Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Now, hold still."

The candle hovers just inches from her skin, the only light in the dark room. The high points of Nadia's face illuminate golden behind it-- her soft smile, her eyes like precious, glittering jewels; the gilded face of some benevolent goddess, upon whose lap she lays.

Laurel's breath hitches as the candle draws closer, fighting against the instinct to flee. When she does not flinch away, Nadia's grin curves further upwards, a crescent moon hanging in the night sky.

"Very good. You are my good girl, aren't you?"

"Nadia--"

"Aren't you?"

The light of the candle pulls away, leaving disappointment tugging at Laurel's heart and groin in tandem, sure as if a tether inexplicably connected the three of them.

"Yes, Nadia."

Drip

The heat strikes first, stinging against the center of her abdomen. The pain is brief-- just a flash-- gone within seconds. Her breath shudders on the exhale. Her body shakes, then settles. There are no bounds to keep her still tonight. Her bondage is simply her desire to please, holding herself down with the strength of her will alone. Quick as it came the pain has faded, and in its wake leaves a warmth suffusing from her skin, down deep inside her bones. Her body writhes, begging for more.

Drip. Drip drip. Drip.

Each spot flares in time, body twisting, not to escape, but to meet the sensations as they come, trailing down towards her navel. The puddles of clear wax harden, tightening on her skin. They pull as she moves, reminding her of their presence even as more fall to join them.

Drip. Her left breast. Her spine arches upwards, cat-like and eager.

Drip. Direct heat on her sensitive nipple. She bites the inside of her cheek.

Drip. Repeat on the right.

The breath in her lungs escapes in a satisfied hiss. Warm. She feels so warm, soothed by the patter-- the cycle of drip, pain, pleasure. The whole of her abdomen is a galaxy, pinprick stars dotting the vast expanse, flickering white-hot. Her eyes slip closed, the light of the flame emblazoned on the inside of her eyelids-- riotous spots and bursts.

Nadia's hand finds her forehead, fingers brushing delicately across her brow. Laurel's eyes drift open, gazing up at her haloed lover, hazy and dream-like in the dark.

"Are you still with me?" Nadia asks.

"Yes," Laurel replies, lips stretching into a dazed grin.

"Would you like more?"

A foolish, but necessary question. Laurel nods. "Yes."

Nadia's soft chuckle reverberates in her mind and chest, a twin echo.

"Tell me where," she says, voice soft but firm, velvet wrapped steel.

Laurel whines. "Anywhere, please Nadia, please."

Nadia bends to drop a feather-light kiss between Laurel's brows. "A dangerous request, my sweet." 

Her head is lifted, placed on a pillow made of down instead of Nadia's thighs. The sound of muffled footsteps echoes, a hand touches the sensitive skin at her knee, nails tickling over the curve. Laurel sucks in a nervous breath. Nadia watches her, gaze canny and knowing. "Would you care to be more specific?"

"Nnn--"

"Are you sure?"

At her sides, Laurel's hands clench and unclench, trembling with anticipation.

"Anywhere," she breathes. "Please."

Humming, Nadia strokes a palm up the inside of Laurel's leg. Over the curve of her calf, smoothing the skin of her inner thigh taut, fingertips trailing teasing and light over her bare sex. In spite of the heat of her hand, Laurel shivers. The candle, bright white, hangs in Nadia's hand directly above her pubic mound. "As my lady wishes."

Drip

The wax sings against her flesh, more tender somehow than even her breasts. Bright and searing, each prick of pain as it strikes and settles, like a white-hot hammer against the anvil of her body, rattles her bones, forges her soul into something new. She pants, quiet, breathy little ah, ah, ah's as each individual drip makes contact with her thighs, her labia, her -- oh gods -- her clit. The whole of her feels flushed, feverish, burning so intensely from the inside out, it's a wonder that the hardened puddles left on her skin don't simply melt and drip away.

Then it stops, the last of the pain recedes and suddenly Nadia is there, both hands this time, stroking over her sides, kneading her breasts, laying gently over her throat. Wax flakes off at the pressure, tugging skin and fine hairs, but none of it matters more than the weight of her, pressed together chest to chest, lips on the underside of Laurel's jaw.

Her eyes flutter open-- when had she closed them? -- in time to watch as Nadia leans in close to kiss the corner of her mouth. Her lips move, the sound far away still, filtering through the cotton wool sensation between her ears in snippets:

"... beautiful"

"Perfect..."

"Yes… good for me..."

Laurel’s hand rises, jelly-like after being forced into stillness for so long, and strokes Nadia's arm with just the barest brush of knuckles.

"Hi," she whispers, tongue dry, throat catching on the single word.

Nadia pauses, blinks, and then she laughs, a sound both undignified and joyous, her chest shaking against Laurel's.

"Hello." She smiles. "I take that expression to mean you enjoyed yourself?"

Laurel giggles -- giggles! -- unable to help herself. "Absolutely not, I hated every moment."

"Oh, I see." Nadia's teeth flash white as the candle in the dark. Slowly she starts to pull away. "I suppose then, that means you don't care to finish? I'll begin cleaning up the--"

"No! No no no, Nadia! Nadia no, don't go!" Laurel reaches for Nadia, dragging her back down. She comes easily back into Laurel's embrace, still grinning.

For a brief moment, her expression softens. "I love you," she says, so earnest.

Dopey, Laurel feels her cheeks heat. Really, she never will get used to that. She hopes she won't, at least. "I love you, too."

Warm lips press to her pulse, her next words spoken against her the beat of her heart. "Would you like to come now?"

Laurel shudders, head and shoulders sagging back against the cushion. "Please."

Nadia kisses her neck one final time, and descends.

Chapter Text

Laurel had started this.

Or, really, Nadia had started this -- all those months ago, locked away in her contemplation tower for hours a day, coming back to their room with tired eyes, hands smelling faintly of paraffin. She was building something, though whenever Laurel asked about it, Nadia would only give her a sly smile, more infuriating even than an Arcana with her insistence on coy secrecy.

A surprise, my love, is what she would say. 

A surprise. Laurel hated surprises. Well, that wasn't true, but she did hate knowing that a surprise was coming, just not when. The anticipation gnawed at her guts. Some days she could forget it, others she tried desperately to weasel the information out of Nadia by any means necessary. Her wife remained steadfast, however, neither bending nor breaking under Laurel's persistence.

So yes, Nadia had started this. And now, it seems, Laurel has to finish it.

She gasps, shuddering, rattling the bindings that suspend her arms high above her head. Below, Nadia's surprise whirrs contentedly between her splayed, quivering thighs. It’s deceptively simple, this masterful machine Nadia has built: A motor, not unlike its smaller brethren prototyped in various trinkets, a phallus on a simple rod, plus a dash of Nadia's own magic to keep the crank that powered it turning indefinitely. And who had taught her that spell, perpetual motion meant for banal things like stirring a pot or a cup of tea? Laurel could laugh. Maybe she would, if not for the gag keeping her silent. 

It’s simple. It’s ingenious. It’s downright cruel.

Sweat beads on every surface of Laurel's skin, her long hair sticking to the back of her neck and shoulders. Beneath her, the phallus plunges in and out of her stretched cunt, relentlessly churning, filling the room with lewd, wet noises that echo above its own mechanical hum. 

The door opens. Nadia steps inside looking unphased, almost distracted. She carries a folio in her hands and reads as she walks, as though she were simply out for a stroll on the veranda. It isn’t until she stands directly in front of Laurel that she stops and glances upwards, mischief dancing in her garnet eyes, her face otherwise serene, impassive.

“Hello, darling. So sorry to have been gone for so long; how are you faring?”

Laurel whines behind her gag, high and reedy. Nadia nods, as though she’d said something incredibly astute.

