming by the time Emma landed the second blow. *** “Apples!” Regina gasped, taut minutes later, just when Emma was about to say she’d had enough, and Emma backed up, she was so startled. She really hadn’t expected to make Regina say uncle—not that that was what this had been about. In fact, she’d halfway believed they’d end the session with Regina mocking Emma over her technique, asking her if she’d really believed she’d dominated Regina, maybe even giving her pointers on how to really spank someone. But as Emma looked at her—Regina still bent over the desk, red covering both the perfect mounds of her ass like a thousand lipstick marks—she thought that Regina’s heaving breath was a lot like sobbing. “Regina, are you okay?” Regina was up, suddenly, straightening her skirt over her thighs. She didn’t even bother with her panties. She gave Emma a look—wide-eyed, feral—and then she was headed by the door. In the few seconds it took Emma to go after her, she’d already made it to the elevator. The doors were closing. Between the gap, Regina looked shell-shocked. “Wait!” Emma called, but the doors shut like Regina could do nothing to stop them. Cursing, Emma grabbed her coat from the hanger just inside her room, throwing it over all her leather as she rushed for the stairs. That elevator was a slug. If she hurried, she could make it to the lobby before Regina. Maybe think up the right apology on the way down. If there was one. *** Inside the elevator, Regina barely felt her shifting weight as the car lugged between floors. Her body was still burning. It didn’t matter that Emma was no longer in the room. Regina could still feel her. She could still feel what Emma did to her. Regina pressed the emergency stop. The elevator braked with what sounded like a sigh of relief. And, able to take a full breath for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Regina reached under her skirt and found where Emma had set her on fire. *** Emma hit the lobby, seeing with relief that the elevator doors were shut, the light still on Floor 2. She did up her coat as she waited, not quite wanting any of the ambulance chasers she shared the building with to see her dressed like Eliza Dushku in any role she’d ever played. The light stubbornly stayed at Floor 2. Emma actually reached out and pressed the call button. The panel dinged stubbornly, the light now disappearing from the floor indicator altogether. Regina had hit the emergency brake. *** Regina touched herself harder, deeper. Her fingers felt so good, but nowhere near as good as Emma had. Somewhere deep inside, she realized there was no need to be quiet. No one could hear her here. As she orgasmed again, Regina moaned Emma’s name. *** The second floor was mercifully abandoned, the elevator car behind the doors judging from the light licking between them. Emma sprinted there, thinking she was about to see Regina on her phone to the cops. Luckily she kept a slim-jim in her coat for emergencies. It was meant for car doors, but the hard metal should still work. Digging its narrow end into the split, she tried her hand at forcing the doors open. *** Regina added another finger. It made her think of Emma, threatening to fist her if she didn’t hold still and take her spanking like a good little girl. When she orgasmed for the fourth time, she did more than moan. *** The doors cracked open, yielding to Emma’s adrenaline-soaked strength. She thought she’d heard Regina scream. *** Regina opened her eyes. She saw Emma. *** Emma forced the doors open. She saw Regina. *** Regina took her hand away from her pussy. It felt very warm. Very wet. “Did you want me to come, mistress?”