Superior

V.

Mallory sat stone faced, processing Gwendoline and William's extraordinary circumstances.

Underground dungeons.

Chains, whips, and other implements of torture.

Female superiority.

It was as if the older woman spoke to her in a foreign language, yet something deep beneath her skin, buried and intertwined with bone and sinew, registered within her. Her fingers itched with the possibility of power, of superiority. Pink flesh darted from plump lips and wetted them.

Fingers snapped in front of her. Azure eyes focused on olive. "Earth to Mallory," Gwen sang, "have I scared you away, darling?"

"I—So you and William—you think..."

"Oh dear girl, do spit it out. You're far to old to stutter."

Her words was fond, but steeled Mallory's resolve. "So this relationship you have, other people have it as well?"

Slender fingers brought the tea cup up to pink lips and back down. "Of course."

The brunette mimicked the latter. "How many do you know of? Are they similar to yours?"

"Personally, I know of a few. There are more I'm certain, but as to an exact number, I can't give you one. As for being similar, I'm sure there are similarities, but no two are the same."

Everything was matter of fact, plain and straight forward. It baffled Mallory how something so taboo could truly exist, yet that didn't deter her desire.

With her curiosity peaked, the younger woman leaned forward, eyes wide and tea forgotten. Her stomach was turning and Mal was uncertain, something she was becoming familiar with whenever she shared space with Gwendoline. "Would you show me?" She whispered as if someone could possibly hear their conversation; as if her words were sins themself; as if she would catch fire at the mere suggestion.

Pink lips curled delightfully. "Of course." And Gwendoline rose and disappeared down a hall.

Mallory looked away and stared at the empty seat in front of her. Why would she just walk away? What strange feeling has taken over her, has drawn her astray from her natural position of subservience?

"Coming darling?"

So Mallory followed fervently down the same hall and into the same room the blonde occupied. Kept brows rose upon wooden paddles and a leather fashioned instrument laid upon a silk covered mattress. Instinct pulled her slender fingers to the implements and sheets, delicate skin grazing the strands of leather with intrigue.

"That, is a flogger," Gwen chirped. She was quickly behind the brunette, one arm wrapped around to grab the toy. "Here."

Without a choice, the flogger was placed into Mallory's hand. It was heavy considering, and the strips swung lightly. The braiding along the handle was careful, purposely weaved and flowed towards the falls of leather. Brave, Mal moved her wrist, guiding the flogger left, right, and back, eyes intensely tracing the movement.

Gwen remained as close as she could, chest pressed against the brunette innocently. Mallory's stomach curled and breath hitched as she placed the instrument back on the bed, opting for a slim, wooden slab rather than addressing the woman behind her.

The face of the wood was engraved, or rather burnt, with a five-spiked crown, which nimble fingers traced absentmindedly. With groves fit for a hand sculpted in the handle, it seemed the paddle was more for show rather than instilling punishment.

That piece of information was locked into the younger woman's head for later.

"You're awfully quiet, Mallory dear." The blonde rasped in her ear. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

Suddenly parched. Mallory's words were stuck in her throat. She turned slowly, her shoulder brushed the woman before she faced accomplished eyes peering into her.

"Hmm. Are you excited by this?"

Her heart sped up. The answer was obvious, yet she couldn't bear admitting such a thing. Normal people did not enjoy this, there was no reasonable explanation. Mallory was far from normal, but there were no circumstances in which would allow her to justify this craving. It was primal, uncivilized.

She is an aspiring politician. A wife. A lady.

Gwendoline laughed, full bellied and brilliant before green eyes repositioned on their potential prey. Mal shivered at the toothy grin she received, predatory and arousing. Now brutal fingers gripped the brunette's chin, reinforcing eye contact. "Who knew such a beautiful, obedient housewife would want to remain less than."

Strong willed, the young woman jerked her face away, angered and spiteful. "No," she spat, blue eyes burning. "How dare you see me as weak and compliant."

How dare. Damn her.

"Prove it." Gwen challenged, taking a step back to allow her guest more room.

"How?"

Just as quickly as space was given, the blonde reclaimed it. The women touched noses, eyes boring into one another's in what seemed like a stalemate. Every inch of Mallory's being quivered underneath the hard glare, yet she remained, determined to show her strength, to display her will. Averting her gaze was not an option, especially if her desired result was to be seen as an equal.

Unsure if she could blink, Mallory stared until her eyes began to twitch, begging for alleviation. Just as her lids were ready to collapse, the older woman broke into a fit of laughter.

"I'm sure you'll keep me young," Gwen wheezed, placing a hand on Mal's shoulder.

"I don't know what you mean by that."

"Should you decide to continue learning, you will."

It was a promise, and Mallory was unsure whether her excitement was due to nervousness or genuine interest.

She decided to play coy, refusing to let it slip that mimicking the blonde was her idea. "Bold of you to assume I'd want to learn."

Gwen shrugged, still smiling. "Then tell me no."

There was no way Mallory would say no to that. Despite her social status, despite the risks, despite what Ted may think, denying this was not an option, not when her body burned and ached to be more.

"That's what I thought, darling. Join me in the kitchen again and we can discuss the terms of our arrangement."