Chapter 10: The Apprenticeship
The door to Veronica’s apartment swung open before Cristina’s knuckles could make contact a second time. Veronica stood there, clad in a silky lavender robe that barely clung to her shoulders, her eyes instantly zeroing in on Cristina’s face. The streaks were drying now, flaky and stark against her pale skin, a roadmap leading back to David’s bedroom and the raw power play that had ended barely twenty minutes ago. The faint, familiar musk still clung to Cristina’s baggy t-shirt.
Veronica’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile that didn’t quite reach her assessing eyes. "Well," she breathed, the scent of sandalwood incense swirling out from the cluttered warmth behind her. "Someone’s been busy." She stepped aside, gesturing Cristina in without breaking her gaze. "Come in, Picasso."
Cristina strode past her, the worn soles of her boots scuffing the faded rug. The apartment was its usual comforting chaos: vintage band posters competing for wall space with framed black-and-white photos of strangers, mismatched velvet armchairs piled high with embroidered cushions, the low hum of a forgotten playlist drifting from unseen speakers. She stopped in the center of the living room, surrounded by Veronica’s curated clutter, feeling the plug shift subtly inside her as she turned to face her mentor. The defiance that had propelled her here solidified into something harder, sharper.
Veronica closed the door softly and leaned against it, arms crossed beneath her breasts, her gaze travelling deliberately from Cristina’s marked face down her baggy-clothed body and back up. "David?" she asked, though it wasn’t really a question.
"David," Cristina confirmed, her voice low but steady. She didn’t wipe her face. She wore it like war paint. "He did exactly what I told him to." A flicker of remembered power sparked in her eyes. "And then I told him I wasn't going back to that soul-sucking office. That he would pay the bills now. That I was becoming his fantasy." She paused, drawing a breath that filled her lungs with incense and possibility. "Teach me everything, Veronica. I want to become the fantasy—not just for him, but for myself."
Veronica pushed off the door. The slow smile widened, transforming into something predatory, excited. She closed the distance between them in a few quick strides, her robe whispering against her legs. She stopped inches from Cristina, her perfume mingling with the lingering scent on Cristina’s skin. Veronica’s finger lifted, not touching Cristina’s cheek, but hovering near the dried evidence. Her eyes, dark and glittering, locked onto Cristina’s.
"Finally," Veronica murmured, the word thick with satisfaction. "The tomboy sheds her skin." She dropped her hand, her expression shifting into pure, focused calculation. "Okay, Picasso. You want the full fantasy? The whole fucking immersive experience? It’s not just about making him cum on command, though that’s a delightful party trick." She started pacing slowly around Cristina, a shark circling prey she approved of. "It’s about being the fantasy. Every. Single. Cell."
Cristina stood rooted, absorbing the intensity radiating off Veronica.
"First," Veronica declared, stopping directly in front of her again, "the canvas needs work. Those baggy rags?" She flicked dismissively at Cristina’s t-shirt. "Gone. Tomorrow. We hit the boutiques. Think silk, satin, lace that hugs. Things that make men forget how to form sentences. Things that make you feel like a fucking goddess walking." Her eyes raked Cristina’s frame. "You’ve got a good base under those tents. Time to showcase it. More gym time. Specific focus. Ass, core, thighs. Sculpt it. Own it."
Cristina nodded, the idea of shedding her armor both terrifying and exhilarating.
"Second," Veronica continued, her energy crackling, "movement. You need to learn how this body flows. Yoga, Pilates first."
Cristina drew a breath. She had done yoga once or twice before, hadn't minded it. But Veronica wasn't hardly done.
"Then pole. Twice a week. It’s strength, it’s grace, it’s seduction disguised as exercise. Teaches you control, teaches you how to command a room just by breathing." She mimed a slow, sinuous movement with her hand. "Owns the space."
"Pole classes?" Cristina echoed, a flicker of doubt surfacing.
"You think a fantasy just stands there looking pretty?" Veronica snorted. "She moves. She hypnotizes. Pole. Non-negotiable." She waved a hand towards a framed photo on the wall showing her suspended upside down on a gleaming chrome pole, a look of fierce ecstasy on her face. "Trust me."