“You will be relieved to know, I think, that the meeting with the representative from Tirivata went well.” She folds her papers closed, shifting them to sit in the crook of her arm. “They asked whether you would be joining us, but I told them you were currently indisposed and simply could not be bothered. They understood, of course.” 

Nadia’s words barely register. Laurel is insensate, beyond all ability to fight the rising pleasure, building like the rumble of thunder deep inside her before the sky cracks open and pours. She lost count after her third orgasm, everything seeming to flow into itself until there was no distinguishing them by number, and she will come again, soon, now , right in front of Nadia. She can’t help it. The feeling takes her swiftly, her body shaking, her breath coming in sharp through her nose and out through her mouth as a muffled scream. 

Nadia’s eyes widen slightly with delighted surprise.

“Laurel.” The corner of her mouth twitches upwards. “Did you just come?”

Sobbing, shuddering, Laurel nods. Her body twitches with aftershocks, the toy inside her still thrusting, splitting her open, forcing her to ride through it.

“My goodness,” Nadia whispers, wonder in her smooth voice. She reaches out and strokes a tear away from Laurel’s cheek with her thumb. It doesn’t matter much. Laurel’s face is a wreck of dried and fresh tear tracks alike, and of drool from her gag soaking her lips and chin. “How marvelous.”

Blinking away the haze, Laurel rocks forward, pulling on the restraints. “Naa-a, p--ase!”

“What was that, my love?”

She rattles the hoist again. “P--ease!” she repeats with garbled vehemence.

Nadia steps closer. There is a light thwack as the folio strikes the ground at their feet, her ruse seemingly forgotten.

“Please? Please what, Laurel?” 

Her hands are scorching hot on Laurel’s bare waist. The touch of another person, a real, living breathing person after so long is a violent jolt to her system.

Nadia’s damp breath curls over the shell of her ear. “Is this not exactly what you wanted?”

Well, yes.

No.

Not in so many words? What an unfair question, when Nadia knows full well that this ‘this’ in particular was something Laurel never could have anticipated. The facts were these: 

Yes, she had woken early, feeling utterly insatiable from the moment her eyes opened.

Yes, she had tried desperately to convince Nadia to play hooky with her, using nearly every dirty trick she’d acquired in their time together. 

Nadia had gently refused her, though not without an equal measure of disappointment. They both couldn’t be gone from court entirely without warning, not with the foreign retinue visiting, not with petitions to hear, and so on and so forth, et cetera, et cetera. 

That was when Nadia had gotten a wicked gleam in her eye, one that Laurel should have recognized and been wary of. Instead, she followed her, confused but eager, to the room Nadia had once referred to jokingly as her ‘second dining room’, a name and implication so terrible Laurel had doubled over laughing and never recovered. They did not call it this in practice, although the name lingered in the absence of anything better. Inside was where Nadia kept their larger, more... inventive apparatuses: Beams from which a body could be easily suspended, tables with straps meant to bind and hold, racks and trunks filled with all manner of implements that would make a whore blush. They didn’t play here terribly often, but when they did -- well, needless to say her curiosity had been piqued, given Nadia’s earlier reticence. She should have known her wife, her beautiful, terrible, lovely wife, would have something up her sleeve.

Just not this .

She whines again, because it’s all she’s able to do. Nadia’s hands move, tickling down her abdomen towards where the phallus works her, where she is no doubt swollen and soaked. Nadia’s touch is nearly too much. Laurel feels her eyes roll back into her skull. The press of Nadia’s soft fingers against her hole, stretched and abused by the false cock, makes her want to collapse in on herself like a dying star. 

Nadia lifts her hand, spreading her fingers in front of Laurel’s face so that she can see the strands of her own wetness webbing between them. Then Nadia takes them into her own mouth.

For a moment the machine slows, then stills. There is no reprieve, however. Immediately, it starts up a new pattern, the speed increased, the tempo unfamiliar and unpredictable. Nadia’s fingers brush over Laurel’s neglected clit, featherlight and spit-slick, but enough to rip a ragged gasp from Laurel’s throat. She chokes on the gag and the saliva building in the corners of her mouth.

Nadia reaches up and deftly unbuckles the gag behind Laurel’s head, easing the ball from between her teeth and tossing it away to bounce with a wet thwack across the floor. Laurel gasps again, feeling the pleasant ache in her jaw, the sudden emptiness and lack of pressure on her tongue with dismay. 

“Once more, my sweet darling. Come for me just one more time, and you can be done.”

Laurel cries out, wordless still, but full throated and loud. Her body tries desperately to match the thrusts of the cock, to rut against Nadia’s fingers on her clit, but her legs tremble, her recalcitrant body succumbing to the overwhelming waves of pleasure that threaten to crash over her head and drown her. 

“Oh yes, that’s my sweet girl.” Nadia’s voice is so close, she can feel the scrape of teeth against her earlobe. “Let go, and come for me.”

At Nadia’s command Laurel crests, her climax hitting her with nigh on inhuman force, stronger than all the others combined. Her mouth hangs open on a pitiful attempt at a scream, only a few guttural whimpers escaping. Her throat swallows, clicking empty around nothing. 

Nadia kisses her, silencing her, drinking down all her noises as if they are the sweetest wine. Her hands are everywhere at once somehow, petting through her hair, stroking down her sides.Laurel doesn’t know when the device finally slows to a stop, her body still rocking on instinct, but Nadia’s hands grip her hips to still her, firm, warm, familiar. 

When Nadia lowers the bar, slipping the phallus out of her slowly, Laurel feels tears leak from the corners of her eyes yet again. She feels flayed, split open and raw, her heart beating on the outside of her chest for all the world to see. 

But it isn’t the world. It’s just Nadia. Nadia, reaching up to unbuckle the cuffs at her wrists, Nadia easing her stiff, aching arms down, Nadia scooping her up and carrying her when Laurel’s legs threaten to give way beneath her, no longer held up by any support. She deposits her on a padded bench, the dark leather cool against the unbearable flush of Laurel’s skin. Despite her aches, she reaches for Nadia like a child begs for a stuffed toy, pulling her close, burying her face against her hip, arms wrapped loosely around her legs.

“Th--thank you,” she croaks, the first words she’s spoken in hours. 

Nadia’s hand strokes the hair back from her sticky forehead.

“Still thanking me, even after all I put you through?” She sighs, wistful, fond. “You truly are a wonder.”

“Mm.”

“Will you be alright here without me a moment? I’ve prepared a bath for you, and I need to check it.”

A bath. Oh, a bath. Laurel nearly begins weeping again at the mere thought, the promise of deliciously warm water. Instead she nods against Nadia’s skin.

“Mm,” she repeats.

Her arms drop as Nadia pulls away. Nadia places a kiss on the crown of her head. Laurel hears her go, too exhausted to lift her head and watch, and with the click of the door she is alone once more -- sated and comfortable.

Chapter Text

"Nadia…"

A voice in the dark, echoing over a dreamless space.

"Nadia… darling…"

Nadia’s eyes snap open, lids heavy and sight bleary. Where had that voice come from, and where was it now?

Closer, immediate, no longer distant and formless, it speaks. "There you are."

Laurel.

She's there, head pillowed innocently on Nadia's thigh, laying between them and looking very much like an angel in repose. Memories come flooding back, pushing away the fog. They had been -- Laurel was -- Oh...

"Am I putting you to sleep?" Laurel whispers, lips teasing over her skin.

"Sleep? Certainly not," Nadia argues, with very little conviction. Her cheeks heat. "I only just blinked…"

With a laugh, Laurel crawls up Nadia's body to kiss her. Her lips are a slow, exquisite slide and she still tastes of Nadia's own arousal when her tongue licks inside.

"Blinked for five minutes straight?" she teases, nosing sweetly against Nadia's cheek. "It's alright if you're too tired, honey, we don't have to--"

"No!" Nadia’s shoulders lift off the pillows a moment in protest, but the weight of exhaustion drags her back down. The pillows are so soft, so welcoming, but then again -- so is Laurel’s touch. "I am awake now, I promise."

