Intricate Rituals Which Allow You To Dominate Other Women (Patreon)

The sight of Kory took Donna’s breath away. She always looked good—and usually wore very little—but now she wore Butterfly attire from Paradise Island. A butterfly-shaped domino mask covered her eyes, while her hair had been braided into a weighty tail coming down to her thighs. Black leather opera gloves covered her hands and black leather thigh-highs ran up her long legs, but only allowing a brief glimmer of bare flesh before her thick thighs gave way to the thong that caressed her pubis. The crotch of it was another butterfly, the waistband reminding Donna of antenna, leaving her rolling buttocks almost completely unadorned. From that flash of Kory’s abundant hips, a corset was the last thing she wore. And while it cinched her already slender waist, it didn’t reach as high as her voluptuous breasts. They were completely uncovered, flowing out above the corset’s trim lines in lush decadence, proudly heaving with each thrilled breath Kory took.

“Please, please don’t make me eat any pussy!” Kory cried, cajoling tears from eyes brimming with green—and glowing with excitement. “It sounds horrible! No, don’t! Whatever you do, don’t ravish my body! I’m not your personal lesbian whore! I’d hate it if you used me like some private Amazon slut! You can’t use my pussy or my ass or my mouth! Don’t!”

As glorious as Kory was in most respects, her acting left something to be desired. Even the most gullible could see that Kory had literally been begging for this ever since reading about the Ritual of the Butterflies, an Amazon rite in which sisters symbolically gave their hearts to each other, playing at being butterflies that their lover caught and pinned down, just like their love.

The way Diana had explained it, it’d seemed romantic, but after spending a few years in Man’s World, Donna could see how it came off as—well—unfathomably kinky.

The costumes didn’t help. Or the explanation that, on an island where many went naked, there couldn’t be anything sexual about corsets or thongs or leather boots with spiky heels.

Donna was dressed as the butterfly catcher. Her lean, statuesque body was encased in leather boots and a butterfly thong—though hers was a different color, meant to represent past butterflies she’d caught, the experience she’d bring to bear in caring for the butterflies she caught today. Her corset was more like leather armor, encasing only her chest, laces playing between the two halves that held her breasts. Spiked shoulder pads and a spiked helmet completed the ensemble; otherwise, she was naked. And she had to admit, as kinky as it was, wearing such sadomasochistic costuming did make her feel more dominant than her companions.

Raven was their third for the ritual, representing a butterfly that had already been caught and would now help Kory’s butterfly grow accustomed to being caged and on display. Donna had tried to put Kory off of the ritual by explaining they’d need a third woman, but Kory had only said that Raven would do it. And surprisingly, Raven had readily agreed.

“Don’t you realize how kinky this is?” Donna had asked her.

“Look at me,” Raven had said. “Of course I’m into being chained and whipped. Duh.”

Donna had learned not to doubt Kory’s instincts when it came to these things. Though her pride told her that not many people would say no to kinky fun with two women like her and Kory.

Raven wore her own butterfly mask, pink leathers, and a corset that also covered her breasts, although it allowed their heft to breathe through the leather with a silky covering bridging the gaps in the corset. It made the normally unassuming Raven look totally sensual, though maybe that was just her being outside of her voluminous cloak with her lithe, nubile body on display for once—even Donna felt an urge to dominate her—restraining herself largely because the ritual was pretty much the exact same thing.

In growing, but poorly acted, horror, Kory watched Donna seat herself on top of a table and wiggle out of her panties, sliding them down her delicately muscled legs until they were pooled on the floor. Donna opened her thighs and slid a gloved finger down to the slit of her pussy.

As wary as she’d been of playing out this ritual, Donna had to admit that when she touched herself, the leather glove found wetness. She pressed a little harder, staring at Kory’s all-but-naked body, and felt an explosion of sensation tingle its way through her body, leaving her nipples hard and her cunt hungry for more.

“Have a sip of this nectar, little butterfly. My flower calls out to you,” she commanded imperiously, favoring Kory with a regal smile. As much as she liked having Kory as a friend, she thought she could enjoy having the delicious Tamaranean as a bitch too.

Lust broke over Kory like a tidal wave. She was practically drooling before she remembered to act horrified at having the creamy brunette seated before her, legs open wide, both her mien and aggressive, dominative garb commanding respect.

“X’Hal!” she gasped before remembering her lines, which came out husky with arousal. “You can’t make me taste you! I am a free butterfly! I won’t be caged in your heart!”

Both Donna and Raven laughed, though Raven’s was low and sarcastic and not, Donna thought, directed at Kory’s ‘resistance’ so much as the vehement sincerity that would put William Shatner to shame.

Donna slipped off the table and went to her cupboard. As much as she tried to keep a rein—pun not intended—on the free-floating sexuality that animated Titan Tower, she did have to confess to keeping a box of sex toys in her room. Diana had not wanted her to pile up with unrelieved stress, just because she’d be away from home.

She’d also warned her not to overburden Dick with her sexual needs, seeing as there were two other women on the team. Donna thought Diana was projecting a bit on how appealing she found darkly handsome Gotham boys.

