Mia buffed the huge wooden cross in the white basement, deltoids aching as she remembered last night’s muffled cries.  The debased satisfaction she knew the clients always felt with Baun.  She’d hated every moment of listening to it, though a part of her always wished the mess she cleaned was messier.  

Sighing, she wiped her brow with her forearm.  Took a few steps back, looking at the cross from every angle to make sure the last specks of sweat and body fluid were gone.  

She turned around and surveyed the room.  

Whips and chains and rope, cleaned and conditioned, hung on the back wall.  The silver rails on the the head, foot, and bottom of the bed gleamed the way nickel rarely could.  The black rug was drying after being steam cleaned and crisp black sheets clung to the bed.  A BDSM lover’s paradise.

Her gaze rested on the door at the top of the winding black stairwell in the corner of the room.  

Where is she?

She thought of the moment Baun had hauled her away from her housekeeping trolley and into her hotel room months ago, her beautiful face both terrified and fierce.  “ICE is here.  In the lobby.”

Hiding Mia could cost Baun everything.  Put her in prison, exploit her business and clients.  But she’d done it anyway, and continued to for months.  When she was away longer than expected, Mia always worried.

Had a client gone too far?  

Had she been arrested?

Are they coming for me now?  The thought used to fill her with fear, but now she was just angry.

She took a deep breath.

A slam.  The walls shuddered.  

“Mia!” bellowed Baun’s delectable deep voice.

Thank God.  Mia exhaled, the tension sucked from her bones.  

Grabbing the handle of her cleaning supplies’ carrier, she made her way up the stairs and entered the kitchen.  Baun’s toned legs stemmed from the stainless steel refrigerator door, light washing them whiter than they were.  

The door shut.  

“There you are!”  A white tank showed off the long muscles in Baun’s tattooed arms as she popped a piece of cantaloupe in her mouth.  Juice oozed from her teeth, beading at her lower lip until she closed her mouth to chew.  

Mia reminded herself to breathe.

Chewing, Baun shook her head.  Brushed her long red hair from her eyes and planted her palm on the counter, laser focused on Mia.  She held up a couple of fingers and swallowed.  “Two.  Two models showed up and both were high.  So fucking unprofessional.  They make us all look bad.”

“Oh.  I’m sorry.  That sucks.”  Mia set her carrier on the floor.  

“Right?  Ridiculous.”  Baun ran her hand through her hair, spilling it over her bare shoulder and grinned .  “So here’s the deal.  I have a deadline and I’m not letting my customers down, even if I’m the only fucking model to show up.  I need you to be the videographer.”  

“Me?”

The only experiences Mia had with a camera were the requisite selfies in high school.  Or posts on Insta of flowers or spiders in their web.  Nature stills.  

Something in Baun’s face softened and Mia could swear her eyes twinkled.  “It’s a light WAM thing.  Latex, oil, whipped cream.  That.  You’ll like it.”

Sweat rushed her body.  Mia’s mouth went dry. 

“It’ll be fun.  I promise.”  Shooting her a smile, Baun turned and walked down the hall to her room.  Light flashed through the open doorway, quickly squeezed out by the closing door.

***

Under the weighted blanket on her bed, Mia stared at an image on her iPad of a woman with dark, chocolate brown eyes looking at the camera.  Her face and shoulders were doused with what might’ve been white icing and strawberry chunks.  The color of her hair was indecipherable.  Her finger, caked with the same icing, headed for her the smiling gape of her open mouth.

Ripping her gaze from the photograph, Mia glanced at the subtitle on the Wiki page.  “A woman who has been pied.”

She looked back at the woman and wished she could see the video.  See it slide down her skin, fall off her face. 

“WAM,” Mia had Googled.  

Wet and messy.  

The name of the fetish was almost funnily appropriate, but it felt solidifying to her.  Intoxicating.  Like it belonged in the make up of intimacy.

Bass thunked from downstairs, made her sit up in bed.  Her heart was racing, her breath heaving, the crux between her thighs warm.  She swallowed.  Licked her lips and realized Baun had opened the basement door, allowing the rock song to come out like a beacon.

It’s time.

****

The spiral iron stairwell vibrated with each step down.  Mia’s toes curled over every step until she reached the flat wooden floor and looked toward the light to her right.

Two giant black umbrellas framed the area in the middle of the room, bright lights in their chests.  Clear, sheeted plastic covered the walls and floors and under the sawhorse in the middle of the highlighted area.  Chains and black leather cuffs hung from the bottom of its legs and coiled on the floor. 