Perhaps it's the way her eyes blink, slow and sticky with fatigue, but Laurel looks unconvinced. “You had a long day at court, Nadia. Really, I don’t mind--”

Nadia reaches out and takes Laurel’s chin in the palm of her hand. Laurel lets her gently push her mouth shut, expression softening. Nadia’s thumb traces over the fullness of her lower lip. “I shall not let something so trivial as a long day keep me from you.”

Laurel kisses the pad as it passes. “I’m not going anywhere, darling.”

With a sigh, Nadia shakes her head, careful not to let her eyes slip closed again. “Must I speak plainly? Fine. I don’t want to sleep, Laurel. I want you to make me come.”

It’s Laurel’s eyes that flutter shut then, not from weariness, but from pleasure. A soft moan escapes her, tightening the knot of desire deep in Nadia’s stomach. 

“I can do that,” she says, voice rough and low, full of promise. “So long as you don’t fall asleep on me again.”

Nadia hums, a small smile playing at the edges of her mouth. “Perhaps if you endeavor to keep me better occupied, I won’t.”

Laurel’s wide eyes flash with challenge, the slowly spreading wicked curve of her lips drawing her single, lopsided dimple out of hiding. 

“Oh, that I think I can manage.”

Her lips catch the underside of Nadia’s jaw, warm tongue laving over the places she kisses and nips on her way back down, taking a detour to toy with her breasts. She would spend hours there if Nadia let her, and another evening Nadia certainly would, but tonight she knows precisely where she wants that quick mouth.

Hands in Laurel’s hair, pulling in the exact way she knows drives Laurel mad with desire, Nadia tugs her away from where she sucks with enthusiasm at her right nipple.

"Focus, my love." 

"Let me work," Laurel counters, dipping to kiss along her sternum despite the grip holding her in place. She moves south, peppering wet kisses down the contours of Nadia's stomach, making the muscles jump and quiver. Her exhaustion still hangs around her like a fog, every touch that much more hazy and dream-like for it, heightened and dizzy-sweet.

Laurel noses into the thatch of hair just above Nadia’s sex, breath hot and damp over her clit. Nadia hums, hips rocking upwards in silent encouragement. Cool fingers spread her lips wide, exposing her wetness. Laurel teases all around, soft little kitten licks, dipping in and out of her entrance to drag more slick upwards, but never touching where she craves most. A frustrated whine builds in her chest, pouring forth as Laurel's name through gritted teeth. 

Laurel pauses. "Say again?" she asks, licking her shining lips. Her fingers dance along Nadia's slit with tantalizing slowness.

“You’re going to regre-- ah!” 

Laurel’s middle finger eases inside her. Nadia shudders, the feeling of being full but not full enough rolling through her. When at last she catches her breath, she continues, tremulous. 

“You’re going to regret teasing me this way once I get my hands on you.”

Her love grins, all teeth, the muscles in her arm flexing as she thrusts that single digit once, twice, three times, then adds a second finger. “Promises, promises, Nadia.”

The stretch is exquisite, even better when Laurel’s tongue joins her fingers and finally-- finally !-- swirls around her swollen clit. The air in Nadia’s lungs punches out all at once with an undignified grunt. She reaches blindly for Laurel’s hair again, gripping and holding her down, grinding her cunt against her face and hand both. She can feel but not hear Laurel’s deep chuckle against her flesh, the rumble rippling through her like a shockwave up to the top of her head.

Nadia feels a shift, sees the angle of Laurel’s arm changing ever so slightly. Her fingers pull out, and when they slide back in, they crook gently upwards and suddenly all Nadia sees is stars, bright fireworks exploding against the backs of her eyelids. The orgasm takes her by surprise, not realizing how close she had been. It is no earth shattering, mind-melting thing, but it drives the pleasure deep into her bones, pushing out all of the day’s tension and leaving her boneless and sated, panting into her own shoulder.

Laurel licks her through the aftershocks until she cannot take it anymore, her body oversensitive almost to the point of pain. A gentle tug on Laurel’s ear is all the message she needs to back away, smearing a slick-damp kiss on the inside of her thigh before she rises, walking on her knees to the head of the bed. Nadia reaches for her, drags her down by the back of her neck into another kiss.

“Well, you didn’t fall asleep,” Laurel mutters between kisses against the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her temple. 

“Not presently, no.” Immediately, Nadia yawns, mouth stretching wide enough that her jaw pops. She coughs, sheepishly, face flaming crimson. “Though I fear that won’t last for long.”

Already she can feel the heavy weight of her orgasm settling over her like a warm blanket, dragging her back into unconsciousness. Laurel kisses her forehead, strokes her hair back from her face.

“Go back to sleep, my sweet.”

Nadia yawns a second time. “You?” she manages to ask, hoping Laurel will understand. 

She smiles. “Make it up to me in the morning,” she whispers, sinking down under the covers and looping an arm over Nadia’s waist. With a flick of her wrist, almost an afterthought, she douses the candles, and the room goes dark, illuminated only by the moon.

The last thought Nadia has as dark, dreamless sleep takes her again is that she very much intends to.

Chapter Text

“Another, I want another finger.”

Two of his long fingers already slide easily in and out of her. Laurel shakes, her hair a tangled halo against the pillow. Julian bites his lip and slips his ring finger in alongside, stretching her on the girth of them, gently scissoring her apart. A deep groan of appreciation leaks out in between her heavy breaths. Julian strokes over her clit with his thumb on every thrust, the pressure irregular and not nearly enough to make her come yet, just enough to keep her right on the edge, walking the delicate tightrope of prolonging her pleasure as long as possible.

She shudders, his thrusts just grazing the raw bundle of nerves inside her. Already it’s not enough, she wants more of him, can’t get enough of him. 

“More, Julian, I need more.”

Cool lips press a single kiss against her knee. “Do you want my cock?” he asks, voice rough, face shining from the exertion.

Maybe another night she would have said yes, would have let him guide his cock into her and fill her up, let him fuck her so hard the jut of his hips leave bruises against her ass. But his fingers feel so good inside her, cool and long, reaching and spreading her in ways his cock can’t, no matter how talented with it he is. His hands will always be his best instrument, one of her most favorite features. They captivate her, strong and sure and powerful, yet capable of so much gentleness. The privilege of having something so beautiful inside her is one she can’t bear to lose, not just yet.

“No, no. More fingers, just keep fucking me with your fingers.”

“You’re sure?” he asks, his rhythm stuttering briefly. “Are -- are you wet enough for that?” 

She doesn’t so much roll her eyes, but her eyes roll up into her head as he pushes in with a particularly forceful thrust. It accentuates the utterly obscene noises her soaking wet cunt makes around him. Besides, she’s taken four before. Once. The stretch had burned at first, certainly, but when it passed it had been good, so, so good. Better than good. She wants to feel that burn again.

“I’m sure, please.”

His fingers pull out, leaving her momentarily bereft of his touch while he sucks them into his mouth, slicking them with saliva. Being left empty feels unbearable. She whines, filling the few seconds it takes for him to curl his fingers together, all four of them, and slip them back in as one. It does burn, just as she remembered, but she swallows the feeling down, letting the natural chill of his fingers soothe her from the inside. Soon, pleasure with only the barest hint of pain sings through her veins, lighting her up from the inside. Her body melts into the mattress.

“Oh, yes, yes, that’s it. Thank you, Julian, thank you, fuck--”

Laurel sucks in a sharp breath as the bony ridge of his knuckles catch and press at her hole. Her whole body tingles, as if static dances all over her, prickling heat at the base of her spine. She keens, driving her hips down onto his fingers with fervor, wanting to feel that same shock of pleasure again. And again. And again.

