Making the Cut

Would she? Or wouldn’t she?

Isa watched and waited, imagining she could see the cogs spinning behind those honey-coloured orbs.

She didn’t even know the Welshwoman’s name yet but she already fancied she knew the type. Whatever Isa might say, she thought she knew what was coming.

Which was cute, because she hadn’t a clue. But Isa knew that telling people wasn’t warning them off; it just lured them in. She’d seen the type before; often it was guys, the big burly sort who thought they could take anything a ‘girl’ could dish out.

Isa always enjoyed proving them wrong. She was quite sure she’d enjoy getting up close and personal with this one too.

Her name, it turned out, was Elizabeth. Elizabeth Winterbourne, a name she intoned as if Isa ought to know it.

Ooh. Fancy. But not really interesting.

“Pleasure’s all mine, Lizzie,” Isa’s fingers curled tight around Elizabeth’s palm, “Same as this.”

Maybe she had meant to let her new friend pull her up. Maybe not.

But Isa was a creature of impulse, of the moment and, seeing an opportunity, she pounced.

Or, more accurately, she pulled.

Hand clasped tight around the white-haired woman’s, Isa didn’t try anything fancy. She simply yanked hard towards her, throwing her whole body into her attempt to drag Elizabeth down to the mats.

As she fell back to the canvas, her legs unfurled unconsciously from her Lotus posture, spreading wide to embrace Elizabeth’s form high in the cradle of Isa’s thighs. The Temptress, well-practiced in her art, knew exactly where she wanted to place her grip.

Once she had Elizabeth where she wanted her, those fearsome limbs would kick out straight, her ankles locking shut as she began to crush the air from her newest victim with a slow but supremely powerful constriction of her inner thigh muscles.

Well, she had asked. And Isa was pretty sure this squeeze toy would be better able to handle the pressure than her last one…