Donna selected a slim leather crop, three feet long, and brought it back to Kory. She swished the slender crop through the air; it hurt her just smacking into her palm. “Do you want me to show you what a good mistress I can be, little butterfly?”

Kory moaned at the agony to come, which was how the ritual was supposed to go—it just wasn’t supposed to be the kind of moan that sounded like it came with an obscene phone call. “Oh please!” she sobbed. “Please, I don’t want to come! Don’t make me come and come and come! I can’t have orgasm after orgasm after orgasm, I just can’t!”

Raven made a tth sound of disdain. “This sound better in Greek, princess?”

Donna bit back a retort of how many languages Raven spoke. She’d just shoot back that she spoke every language that’d ever been written in blood on a book of skin, and then where would the conversation go?

The crop flew again. Kory gasped at having its love bite on her cheek. “Hold her,” Donna ordered.

Raven grabbed Kory’s arms and pulled them behind her back until her elbows touched, forcing her chest to shove forward and making her plump, perfect breasts an open target for Donna’s whip.

“Alright! Alright!” Kory sobbed. “I’ll eat your pussy, I promise I will!”

Donna laughed. “Too late, my butterfly.”

Kory stared at the crop as Donna held it up. It was perfectly still in her hand, right up until the moment it slashed downward. Pain exploded in Kory’s breasts as the crop cut across the tops of her breasts, marking them with a single scarlet welt across their slopes. She screamed and struggled, but it was only an act—Raven easily held her despite the vast differences in their strength.

Donna brought the crop down again, this time vertically, drilling the business end right into the majestic heft of Kory’s left tit. Kory cried out as her huge breast jiggled with the blow, the mark the crop had left standing out from the sweaty, burnished gold of her skin tone.

“Now you must really want to eat my pussy,” Donna said softly, thrashing the crop horizontally into Kory’s right breast, making it bounce against the left, a thin red line cutting across the outer curve of the luscious globe.

“Oh yes!” Kory cried, pain seething through her throbbing breasts and her thighs rubbing together to fill her with just as much pleasure.

“How much do you want to eat my pussy?” Donna asked, whipping Kory’s tortured breasts some more, making them quiver with their slender welts gathering, melting together.

“AHHH! X’Hal!” Kory moaned, the pain mounting, her lust outpacing how she could get herself off by squeezing her muscular thighs.

“Tell me!” Donna demanded, laying the crop across the bounding, glowing flesh of Kory’s tits again.

“Oh, so much, so much, gghhh!”

Now Kory’s acting was convincing. Of course, according to the ritual she was just supposed to want the pain to end—not to be overwhelmed by such lewdness that she’d do anything for sex. The difference convinced Donna to bend the rites a little.

“Looks like she can’t make up her mind,” she said to Raven, whacking the crop firmly into the underside of Kory’s breasts. She wasn’t able to see the sting of the blow herself, but she could see the wince on Kory’s face, the bounce of her breasts, and then her teeth clenching as she tried to bear her delight—her anxious wait for another hit.

“She should know she wants to eat your pussy more than anything else in the world,” Raven observed with her customary sarcasm.

“I do!” Kory yelled as the crop lashed her again, kicking up the throbbing pain in her breasts to the torturous intensity Donna had kept it at since they’d started. Her eyes were glazing over while the hurt kept working at her nerves, preparing them for a pleasure that she was going mad waiting for. “Donna, I want your pussy more than anything!”

“I think she’s had enough,” Raven said. “Or she’s had nowhere near enough, but her sore tits will be fun to play with.”

She let go of Kory, who of course didn’t think to try and escape, and reached around her to grope a tit that sparked with pain on every heaving breath. With her fingers sinking into its lush contours, electrifying the welts that Donna’s crop had left, Kory let out an orgasmic breath, her mouth hanging open. Her pain was pool of gasoline; any pleasure she felt was a lit matchstick. She exploded for it.

Donna tossed aside her crop and jumped up on the table. She spread her legs, the motion reminding her of how wet she was, how sensitive. Whipping Kory had brought her to the cusp of orgasm, just as it had the Tamaranean, and it would be delicious to enjoy everything that came after that agonizing foreplay.

“Lick me good,” she snarled, “or I’ll do your ass like I did your tits.”

Raven grinned wryly. “Maybe you should threaten not to punish her if she disobeys you. That’d really put the fear of Zeus into her.”

So woozy with submission and anticipation that she barely knew what she was doing, Kory lowered her head to the slick feminine heat of Donna’s core. The smell of a woman filled her senses, even more exciting when she knew it would lead to her own pleasure. She bent down until her plump lips touched the stiffened button that was Donna’s clitoris.

“Taste it,” Donna ordered, her voice soft now, awed by Kory’s surrender.

Reeling from the command and the thrill of adrenaline that went through her own body at obeying it, Kory put out her tongue and ran it against Donna’s clit. She smelled the juices flowing from Donna’s warm arousal and gave a low moan at the thought of tasting them, drinking them, being filled and warmed by them.