“Careful now,” he says with a strained chuckle. He lays his unoccupied hand on her hip to still her. “That’s practically my whole hand in you, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Oh.

Oh, his hand.

The image rockets through her, making her shudder in place. Her hand scrabbles for his, nails digging into his wrist.

“Please,” Laurel begs weakly. “Oh please, Julian, Julian, honey, yes, put your whole hand in me, please.”

Four fingers deep in her cunt, he pauses, startled into stillness. The hand pressing her hip, pinning her, drifts away.

"Say again?" he asks, voice higher than she's ever heard it. 

Frustrated, desperate for renewed attention, Laurel fucks her hips down on his fingers herself.

“Put your hand in me, Julian, please.”

“Hnng...” he seems to whimper. His shoulders tremble. “That’s, yes, that’s what I thought you said.”

“Do you--” With a great amount of effort, she props an elbow under herself, staring down the length of her body at his stunned expression. “Do you not... want that?”

Julian blinks, eyes wide. He looks almost fragile for a moment, jumpy, like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. “What? No! No I -- I don’t? Not -- I do. I do want that. If you do.” He shakes his head, hair flopping over his red-stained eye, and fixes her with a sweet, soft smile. Her heart gives a fond lurch. “Don’t mind me, darling. You only, uh, well, you surprised me, that’s all.”

Laurel tugs her lip between her teeth, feeling her chest flush with embarrassment. “We don’t have to, I only -- perhaps I got too carried away--”

“No! No, no, no.” He tries to surge forward, to kiss her, surely, but forgets that his hand is still knuckle deep. She hisses when he moves too quickly, then cries out when, in a panic, he pulls himself free of her entirely too quickly. Her whole body shudders, hole clenching and unclenching around the harsh emptiness.

“Julian!”

“Oh, oh, I’m sorry, so sorry,” he mutters, looking deeply apologetic in the face but then, yes, shaking slightly with suppressed laughter. He kisses her as he’d previously intended -- from her temple down to the corner of her own reluctant, half-smiling mouth. 

“Well, we certainly did a bang up job of killing the mood, didn’t we, my love,” she teases, with no real heat behind it.

Chagrined, he lays his dry hand on her waist. “Not killed, I think, maybe only… lightly stunned?” 

She lifts an eyebrow. 

“Knocked unconscious then.”

“Is that so?” Her arms twine around his shoulders, pulling him close, pressing their foreheads together. His is still tacky with cooling sweat. “In your professional opinion then, Doctor, is there anything we can do?”

 This close, his features are blurred. Her eyes dart rapidly between them, bringing one into focus at a time. His nose bumps against hers, grin flashing. “Oh, I think so,” he drawls. The touch at her waist trails upwards, brushing, purposely tickling, against the side of her breast. When Laurel gasps, opens her mouth to admonish, he swoops in to cover her lips with his own. 

Laurel can taste that insatiable smirk, feel the press of teeth against her lower lip even as he guides her in their kiss, utterly unhurried, cupping her cheek in his palm, his thumb coming to stroke gentle sweeps across her cheekbone.

They part eventually, her first, him chasing her with small, lighter kisses, until finally she breaks with a soft snort, pushing him away by the cheek.

“And what method was that?” she asks, fingers brushing an errant curl from his forehead.

Julian shrugs. “Mouth to mouth resuscitation?”

“Oh,” she giggles. “You’re terrible.”

“Terrible, yes,” he says, curling an arm around her waist to pull her into his lap. Surely he can feel the hot, wet slide of her sex against his thigh, but still he asks, lips pressed to her collarbone: “But was I successful?”

“I believe so,” Laurel groans, letting her hips roll against his leg in search of friction. “Thank the gods, it’s a miracle of modern medical science!”

Julian grips her firmly by the ass, helping guide her slow, sinuous movements. He glances up at her through his curtain of auburn curls. “What can I do now?”

He looks so earnest, so eager to please. For a moment she thinks of leaving the topic be, letting him fuck her with his cock as he’d offered. It would be wonderful, that much she knows, yet still she can’t shake the image she’d conjured, the craving that, now spoken, would never leave her in peace until it was satisfied.

“We can table it, if you like--” she starts. Her hands reach down and take his, bringing them up to her lips. She kisses the knuckles of his right hand, smelling the faint, lingering smell of her own arousal on his fingertips. The coals of desire that burned low in her gut, now stoked and flaring once more, fill her with warmth. “But... I still very much want to take your fist. If not tonight then… someday. Soon, preferably. If that's something you find yourself amenable to.”

Perhaps it’s cheating to take one of his fingers into her mouth, but whomever it was that said all was fair in love and war must have known a thing or two. Julian shivers in place, practically vibrating out of his skin, watching her watch him with eyes like molten silver as she laves her tongue between his pointer and middle fingers.

“Yes,” he breathes, a whisper so quiet she nearly doesn’t hear.

She pauses. “Yes?”

“Yes,” he repeats, taking his hand back and kissing her again. “I want to -- I want to see you take it. I want to fuck you with my fist.”

Hearing him say it aloud strikes her like a bolt of lightning. That same electricity she felt before lives inside her now, driving her forward with a hungry moan.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, tasting salt as she licks and kisses his throat. 

The rumble of his laughter tickles her lips. “Your pleasure is my pleasure.” His palm strokes her back, a broad up and down sweep. “I want to make you dizzy with it.” 

Even thinking about the size of his hand in the abstract makes her shiver with anticipation. “Please,” she gasps.

Laurel lets him ease her back down into the blankets, drawing her legs up to give him unabashed access to the core of her.

“You’re still so wet,” he marvels, trailing his fingers through the slick at her entrance. “Not quite enough, though, for this. Get the--”

Blindly, she reaches beneath the pillows for the stoppered bottle of oil and tosses it haphazardly in his direction. She hears the smack of glass on skin, and glances to see him rubbing his chest tenderly.

“Yes, thank you.”

He coats his four fingers liberally, letting the oil drip down until the whole of his pale, freckled hand is covered in a light amber sheen. Then he pours the same oil down her cleft for good measure. The coolness makes her hiss as it strikes her clit and rolls downward, scooped up by his fingers and massaged into her folds, into her entrance. Luckily, his earlier ministrations make things much easier, her body accepting all four of his fingers again eagerly. The only resistance comes when once again his knuckles butt up against her hole, pressing with gentle insistence.

“Try to relax,” he coos. With his other hand he begins to stroke her clit, so hard and swollen that at first his lightest touches threaten to simply skip off. 

It feels like hours, days pass. Her body seems to bob like a cork, drifting between the gentle rock and twist of his hand, the rub of his fingers on her clit.

 Slowly, so slowly, it works. Her body responds, opens at last under the sweet pressure. She bears down desperately on his hand until the widest part at last breaches her entrance with an almost-too-easy easy slide, his thumb tucked neatly inside the curve of his hand. 

"Oh gods," she whimpers. 

At the same time, Julian says, "Yes, that's it." 

With one final push, the heel of his palm slips inside with an obscene squelch, and he stops, apparently marveling at the sight of his hand, his whole hand, fully seated inside her at last.

Laurel can feel everything, and nothing all at once. The scratch and softness of the sheets below mean little, her flesh a mere vessel for the unbearable, the pure amount of sensation currently clashing inside her. The stretch of her hole around his wrist -- his wrist -- every subtle movement, every pound of his pulse echoing through her throbbing body, is too much. When he shifts, ever so slightly, she can feel the tickle of his arm hair against her sensitive folds and the realization, just the mere thought of what that means, drives her into near hysteria. A laugh bubbles unbidden up and out of her chest. The laughter makes her clench hard around his hand, turning the sound instead into a choked moan.

Julian moans as well, blinking down at her with awe. "Ohh, that felt -- My god, Laurel, can you do that again? Clench around my hand again?"