Baun’s bright red hair splashed over her shoulder as she bent over the video camera aimed at the sawhorse.  Standing, she flipped her hair over her shoulder, caught Mia’s eye, and shot her a grin. 

Smiling back, it suddenly hit her what adorned Baun’s torso.  Black, shiny latex, a material she never knew could be worn until she met Baun.  Only the redhead’s long alabaster white legs showed, disappearing into a pair of shiny black boots.

A table next to the camera held different objects.  Whipped cream.  The brown hourglass figure of chocolate syrup.  Other items she couldn’t make out.

Mia felt her breath catch.  Her kegels tensed, as if she could stave away her attraction.  She bit her lower lip.  

“Come here.”  Baun’s gaze raked down her body, stole the oxygen from the air.  It promised new experiences, abandoned conventional ideals, and told her nothing would ever be the same again.  

 The cries of Baun’s customers filled her mind.  

“Is this…”  Mia stopped in front of the plastic sheeting, shaking her head.  “I’m not into pain.” 

Baun smiled.  “I know.  Understanding comfort zones and fetishes is part of my profession.  Don’t be worried.”

The music changed, a strike like a jingling snare drum with an off-beat rhythmic clap.  Guitars, acoustic and bass.  A woman sang, alternating punk rage with songstress.  Vulnerable, climbing to strength and back.

“Trust me,” Baun said.  

Mia burned her gaze into the model’s brown eyes, willing her expression to say all the things she had no words for and everything she couldn’t bring herself to voice. 

“This is your fetish.  Embrace it.  Do everything you want to see or feel or experience.  Everything.  I want it all.”

Music and fragmented thoughts battered Mia’s head.   Heat beaded under her arms.  She willed Baun to say the right thing, put the words to this uncertainty, this vulnerability.  To find the gorgeous, intelligent woman was on the same page.  

“I can always edit out what you’re not comfortable with, but stay in the moment with me.”

Mia wet her lips, the muscles in her torso tight.  “Tell me who you think I am.”

“What do you mean?”  Baun reached down, tracing her fingers along Mia’s jawline.

“When you think of me, when you look at me, who do you see?”

“A beautiful, strong, kind, and resourceful woman.”

“That describes a lot of women, including you.  It’s vague.”  

“Okay.  You’re smart.  Controlled and strong.  Girl, you salivate for life.”  Baun tucked Mia’s hair behind her ear.  Her expression softened.  “You have enough barriers.  Don’t allow your sexuality to be one of them.”

Mia’s skin was on fire.  She felt like she was vibrating, on the precipice of something that would change her life forever.  She hugged herself, willing herself to stay strong.  She nodded.  “And you?”

“Me?”  Baun blinked.

“What of your sorrow?”

Withdrawing her touch, Baun stepped back.  The black in her brown eyes grew.   “I’m fine.”

“None of us are.  We all have barriers.  The trick is trusting someone enough to let them in.  Trust them the way you want them to trust you.”  

The words drugged the air until Baun’s expression changed.  Her mouth opened, the sweet sound of her breath riding the tide of music.

Mia stepped forward.  The plastic rustled under her feet, but Baun’s eyes held her like a mooring.  

“This mean you want to kiss me?”  Voice light, Baun arched a brow. 

“I would, if I could reach.”

Baun’s tight smile broke open.  Leaning down, she took Mia’s face in her hands and pressed her mouth against hers, soft as a butterfly’s wings.  Then her lips opened.  Her tongue pushed into Mia’s mouth, urging her own, and the world collapsed into a fireball of heat and hunger.  Everything was Baun.  Mouth, body, pelvis, breasts, need…

Mia pulled away, against Baun’s magnetic touch, to breathe.  Held the model’s head against her shoulder, felt the model’s breath against her neck. 

“There are so many things I want to do to you,” Baun whispered between panting.

“Later.  Business.”  Mia swallowed, her throat dry and body screaming for more.  “Now, go to the cross.”

Baun pulled back to look at her, then glanced at the sawhorse.

“No.”  Mia shook her head, her hands trailing down to Baun’s elbows.  She turned her around, pointed her toward the cross, and pressed her body against hers.  “My fetish, my rules.”

Baun turned her head just enough to see her cheek raise in a smile, then walked forward.  Around the border of the plastic sheeting, her heels clicking on the hard wood.  The lines under her ass winked with every step until she turned around and faced Mia.

Lust drugged her gaze, her mouth parted slightly.  

It was everything she could do not to cross the room and bury her head between the woman’s thighs.  To take over and own every part of her mind and pleasure, for as long as she was willing to stay here.

Mia took a cool breath and walked over to the camera.  Pushed the lens toward Baun and checked the viewfinder.