Cristina had somehow never noticed that one. She swallowed, the image imprinting itself. "Okay."
"Third," Veronica said, her voice dropping lower, becoming conspiratorial, intimate. "The practical application."
Veronica’s words hung in the incense-thick air, heavy with implication. "The practical application." Then, without another syllable, she moved. Her hands, quick and decisive, gripped the hem of Cristina’s oversized t-shirt. Cristina barely registered the cool air hitting her skin as the shirt was yanked upwards and discarded onto a pile of embroidered cushions. The baggy sweatpants followed, pooling around her boots before Veronica efficiently pulled those off too, leaving Cristina naked except for her plain cotton briefs and the plug—a constant, intimate pressure.
Veronica’s fingers, cool and sure, traced the base of the plug where it met Cristina’s skin. "Still holding court, I see," she murmured, her voice a low hum that vibrated through Cristina’s lower back. She applied a subtle pressure, massaging the silicone deeper for a breathless second, a reminder and an invasion rolled into one. Simultaneously, her other hand snaked up Cristina’s torso, fingertips finding her nipples, already pebbled from the sudden exposure and the sheer shock of the action.
Cristina gasped, a sharp intake of breath mingling with the scents of sandalwood and her own lingering musk. "Veronica—" she started, but the protest died as Veronica’s thumb and forefinger closed around one stiff peak, rolling it with clinical precision. Pleasure, sharp and electric, shot downwards, meeting the pressure from the plug in a confusing, overwhelming wave. Before Cristina could process the dual sensation, Veronica’s thumb, slick with something cool—lube? Saliva?—was pressing against her lips.
"Open," Veronica commanded, the playful mentor replaced by something utterly focused. The command brooked no argument. Cristina parted her lips, and Veronica’s thumb slid inside, pressing down on her tongue. The taste was clean, sterile, vaguely chemical. Before Cristina could adjust, the thumb was withdrawn, replaced by two long fingers, pushing deeper, exploring the roof of her mouth, mimicking penetration.
"Get used to the stretch," Veronica instructed calmly, her eyes fixed on Cristina’s mouth as her fingers moved. Then, as swiftly as they arrived, the fingers vanished. Cristina took a ragged breath, but Veronica was already reaching for the glass coffee table. She picked up a smooth, flesh-toned silicone dildo, glistening with fresh lube. Without preamble, she pressed the rounded tip firmly against Cristina’s parted lips. "Wider, Picasso."
The silicone pushed past Cristina’s teeth, filling her mouth, thick and unyielding. It pressed down on her tongue, triggering her gag reflex almost immediately. Tears sprang to her eyes as she fought the instinct to choke. "Breathe through your nose," Veronica coached, her tone detached, observing. "Focus past it. This isn’t about comfort. It’s about control." She held the dildo steady, forcing Cristina to accommodate its girth. Saliva pooled, escaping the corners of Cristina’s mouth.
Satisfied with the intrusion, Veronica released the dildo, leaving it lodged securely between Cristina’s teeth. "Hold that," she said, turning away briefly. Cristina stood, trembling slightly, the plug a grounding presence below, the dildo an undeniable weight above, her nipples still tingling from Veronica’s touch. Veronica returned with soft leather cuffs. "Wrists," she ordered. Cristina numbly offered them. The leather was supple but strong as Veronica efficiently buckled each cuff, the restraints clicking shut with a finality that echoed in Cristina’s chest. She tested them instinctively; they held firm. "Don't struggle," Veronica advised, almost kindly. "It’s counterproductive."
Next came the blindfold: a wide strip of black silk. Veronica positioned it carefully, blotting out the cluttered apartment, the band posters, the world. Darkness descended, amplifying every sound—Veronica’s breathing, the faint hum of electronics, the frantic thud of her own heart. The sensory deprivation was instant and total, leaving only touch, taste, and smell. She felt utterly exposed, vulnerable, yet electrically alive. The plug felt larger, more insistent in the dark. The dildo in her mouth demanded constant attention to avoid choking.