With a whimper, she does. Julian curses under his breath. She is so full, she is as full as she has ever been, and still she wants more. She wants him to move, to touch her, to make her come just like this.

"Julian…" she mewls in a voice that is both her own and entirely unrecognizable. His wide eyes flick up, away from her cunt for the first time since he entered her, and lock with hers. "Please move, I can -- please. Please fuck me.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah, yes, okay.” 

Ever so gently, he begins to rock.

Laurel has never been shot out of a cannon before, but she imagines it feels much the same as this: Weightless and on fire simultaneously, the inexorable descent into the unknown as she falls, deeper and deeper, further and farther, knowing that her landing will blow her to pieces. Her whole world is centered in the apex of her thighs, where Julian thrusts with the strength of his whole arm, gaining speed as the slide becomes easier, his opposite hand still massaging her clit. Sounds drop from her lips. They may be words, they may not be. She cannot hear herself over the rush of blood in her ears, the thunder of her pulse -- his pulse -- thumping in time with every push and pull of him inside her.

She has never felt more alive. It feels like magic, the way her body thrums in time with something wholly outside of herself, yet so deeply, intrinsically a part of her. Unable to keep them open any longer, the insides of her eyelids play a riot of color. The sensation is overwhelming. It is everything. She feels her orgasm building in her too quickly. She doesn’t want it to be over, but no matter how she tries to tamp it down, her climax barrels towards her like a runaway cart and then rushes through her in a flash of pressure, searing heat, and wet. 

Sound returns all at once, like a bubble popping all around her. She hears herself scream, loud enough that she hopes, distantly, that no neighbors call the guards. She hears Julian moan, hears him gasp, hears him whisper her name like a litany, a prayer, as his thrusts and strokes become erratic. He manages to lead her through it, milking her for all she is worth. She comes again in the aftermath, one smaller, less forceful, but still shaking her and forcing her to clench so tightly around him she wonders if it hurts, if it grinds the bones in his hand to dust like the pressure at the bottom of the ocean.

When she comes back into herself, it is like everything around her that had stilled in the time it took her to come suddenly moves again at double its normal speed, playing catch-up. Or, perhaps, she is the one moving in slow motion. Time can be fickle like that. She has never heard of an orgasm so intense it threw a magician out of time itself, but surely anything is possible. She is proof positive of that. 

This time when Julian pulls out of her, he does so with equal care and slowness as when he entered. She is sated, content, exhaustion so deep it turns her bones to lead. Julian's fingertips make soothing tracks against her sex, every cool sweep reminding her how sloppy and gaping her hole must look now. Her body pulses, whatever last bits of pleasure left after her first two orgasms finding their match. Her thighs are drenched, and so are the sheets below her, if the coolness soaking into her skin is any indication.

Julian does not stop touching her. He leaves wet fingerprints on her hips, her thighs, wherever she trembles still that he can reach. When he takes her face in his damp hand, she cannot find it in herself to mind, allowing him to kiss her, languid and easy.

“You were -- oh, Laurel, you were so beautiful. I’ve never seen you come like that before, that was absolutely incredible! You’re brilliant.” He babbles more, but that is the amount that her mind comprehends, still working on adjusting back to the normal flow of the universe. When she looks down, she sees his spent cock, hanging limp against his thigh. His seed drips in white rivulets across her thighs and a little on her belly, mixing with her own ejaculate.

He notices her notice, and flushes deep crimson.

“I’m sorry, I should have -- I couldn’t help it, when you came like that -- I mean, god, you soaked the whole bed -- I’ve never…”

“Shh, shh, sweetness,” she rasps, pulling him away from the mess down below and into the pillow of her chest. They’ll need to get up, to clean themselves and the bed soon before it becomes disgustingly impossible, but for now, her legs are the last things that want to move or work. “Don't you dare apologize for -- for anything. You did so well, Julian. You were absolutely perfect, so, so perfect." Her shaking hand threads through his hair. "I love you so much. Thank you for that.”

“I love you too,” he mouths against her breasts, sounding as equally exhausted as she feels. His voice is barely above a whisper. “And I told you, it was my pleasure.”

Laurel can't help herself. She snorts. “Didn’t know you meant that literally."

His smile spreads against her skin. With a careful arm, he pulls her closer to his chest. “With you? Always.”

Chapter Text

"Hold that cunt open," Nadia orders. She is a vision in scarlet and cream, authoritative, controlled. Laurel shivers, scrambling to comply. Her fingers spread her lips wide, crudely exposing her heat to Nadia's gaze.

Black leather presses against her entrance. The head of the crop taps a light staccato against her flesh, not enough to truly hurt, but enough to make her squirm and squeal. All the while, the bite of the crop strikes against the tips of her fingers, slipping in their grip on her slick folds. 

Nadia raises the crop up, twisting it in the light, catching the wet sheen from Laurel's arousal. "Eager little thing, aren't you?" she muses, expression turning from aloof to something near feral. The look suits her, dressed for the hunt as she is. "If I didn’t know any better, I would say that perhaps you wanted me to catch you."

Ever the willing quarry, Laurel simpers. "Y-yes Nadia."

“Is that why this...” The innocent loop of leather returns, pushing back the hood of her clit. Laurel jumps in spite of the gentle touch. “...Is the consequence you chose? Do you want me to hurt you, Laurel?”

Laurel’s breathing rattles in her lungs, adrenaline and anticipation twining like snakes around her, constricting her chest. 

“Yes, Nadia.”

Nadia hums, looking thoughtful. “And if I asked you to beg me for it? Would you?”

Laurel’s hole clenches. “Yes.”

The crop lands, harsh against her thigh. Laurel starts, biting back a yelp. 

“Y-yes, Nadia. Sorry, Nadia.”

Another stinging thwack, this time on her opposite thigh. “Go on, then.”

The words spill out her like a faucet turned and left to run. “Please! I want you to hurt me. I -- I want you to punish me, to make my cunt throb. I want to think of you when I move, to remember when you touch me. I want you, I want you to please whip me until I can’t take it anymore and then keep going until it pleases you.”

The staff of the crop is wedged abruptly between her teeth. Nadia’s black leather-clad hands stroke down her stinging thighs, thumbs resting along Laurel’s own fingers still desperately trying to spread her lips.

“Such honesty should be commended,” Nadia says. 

A single finger slides into Laurel’s open hole, fucks in and out of her with agonizing slowness. The leather feels odd, alien, not at all the way Nadia’s fingers usually feel inside her. Like a stranger’s touch, almost. Laurel burns at the thought, at how much she enjoys it.

"How many strikes do you need?" Nadia finally asks, still pumping that single finger in and out.

Not want, not deserve. Need.

Between the bar of braided leather splitting her jaw wide, and the finger working inside her, Laurel finds it difficult to think, let alone form a coherent answer. The burden of naming some arbitrary number feels as though it must weigh a hundred pounds, all of it sitting heavy directly on her chest like a stone.

“F-fi-een?” she finally manages, unsure if the number is too low or too high for Nadia’s taste. By the way her eyebrows raise in surprise, Laurel can guess the latter.

“Fifteen?” Nadia repeats. “My, my. That’s quite a lot. Do you truly think this poor, pretty cunt can take that much?”

Her words are accentuated by the driving press of her finger. Laurel whimpers around the crop.

“If you want me to," is what she tries to say, but the words come out nigh unintelligible even to her own ears. Nadia seems to understand, however, her hand pulling away only to cup Laurel’s spread sex in her palm, the heel of her hand pressed roughly against Laurel’s clit.

“I will give you fifteen. Seven here, and four for each of your pert little tits, lest they feel left out of the fun. How does that sound?”

Rather than try for words again, Laurel simply nods.

Nadia takes the crop back, leaving Laurel to nurse the slight ache in her jaw. She stands over Laurel’s prone form in all her glory -- intimidatingly beautiful.