Almost perfect.

God damn.  

“Stretch out.”  Mia’s voice was hoarse.

Baun hitched her chin, but she stepped back.  Leaned against the cross and spread her arms and legs.

Mia exhaled.  She tiptoed around the camera and lights to the other side of the room where she kept the stepstool.  

Baun’s throaty laugh made her smile as she dragged it over to the cross.  Mia raised an eyebrow and stepped up.  Gripped her wrist and pushed it against the frame, then covered it with the thick leather straps tightly enough for her to move but not slip out.  She trailed her fingers down Baun’s arm, then descended the stairs to crouch next to her ankle.  Licking her lips, she looked up, stared into Baun’s eyes, and slowly unzipped the boot.  

The model’s perfect breasts hitched with breath.  Baun arched her sculpted leg, pulling out her foot.  Mia removed the boot.  Set it behind her and waited.

Baun shifted her weight to the bare foot, losing about four inches.  The strap on her wrist choked her skin.  

“Okay?” Mia murmured.

Baun nodded.  Spread her legs to the cross again.

Mia buckled her ankle, fingered the vulnerable bones before moving to the other side.  They repeated the process, bodies in rhythm.  

Licking her lips, Mia rested her hand on Baun’s bare calf.  She stood slowly, dragging her fingertips up her smooth, sculpted leg.  Traced over the low bikini cut of the leotard, drawing in at her inner thighs.  

Baun gasped.  Mia’s hands fanned her hips, sliding along the hem’s sleek rubber feel, and swept up to cup her breasts. 

“You are so beautiful,” Mia whispered, inches from the taller woman’s lips.

Baun drew in a breath and Mia felt like she’d ingested her words, linked them together in a place neither of them had opened to another before. 

“Intoxicating,” Mia whispered.  

She looked over Baun’s long, gorgeous, bondaged body.  Open to her every whim and silently begging to be devoured.  

Focus.  

Looking at that black latex, pale legs and breasts, dry and straight hair, and tattooed sleeves, Mia had urges to cover it with so many things.  And she’d been given nothing but green lights.

She bit back a smile.  Turned around to the table behind her.  

Chocolate pudding and syrup.  Whipped cream.  Pies.  Oils.  Milk.  Body paint, yellow batter.  Giant bowls, ladles, paintbrushes, wooden spoons.

“I miss anything?” 

Baun.

Mia lifted a shallow wooden spoon.  Dipped it deep into the chocolate pudding and lifted the bowl with her free hand.  She rested the spoon against the side and turned, clicking the camera’s “On” button.  

Feeling awkward, she side stepped the camera to be out of range.  Raised the spoon above her head, then lashed it outward with an abrupt stop.  Chocolate slapped across the latex leotard’s keyhole to Baun’s cleavage.  

Baun tipped her head back and gasped.

Mia bit her lip.  Whipped another spatter onto her legs.  Moaned as she watched those alabaster white legs drip dark brown.  Pudding splattered onto the floor.  

Shaking her head, she turned around and exchanged the bowl for the syrup.  Climbed a step on the ladder, raised the chocolate high, and squeezed.  It ran in thick drips down Baun’s right leg, rolling to inner part of her knee and down her calf.  

She darted to the other side.  Continued the drips there, then met Baun’s eyes.  

Baun pushed her head back.

As soon as she did, Mia climbed the last step of the ladder and squeezed the bottle over her head, letting the syrup race down Baun’s scalp line.  It poured over her hair, temples and neck.  Spilled over her breasts, pooled into her cleavage, down the front of her leotard, and slid down the lines of her legs.

“Raise your head,” Mia commanded.  

Her chocolate-matted hair leaned onto her shoulders, spilling new bands of syrup onto the peep of her collarbone.  But her face remained clean as she watched Mia.

“Look at the camera and close your eyes.”  

She did as she was told and Mia climbed the stepstool again.  She twisted off the top of the bottle and turned it upside down.  

Chocolate cascaded down Baun’s face until Mia could barely make out her features.  Her mouth opened for breath, humanizing a statue of goo dripping before her.

“Oh fuck,” Mia whispered.  

The syrup began to recede, dribbling down Baun’s chin.

Mia glanced at the table.  Spied the bowl of yellow cake batter.  Imagined how it’d gunk Baun’s features, steal the exterior of a body too regularly seen as perfect, and pull her down into the sewers where beauty was blind.  A view earned by the looker, the listener, and beloved by the lover.

It belonged to Mia.

Creeping down the stepstool, Mia grabbed the bowl and leapt back up. 