Then, warmth. Veronica’s breath ghosted over Cristina’s inner thigh. Cristina flinched, a muffled sound escaping around the silicone gag. Soft lips brushed her pubic bone, a whisper of contact before Veronica’s tongue made its first deliberate swipe. Not tentative, but confident, parting her folds in one smooth motion. Cristina cried out, the sound trapped and distorted by the dildo. Veronica’s tongue was relentless, exploring, circling her clit with maddening precision, then dipping lower only to return, building pressure with an expert’s knowledge. The plug shifted with Cristina’s involuntary movements, adding a deep, resonant ache to the sharp focus of the tongue on her clit.
Veronica worked her steadily, ruthlessly, mapping Cristina’s responses in the dark. She used broad, flat strokes, then focused flicks, varying the rhythm just enough to keep Cristina teetering. The sensations were overwhelming – the relentless tongue, the persistent plug, the unfamiliar fullness in her mouth, the helplessness of the cuffs and blindfold. Pleasure coiled tight in Cristina’s belly, a spring compressing, winding tighter and tighter. Her hips jerked, seeking more contact, but Veronica controlled the angle, the depth, the pace. She was building Cristina methodically, perfectly.
Cristina felt it cresting, the undeniable surge towards explosion. Her muscles clenched around the plug, her back arched, a desperate, pleading whine vibrated in her throat against the dildo. She was right there, trembling on the precipice, every nerve screaming for release. Veronica’s tongue pressed harder, circling faster… and then stopped. Completely. The devastating pressure vanished, leaving only emptiness, sensitivity, and the frantic, unfulfilled pulse of her clit.
Silence. Cristina froze, suspended in agonizing limbo. Her body screamed for the finish that had been ripped away. She strained against the cuffs, gasped futilely around the gag, her hips searching the air for contact that wasn't there. The cool air of the apartment felt alien on her wet, exposed skin. She heard Veronica stand up, the faint rustle of her robe. Footsteps moved away across the rug, unhurried. The door to what Cristina guessed was the bedroom clicked softly shut. Veronica was gone. Cristina was left alone in the dark, bound, gagged, plugged, and vibrating with desperate, unfinished need, hanging precariously on the sharp, exquisite edge.
Time stretched, elastic and agonizing, in the suffocating dark. Cristina strained against the leather cuffs, the bite a sharp counterpoint to the deep, unsatisfied throb between her legs. She arched her back, bucked her hips wildly, trying desperately to force the plug inside her to grind against the exact spot Veronica’s tongue had abandoned.
Sweat slicked her skin, mingling with the drying streaks on her face. Each futile thrust only amplified the ache, the plug a maddening tease that refused to grant release. A guttural sob tore from her throat, muffled grotesquely by the thick silicone stretching her jaw. Frustration coiled into something raw, almost feral. The silence pressed in, heavier than the blindfold. She felt suspended on a knife-edge of torturous pleasure, denied the fall.
The soft click of the bedroom door was a thunderclap in the stillness. Footsteps, unhurried, crossed the rug. Cristina froze, every muscle tensed, listening. Veronica’s familiar scent – sandalwood and something indefinably female – washed over her before she felt the warmth of her presence. Fingers, cool and deliberate, brushed her hip, sending a fresh jolt through her over-sensitized nerves. The blindfold lifted. Blinking in the dim light, Cristina met Veronica’s eyes, dark pools of calm amusement. "Getting impatient, Picasso?" Veronica murmured, her voice a low purr. She reached out and, with unsettling gentleness, slid the saliva-slick dildo from Cristina’s mouth.
Cristina gasped, her jaw aching, sucking in ragged breaths. Before she could speak, before she could even register relief, Veronica raised the glistening dildo. Cristina watched, mesmerized and horrified, as Veronica traced its tip over her own lower lip, then slowly, deliberately, pushed it past her lips. Veronica’s eyes never left Cristina’s as she took the length into her own mouth, mimicking the stretch, a low hum vibrating in her throat. It was obscene, intimate, a shared violation.
Veronica withdrew the dildo, its surface gleaming fresh with her own saliva. She held it for a moment, studying Cristina’s flushed face, the raw need etched there. Without a word, she turned away, her robe slipping off her shoulders to pool on the floor. Cristina watched the play of muscle in Veronica’s back as she retrieved a simple black harness from a drawer. The efficient clicks of the buckles securing the harness, the wet schlick as she slid the saliva-coated dildo into the O-ring – it was a ritualistic preparation, devoid of hesitation.