“Would you like to start here?” Nadia flicks the tip of the crop against Laurel’s tight nipple, then trails it down her abdomen towards her sex. “Or here?”

To get the worst of it over with, or let herself revel in the anticipation? The thought of choosing makes her want to weep.

“Please, I don’t -- I want you to do whatever you want to me.”

Nadia’s eyes soften, her lips a patient smile. “Alright, my sweet. Alright.” 

The crop returns to hover over Laurel’s breasts.  

Nadia says, “Count them.” 

This is all the warning Laurel gets before the crop swishes down and strikes, the flat of the wicked leather head smacking against her right nipple. Laurel gasps, the sting almost like ice, sending gooseflesh skittering down her stomach. “One -- thank you!” she exhales.

The second snap hits just right of the first. Laurel screws her eyes shut. “Two, thank you!” She chokes out, “Three, thank you!” when the stroke does not land on her nipple but against the sensitive underside of her breast, followed immediately by, “Four!” in the same spot.

Her left side receives similar treatment, though this time all four fall hard on her tender nipple, the pain making her pant heavily. Her chest flushes from exertion, as if she'd been running for miles, despite not having moved at all.

“Good girl,” Nadia coos. “So good for me.”

Her hand reaches between Laurel’s legs, dipping that same finger into her entrance, teasing her wetness out again so that she can smear it across the whole of her cunt, replacing where it had dried on her untouched, exposed skin.

“You’re dripping,” she notes, touch drifting downwards towards Laurel’s asshole. She’s wet there too, she can tell by how easily Nadia’s leather-clad finger slides against the tight muscle. Any other day she might have begged Nadia to fuck her there, to press that digit inside and spread her with only her own slick to ease the glide. Nadia knows her too well, and so she teases her, rubbing in circles around her hole until Laurel is shaking, keening, only to pull back without ever pressing inside. 

The nudge of the crop returns, almost forgotten, making itself known once more against her innermost lips. Those torturous taps return, too light to give her either the pain or the pleasure she craves. They run from taint to clit and back again, moving steadily, warming her flesh for the impact to come. Laurel doesn’t notice when Nadia raises her instrument higher, only sensing the pause in sensation briefly before the full force of a swat strikes down directly over her clit once, twice, three times in quick succession.

Laurel howls.

“How many was that?” Nadia asks, her voice steady as stone, utterly irreproachable.

Laurel’s mind is in an uproar. She can’t, in that moment, tell Nadia what a number is , let alone the specific one she asked for.

“I--”

“Have you lost count already? Must we start over?”

Laurel goes cold, then hot all over. “No! No, no, please--”

“Well?”

Wracking her sex-addled brain for the answer takes all of her concentration. Finally, she frowns and shakes her head, already resigned to being incorrect.

“E-Eleven? Thank you.”

Nadia smiles. “Very good.”

Right? She was right? Relief floods through her, her body sagging deeper into the pillowed bench below.

“I would recommend not losing count again, dearest,” Nadia warns, her tone amicable, but hiding the true heat beneath. “I’d not like to begin again, but I will, and you will not enjoy it, that I can assure you.”

This time, when the tapping begins again, Laurel is ready for what comes next.

Twelve snaps directly against her entrance, her hole stinging.

Thirteen follows suit, making her throb and clench in time with the beat of her heart.

Fourteen finds her clit again, coming from below. 

Fifteen rattles the teeth in her skull: Blinding, searing pain as Nadia strikes her clit much harder than she had previously. Laurel’s hands fall away, no longer capable of holding anything. She can hear the echo of the swish, nearly a whistle, in her ears still. A few hot tears build in the corners of her eyes and drip down her temples into her hair. 

Nadia drops the the crop and eases the stinging pain with the palm of her hand, once more cupping Laurel’s tender sex.

"F-fifteen," Laurel calls weakly.

“You did so well,” Nadia says, voice as soft as her caress. Her hand feels so sweet and cool against her, a welcome reprieve from the flushed, red, burning skin.

Laurel grins, dopey, dreamy, riding the high of endorphins buzzing through her. “Thank you.”

Chapter Text

The lock sets with a decisive click. Nadia's nails scratch gently through his hair, and Julian feels his breath hitch in his throat.

“Don’t look so put out,” she chides. “I won’t be gone that long.”

“Any amount of time without you is too long,” Laurel says glumly. 

She is already outfitted in the belt-like contraption Nadia had chosen for her, a golden lock to match the one entrapping Julian glinting at her waist. Her pale breasts hang heavy on her chest, rosy and bite-swollen from her wife’s, his lover’s, earlier ministrations. Although spent, he feels his cock try to swell in response, only to press against the firm hold of metal surrounding it, holding him flaccid. 

“You flatter me, sweet Laurel, but I believe you’ll both be fine. Besides which, you have each other to keep company.” Nadia reaches out a hand, beckoning Laurel closer. She lays her cheek against Nadia’s outstretched palm, and reaches for his hand all at once. Nadia smiles. “You both remember your instructions?” she asks. 

They both nod in tandem. “Yes, Nadia.”

From around her own neck, she takes two keys on long golden chains. One she places around Laurel’s neck, and the other around his own. It sits hot against his bare chest, gifting him the warmth from her body.

“Julian, you have her key. And Laurel, you have Julian’s. Assist each other throughout the day as you need, but do not touch. I shall know if you do.”

Julian very much doubts that, but that mark on her forehead still perplexes him. Perhaps she would know. Laurel had managed to teach him some amount of basic spellwork, but that level of magic is well above his pay grade. Not that he would dare, anyway, though a great part of their fun hinged on the potential. Hence their matching chastity belts, meant to heighten their awareness of her absence, of what they were missing without her there. As if either of them could forget.

“I’ll miss you,” Laurel sighs.

“You’ll hardly notice that I’m gone,” Nadia says. Then, with a glitter in her eye, she strokes a hand across the leather and metal between Laurel’s legs, fingers slipping between the shallow slit in the plate, only a vague promise of touch. Laurel’s eyes widen, lips falling open on a gasp. Nadia chuckles, pulling her fingers back to see the wetness at their tips.

A week.

Not a particularly long amount of time by any stretch of the imagination. Julian has spent longer than that locked in the brig of a ship on more than one occasion, and surely that was a worse fate than this.

This is what he tells himself at least, after days of watching Laurel swan about the palace. Her hips sway gently under her skirts as she walks, her chest heaves in her low-cut gowns when she crests the top of a particularly tall flight of stairs, and all the while he knows just how trapped she is, the key to her lock burning a hole against his chest.

Inside his pants, his cock aches within its steel prison. Nothing quite distracts him from the discomfort, from the weight, but after a week of adjusting those aren’t really the things he minds so much.

At half past two in the afternoon, he pulls Laurel aside into a small antechamber. Her too-blue eyes flicker from his face, down to his crotch, and back again.

“I don’t know what time she’ll be back, only that she said before dark,” she says before he has a chance to ask. He blinks, surprised, and she responds only with a grin. Julian sighs.

“How are you faring?”

Her body sags heavy against him. “Fine. Would be better, I think, had we not decided helping one another dress this morning was a good idea.” Her hand snakes under his coat, over his shirt, to the small of his back. “ Why did we think that was a good idea?”

“Desperation?” he says with a chuckle, and kisses the top of her head.

“How terrible on her part to leave me like this and expect me to do my job and hers. She knows I can’t think straight when I’m like this.” Laurel sighs. “I keep half expecting someone to stop me and ask why I’ve decided on handing the entire city over to Drakr, or, gods forbid, something even worse.”

He tilts her chin up and kisses the frown from her lips. She melts into his touch, the hand at his waist gripping his shirt tight, nails dragging through the fabric against his sensitive sides. Her hands settle at his hips, thumbs toying beneath the waistband of his trousers.