“Deep breath and hold it,” she murmured, and waited a moment as Baun followed her lead.  Then she dumped the entire contents down her model body.

It slumped over the syrup, clumped at her breasts and collarbone.  A bit at her ears.  A moment later, a giant black hole gaped where Baun’s mouth was, dripping from the upper lip to the lower.

Mia wanted nothing more than to mash her body against hers.  Lick away the dessert and feel for her mouth, feel the batter smash between their bodies.  Ask her breathless questions while neither could read each others’ expression.  The most vulnerable of conversations, and most distant. 

Fuck.  

Heat burned between her legs.

Focus, goddammit.  

The rhythm of the music beat inside her, the image of Baun trapped and dripping eviscerating her mind.  She wiped the sludge from Baun’s eyes.  Looked at the yellow gunk on her hand and flicked it, sending it flying onto an untouched part of Baun’s leotard.

Shiny black and gooey yellow.  A bit of chocolate in between.  

Her mouth watered.

Business, she reminded herself.  The hallmark of WAM.  

Baun’s eyes fluttered open, pudding dotting her lashes.  She licked her lips, yellow dots on her tongue like sperm.  

“Mmmm,” she hummed.

Mia almost lost her mind.  She felt like every muscle in her body shook.  Feet numb, she  dashed down the steps to spray whipped cream on a whipped cream pie and turned around.  

Baun smiled, wide and pure.  Her gaze locked on Mia’s, then she closed her mouth and eyes.  Mia could swear her tits pushed out further.  Yellow batter caked her cleavage, dripped down her abdomen.  Hell, it streaked her hair.  

But whipped cream would spatter so much better.

Mia jogged around the camera to eyeball the viewfinder.  Made sure it was trained on Baun’s vital, gorgeous, dripping form.  Then she stepped to the side.  Drew on her training from pitching in her high school softball team, and heaved the pie at Baun’s face.

Splat!

A tin foil circle engulfed Baun’s face before clattering to the floor.  Whipped cream spattered behind her, pie crust sliding off her face.  It bounced on her breasts, falling on the floor between her legs.  Thick curdles of cream dripped down her neck, dropped from her chin.  

Again the gaping black hole of her mouth.  

Breath.  

God, breath.  Vitality.  The woman who refused to live a life without laughter, love, and gratitude.  Refused to fit in, refused to live a life she didn’t believe in.  

It was because of her that Mia loved a woman.  It was because of her that she had learned so many things, from literature to science to self control and expression.  Baun allowed Mia to exist without borders, simply by existing.

And Mia would allow her the same.

Stripping off her tank, Mia pushed down her shorts.  Air tickled her skin as she moved forward, keeping her back to the camera.  She trailed her hands up and down Baun’s wet body.  Put her ear to Baun’s creamed breast, pudding saturating Mia’s scalp.  

It was too much.  Overwhelming, in every sense.

“The camera is on,” Baun murmured.

Mia shook her head.  Wetness soaked her hair to her scalp.  “Fuck it.”

Silence thickened the air.  She moved her head against Baun like a kitten, pudding thick, wet and cold on her ear.

“Sometimes I fear what you must think of me,” Baun whispered.  Goo splatted onto Mia’s head.  

Mia pulled her face away.  “What’s that?”

“There were so many possibilities.  Mostly generic.”  Her body trembled between breaths.  “But now I think maybe you’re the first to see me.  Maybe… maybe I can’t … maybe I don’t want to hide from you.”

Flames licked Mia’s blood.

Most of the time, the world was complicated.  Filled with nuance and intentions.  Grey areas.

Not this.  

Mia slid her fingers down the smooth, wet latex.  Clawed at the snaps at Baun’s crotch until they popped.  She slid down down Baun’s slick body on her cheek.  Crouched and peered up at that gorgeous, vulnerable face.  

Baun’s eyes fluttered, still caked with batter.

She took hold of the model’s legs, hoisting one and then the other, over her shoulders.  Exhaled over the perfect puffy pussy, centimeters from her lips.

Baun’s hips bucked in Mia's arms, her mouth wide and sucking in a breath.  

She whimpered.

Whimpered.

Everything evaporated but the need to devour her, to bring that whimper into a moan, a crescendo of screams.  To bring her away from herself, away from everything that haunted her, all the roles she had to play for others.  To be the person to shatter her into white light and ecstasy and hold and shelter her as the world faded back through.  

Fantasy.  Possession.  Power.  Love.  

Mine.

Hoisting Baun higher, Mia backed up and stood.  Closed her eyes and buried her mouth in Baun’s warm, salivating slit.