Veronica turned back, fully transformed. The harness sat snugly on her hips, the dildo jutting out, intimidating and purposeful. She stepped close, her naked skin radiating heat. "Look at you," Veronica breathed, her fingers trailing possessively down Cristina’s restrained arm. "All that pent-up energy. Burning." She leaned in, capturing Cristina’s mouth in a deep, claiming kiss. Veronica’s tongue invaded, tasting of herself and the lingering sterile tang of the toy. As their tongues tangled, Veronica’s free hand moved between her own legs. Cristina felt the shudder run through Veronica’s body as she began to rub the base of the dildo against herself, her moans vibrating directly into Cristina’s mouth.
The sounds were gutteral, primal. Veronica wasn't just touching herself; she was getting off on the sheer control, the power of the moment, the dildo destined for Cristina serving her first. "Feel that?" Veronica gasped against Cristina's lips, her movements becoming more urgent, more focused. "That's what you do to me. This power." Her hips jerked, grinding against the silicone driven by her own hand. Her moans crescendoed, sharp and desperate, echoing in the small space, filling Cristina’s mouth and ears until Veronica let out a sharp cry, her body tensing, shuddering against Cristina as she came, riding the wave of her own dominance.
Veronica pulled back slightly, panting, a sheen of sweat glistening on her brow, a triumphant, predatory light in her eyes. She wiped her fingers casually on her thigh, her gaze fixed on Cristina. "Now," she whispered, her voice rough with exertion and intent. "Let's see if we can find that edge you were chasing." Her hands clamped onto Cristina’s hips, fingers digging in possessively. She guided the slick, saliva-smeared tip of the dildo to Cristina’s entrance, already swollen and slick with frustrated need. There was no preamble, no gentle easing. Veronica thrust forward, hard, burying the length of it inside Cristina in one brutal stroke.
Cristina screamed, the sound raw and unfiltered, a release of pure sensation. The stretch was immediate, intense, filling her completely, deeper than the plug, hitting angles that made stars burst behind her eyelids. Veronica didn't pause. She set a punishing rhythm from the start, pulling back almost entirely only to slam home again, each thrust driving the air from Cristina’s lungs. The leather cuffs held her fast, leaving her utterly open, a vessel for Veronica’s relentless pace. The plug shifted with each impact, a secondary pressure, a constant counterpoint to the deep, driving penetration.
"Feel it!" Veronica growled, her voice strained with effort. Her hips pistoned, the sound of flesh hitting flesh sharp in the room. "Take it! All of it! That's your fantasy, isn't it? To be used?" The words were a lash, driving Cristina higher. The coiled spring inside her, denied for so long, snapped. Pleasure detonated, a white-hot supernova obliterating thought, obliterating resistance. Her body convulsed, clamping down violently on the invading silicone as wave after devastating wave of orgasm crashed through her. She screamed again, a sound of pure, shattered ecstasy.
Veronica didn't slow. If anything, Cristina’s climax seemed to fuel her, driving her harder, deeper. "Again!" Veronica commanded, her own breath coming in harsh gasps. "You owe me another!" The dildo pounded into Cristina’s oversensitive flesh, reigniting the embers before they could cool. Pleasure became pain became pleasure again, a dizzying, relentless cycle. The world narrowed to the slam of Veronica’s hips, the bite of the cuffs, the overwhelming fullness, the roar of her own blood in her ears. She was coming undone, fractured by sensation, powerless against the onslaught. Veronica leaned over her, sweat dripping onto Cristina's chest, her eyes blazing with feral intensity. "That's it," she rasped, driving impossibly deeper, "break for me. Break."
Veronica’s command, "Break," hung in the humid air like a challenge thrown down. The brutal rhythm of the strap-on didn’t relent, each deep thrust sending fresh shockwaves through Cristina’s oversensitive core. Pleasure wasn't a peak anymore; it was a continuous, shattering wave, each crest slamming into the next before the last could fully recede.
She felt the leather cuffs dig into her wrists as she strained, not against them, but into the punishing force driving into her. A guttural cry ripped from her throat, raw and stripped of any inhibition. It wasn't just her body convulsing; something deeper fractured. The relentless stimulation, the denial earlier, the complete surrender to sensation – it fused into a white-hot detonation behind her eyes.