Julian breaks the kiss with a ragged gasp. Inside its cage, his cock twitches. The bars press harsh against his attempted erection, though the cruel, pinching pain only seems to add more fuel to his fire. His hips rut forward, pressing into Laurel’s belly.

"What was it we were just saying about ill-thought out ideas?" he grunts. 

She laughs, strained and reedy. 

Nadia's retinue arrives back at a quarter to four and thirty eight seconds. Not that Julian is keeping count. He and Laurel stand outside to receive her, along with the bulk of the palace staff. Even though the hubbub, he can still hear Laurel's soft gasp when Nadia steps out of her carriage. She makes her way to them, walking a quick, measured pace directly into Laurel's arms. They kiss to a small smattering of polite applause, Laurel's cheeks flushing from embarrassment even as Nadia lays a not-so-innocent hand on her hip and squeezes.

She turns then to Julian, and wraps her arms around his shoulders, an embrace almost too tight, but one he returns enthusiastically. For propriety's sake, Nadia does not kiss him, not here in front of the whole of god and everyone. Instead, she only lays a light brush of lips across each cheek, friendly, demure.

"Welcome home, Countess,” Julian says. “The city will certainly shine all the brighter tonight for having you safely back."

She smiles, bridge of her nose pinking ever so slightly. "You flatter me, Doctor."

"It is hardly flattery if it's the truth," he says, offering her his right arm and Laurel his left. They three walk as such, through the wide double doors, and back into the palace. The servants scatter, too busy with unloading the convoy and preparing for the inevitable feast. It has the benefit of leaving the three of them blessedly alone inside the foyer. Nadia pulls away.

"I have some brief business to attend to, but then I think I should like to wash the day's travel from my skin before supper." 

He wonders briefly if she means to leave them like this till after dinner, to sit and watch them suffer a while, but there is a familiar fire burning behind her eyes when she turns to Laurel. 

"Draw a bath for us, my love? I shall join you shortly."

When she says us, her gaze lingers on Julian. He feels the back of his neck flush with heat. 

He and Laurel linger in the hall, listening to the fading click of Nadia’s heels, before Laurel takes his hand in her own and tugs.

The humidity of Nadia’s private bath does nothing for his feverish skin, even when Laurel helps him out of his coat, his gloves and boots, until he is stark naked amidst the swirls of steam. His cock is an angry, flushed red, swollen in spite of itself, pressing desperately against the bars of its confinement. Laurel winces.

“You poor thing,” she breathes, fiddling with the key about her neck -- his key -- no doubt to keep herself from reaching for him. 

He takes her hand in his own and brings it to his lips. “Don’t you worry about me,” he says. His eyes linger on her skin, flushed and dewy, the dark leather straps marring his view of her below the waist. She certainly looks much more comfortable than he, but he knows it’s only an illusion. Laurel burns just as much as he does, moreso, perhaps. He had seen the way she twisted and turned, muttering in her sleep, her hands drifting dreamily between her legs only to find cool steel there in place of hot flesh. He had held her, kissed her, not knowing if his touch soothed her or fueled her. 

The door opens, and Nadia steps inside, closing and latching it behind her before turning. Minute points of tension around her eyes and in her jaw fade away as she breathes in the scented air, as her gaze rakes hungrily over the two of them, waiting at the water’s edge for her.

“Oh, how I missed you both,” she sighs, dropping her shawl to the ground as she strides across the room to meet them. This time she reaches for Julian first, pulling him by the neck into a hungry kiss, her tongue tasting the backs of his teeth. Laurel works the laces of Nadia’s gown as they kiss, dropping kisses of her own across Nadia’s back and shoulders, slipping the gauzy fabric off her body until she is just as bare as they are, skin sticking together, tacky from the damp heat.

Nadia leaves him panting, a whimper caught in his throat when she pulls away, teeth tugging his lower lip.

“Look at you, my two obedient pets. Tell me.” She reaches for both of them at once, hands sliding into the hair at the napes of their necks, holding them firmly but gently. “Did you ache for me while I was away?”

“It was agony,” Laurel whispers.

Nadia grins, eyes bright with desire. With her knee she nudges Julian’s cock, making it bob heavily. His stomach lurches, and he bites back a curse. “Was it agony for you as well, Julian?”

“Y-yes, Nadia.”

“Good.”

He shudders as she lets them go, nails dragging down, leaving trails of gooseflesh and pink lines in their wake. Her long fingers tangle in the chain around his neck, twisting it until it bites into his skin. He swallows, feeling the pressure of her knuckles against the apple of his throat.

“What do you say we play a little game, hm?” Nadia catches Laurel’s eye, pulling her close by sheer magnetism alone. Her hand releases the grip on Julian’s chain, only to reach down and take him roughly in hand. She does nearly the same to Laurel, hand gripping the waistband and pulling the contraption tight against Laurel’s sex. Their twin whimpers echo up towards the ceiling. “The first of you to satisfy me will get to come before dinner.”

In the wake of their stunned silence, Nadia steps past them and down into the pool with a satisfied groan. When the water reaches her waist, she turns and gives them both an impatient look over her shoulder.

“What are you waiting for?”

With a quick, near panicked glance at each other, both Julian and Laurel scrabble for each other’s keys.

Chapter Text

She uncrosses her legs, right over left, and recrosses them left over right, making sure to dig her heel gently into the dip of Julian’s spine. He lets out a muffled sigh, sound obstructed by the bit between his teeth, but sounding… content. Laurel smiles to herself, turning over the page in her book without reading it. 

She had been hesitant at first to seriously indulge this desire of Julian's to, as he put it, make himself as useful to her as possible. It wasn’t like that , not anymore, not entirely. He had assured her as much whenever she raised a disapproving brow. He only wanted to make her happy, he’d said, with that too-earnest look on his face, to show her how happy she made him in return. How was she supposed to say no to that?

It had started innocently enough; a foot rub after a long day minding the shop here, an offer to hold her bag for her at the market there. At times, she would simply let him sit at her feet, curled up in her favorite cozy armchair she'd nearly had to bribe Asra into leaving behind, Julian's head pillowed in her lap. Sometimes he held her tea as she read or worked inventory.

He enjoyed it, and she was forced to admit that she did as well. Secretly, she loved how eager he was to fetch things when she asked, or follow her requests in bed. It sent a thrill down her spine -- that dreamy, utterly unabashed look he always gave her, looking up at her from his knees. There was a warmth that filled her too, savoring the knowledge that he was happy, at peace, because of her.

This, however, was new, though she couldn't say that she wasn't enjoying it. Julian was quite the sight to behold -- on all fours, head bowed, back perfectly arched with his hips parallel to the floor. He was as still as possible, even with the enchanted plug she'd crafted thrumming away inside him. Amazing, how little he objected to her magic when it benefitted him -- particularly in the bedroom. 

Beneath him, twin pools formed: One from the drool escaping the corners of his gag, the other from the near constant stream of precum leaking from his cock. From her spot in her chair, she could watch how it bobbed and twitched between his legs, flushed red and wanting. It had been nearly half an hour, if the sound of the vibrations waning slightly -- the only noise in the otherwise silent upstairs -- were any indication. Laurel lifts her feet from her lover-cum-footrest, replacing them with her book, and leans forward to take Julian’s face gently in her grip.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” she asks, voice barely pitched above a whisper. It takes a long moment for his eyes to flutter open, for his unfocused stare to fix and meet her own. He nods, once, decisive, the corners of his mouth an undeniable smile even stretched around the bit.

“Your knees feel fine?”

He nods again.

She strokes his hair, then carries her touch down the muscled expanse of his lightly freckled back, skating around the precariously balanced book, to drag her nails over his ass. He shudders under her hand.

“You’re doing so well, baby. Can you keep going for me?” she asks. Without hesitation, he nods for a third time.