Orgasm didn't stop. It looped. One violent clench bled into the next, a feedback loop of pure, nerve-scorching ecstasy. Her vision greyed at the edges, sounds muffled – only the slap of skin on skin, Veronica's harsh breaths, and the roaring rush of her own blood remained. Every muscle locked, released, locked again around the invading silicone, each spasm triggering the next explosion. The corporate grind, the baggy clothes, the stifling dissatisfaction – it all dissolved in the acid bath of pure, obliterating sensation. A new drive ignited: this. This was her purpose now. Pleasure wasn't a destination; it was the path itself. Her body wasn't just feeling; it was becoming the instrument.
Veronica’s rhythm faltered for a split second, her own exertion reaching its limit as Cristina continued to shudder uncontrollably beneath her, milking the strap-on with involuntary, powerful contractions. "Fucking... hell..." Veronica gasped, her grip on Cristina’s hips slipping slightly. It was the only opening Cristina needed.
The cuffs. Veronica had released them earlier, perhaps assuming Cristina was spent, or simply needing a breath herself. Cristina’s hands, slick with sweat, shot out. Not to push away. To grab. Her fingers, strong and suddenly purposeful, clamped onto Veronica’s sweat-slicked biceps with surprising force. Veronica’s triumphant expression flickered, replaced by startled confusion. "Cris—?"
With a sound more animal than human, Cristina surged upwards, leveraging her hips and core. The sudden, explosive movement unseated Veronica completely. One moment Veronica was dominant, driving; the next, she was sprawled backwards onto the thick rug with a startled oof, the dildo sliding free with a wet sound. Cristina was on her in an instant, a predator unleashed. Gone was the submissive restraint. Raw, focused energy radiated from her newly awakened core. She straddled Veronica’s torso, pinning her arms above her head with one strong hand, her other already sliding between Veronica’s thighs. Veronica’s eyes widened, a flicker of genuine surprise, maybe even apprehension, flashing in them before Cristina’s fingers found her clit, hard and swollen.
"Not done," Cristina rasped, her voice thick and low, her gaze fixed on Veronica’s face. She didn’t tease. She pressed her thumb down hard, circling with ruthless precision, mimicking the focused torture she’d endured. Veronica gasped, her back arching off the rug. "Christina—!" It was half-protest, half-plea.
"Shut up," Cristina ordered, her voice devoid of its usual casual lilt. It was pure command. She watched Veronica’s face contort, felt her hips buck helplessly against the relentless pressure. Cristina shifted her weight, grinding her own still-throbbing core against Veronica’s hip bone, the plug a forgotten anchor, as her fingers worked. She dipped lower, sliding two fingers deep into Veronica’s soaked heat, then back to the swollen bud, building pressure with terrifying efficiency.
Veronica came with a sharp, ragged cry, her body tensing like a drawn bow.
"Wai... Cristina... I can't..."
She gasped, and Cristina briefly abated. But her purpose flared anew, and she saw, with clarity, that Veronica had more, could take more. She renewed her movements, one hand roughly pulling at a swollen nipple while the other coaxed forward even more of the slick moisture that sluiced from Veronica's needy cunt. Her hand was covered in her juices, sliding wetly across her pink vulvar lips as she teased forth ever more sensation from their folds. Veronica moaned wordlessly and writhed underneath her, and Cristina saw how she could push her over the top, bring her onto the hedonistic plane she now inhabited.
She kissed Veronica hard, her tongue lashing against the other woman's, envying her the sensation she was about to receive. As Veronica responded, Cristina shaped her fingers into a cone shape and pushed.
After a moment of pressure that had Veronica gasp into her mouth, her whole hand slid inside, Veronica's pussy swallowing it seamlessly. Veronica's eyes snapped open wide, a wordless cry emerging as her body shook. She convulsed once, twice, three times, coming again and again as Cristina thrust inside of her.
Finally Cristina relented, and Veronica collapsed, slumping back onto the worn sofa, eyes fluttering, mind and body spent by the intensity of the experience.
Cristina stood still, her body buzzing. She felt... alive.