Laurel reaches for the plug, feeling the faint vibrations through the base. She lays a hand on it, pouring her magic easy as pouring water from a vessel, until it hums at full capacity once more, resonating with her power like a struck tuning fork. 

Through his gag, Julian wails. His cock jerks, spilling pearlescent onto the floor as he comes completely untouched. The book on his back never slips, barely moves at all, even as his orgasm rocks him. His hips thrust, fucking back on nothing save the plug, buried and churning deep inside him with no hope of escape save her own mercy.

“Good, good boy.”

She takes the book back and opens to another random page, knowing that she won't remember a thing about it, and lays her legs across him once more. Yes, this was something she could get used to.

Chapter Text

The high pile of the rug bites into Laurel’s knees. She’s long lost track of how much time has passed. Behind her, Nadia’s shins bump her back.

“Open wide,” she says, and obediently, Laurel’s mouth falls open. Nadia keeps one hand in Laurel’s hair, the other trailing gentle caresses down along the notch and curve of her open jaw, up and down, before settling over her throat, a gentle pressure.

“That’s it,” Nadia gentles her. “Very good, just relax. Julian?”

In front of her, Julian steps closer, crowding her between their legs. One hand palms his already hard cock in long, easy strokes, just meant to take the edge off -- to keep him ready. Laurel can smell the salt and musk, her open mouth watering at the promise of what comes next.

“You’re sure about this?” Julian asks, pausing his touches to let the head of his cock bump against her cheek. Laurel blinks up at him, hoping that he can read her want through just her eyes alone.

Nadia hums, adjusting her grip in Laurel’s hair. “It’s what she wanted. Isn’t that right, Laurel?”

She nods as best she can, pinioned between Nadia’s hands. She feels precum smear against her face, sees Julian’s thighs twitch and tremble.

“Besides,” Nadia continues, nonchalant. “How else is she meant to learn? Would you rather I teach her to suck a cock properly on one of my own?”

“N-no! No, Nadia. I--”

“You what, Julian? Tell me, tell her .”

Julian’s fingers touch Laurel’s other cheek -- her lips. “I -- I want her mouth,” he whispers with an air of reverence, no louder than if he were praying in a temple. “I want to fuck your mouth so badly, Laurel.” 

Heat pools at the base of Laurel’s spine, her eyelids fluttering in silent pleasure.

“Go on then,” Nadia urges. “She’s waiting for you so patiently.”

The head of his cock takes the place his fingertip had just touched, resting on the pillow of her bottom lip. Then slowly he slides forward, guided by his own hand. He is hot against her waiting tongue, silky as he glides against her. She tastes the clean salt taste of him, lets it fill her senses. Normally this is where they would stop, let her control the pace, take him partially in hand and suckle and lick.

Not today.

Today he keeps coming, pressing his length into her open mouth with a shallow thrust. She feels more saliva gather from the weight of him on her tongue and roll down her chin. His next thrust takes him deeper, the head of his cock barely brushing the back of her throat. Immediately, Laurel shudders, her throat constricting against the intrusion. He pulls back, and Nadia is there to hold her, to soothe and silence her, urging her to breathe.

When Laurel at last steadies, Nadia very calmly says to Julian, “Again.”

Julian thrusts in, deeper this time, her nose brushing the thatch of auburn curls at the root of him, smelling faintly of sweat and the lingering soap from their bath. She gives a wet, choked sound as he slips into her throat again and holds still. Tears prick the corners of Laurel’s eyes as again she tries to cough around him but finds that she can’t. Her hands flex helplessly where they rest on her thighs.

“Relax, my sweet, relax,” Nadia says, the hand on the outside of Laurel’s throat stroking gently. With a quivering exhale, she tries -- and swallows around the head of his cock instead. Julian grunts, and drives his hips forward with involuntary roughness. Laurel’s throat tightens, choking, gagging on him with a whine. The threatened tears now spill down her cheeks and off her chin, mingling with her own drool.

“Very good, I knew you would be a natural at this.” 

Laurel can hear the smile in Nadia’s voice when she speaks, very obviously pleased. It sends a surge of pride and warmth through her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

“Keep going,” Nadia urges Julian. “Make her gag on your cock again.”

“God, that--” Julian starts, unable to even finish his thought. His cock twitches against the flat of her tongue. His hips begin to roll, dragging out, then back in again. Laurel tries to breathe, tries to suppress her reflexive throat, but when he presses deep inside her again, she lets out another wet, choked gasp.

"Oh, oh yes, that's it," he groans. He holds her there again, or rather he stills and Nadia holds Laurel down, urging her face fully against him. Julian’s curls tickle her nose, her lips, the heat of his skin reflecting her own hot breath against her face. This time he pulls out entirely, leaving her chest heaving, gulping for air with a smile on her face even as she coughs. 

“My, you certainly do love this, don’t you?” Nadia asks, bending low to kiss her temple sweetly. Laurel nods, breath still shaking out in ragged pants. She glances up at Julian through tear-clumped lashes and licks her lips. They taste like him.

“Keep looking at me like that, Laurel,” he breathes, hand back to gripping the base of his slick, shining cock -- shining from her drool -- roughly. “And I won’t be of much use here for very long.”

Nadia laughs, dark and full of lust. Laurel can’t see her face, but she knows the expression that accompanies such a laugh well enough. “So long as you save yourself for her throat, you may come whenever you like, Julian,” she says.

“Oh good -- good to know,” he quips, voice strained. When he steps close again, Laurel opens her mouth eagerly, leaning in to take him quicker than he can thrust. Only Nadia’s grip on her hair holds her back from gagging herself on his length.

“Careful, careful pet,” Nadia says, pulling Laurel back even as she gives a petulant whine. 

Julian’s thrusts are much slower now, nearly torturous. On a whim, Laurel’s tongue begins to curl, wanting to add to his mounting pleasure. Nadia must sense the tension because her fingers tighten sharply on Laurel’s jaw-- a warning.

“One of the lessons you’re here to learn,” Nadia purrs directly into Laurel’s ear, “is that good, well disciplined holes do not move. Their service is that they are here to be fucked, and that is all. Understood?”

Laurel feels her cunt clench, dripping and slicking her inner thighs where they are pressed together. 

“Are you going to be a well-behaved little fuck hole for our dear Julian?” Nadia asks, as though Laurel were capable of answering around her mouthful of cock. Instead, she waits until Julian pushes into her, waits for his cock to crest the back of her tongue before groaning her assent, throat vibrating around the too-sensitive head. 

Julian gasps, hand coming to rest on top of Nadia’s in Laurel’s hair. She can feel their fingers twine together, the sting against her scalp an afterthought, only adding to the pleasure coursing through her, wave after wave. With his new found leverage, he begins to thrust harder and faster into her mouth, using her, fucking into her throat with the same vigor he would her ass or cunt. Tears continue to leak from her eyes, unstoppable even if she’d wanted to try. Every time he thrusts in, her throat still gives a weak protestation, a garbled swallowing sound, but still she leaves her jaw lax, lets him fuck into her at his chosen pace.

When his hips begin to stutter, the measured beat he'd cultivated becoming erratic, Laurel knows that he's close. Nadia does too. Her dual grip on Laurel tightens, holding her head perfectly still for Julian’s use as he, with a rough shout, spills his pleasure across the back of her tongue. Bitter and salt flood her mouth, her sinuses, and trickle down her throat, making her cough and retch even as he presses deeper, forcing her to swallow. Nadia’s hand on Laurel’s throat massages gently, as though she could milk Julian’s cock even through Laurel’s flesh.

At last, when he has no more to give her, Julian pulls out and drops to his knees to face Laurel, taking her face in his hands and kissing her sweaty brow, her runny nose, her flushed, tear stained cheeks, everywhere and anywhere he can reach, muttering nonsense praise in languages she can't even understand. He even kisses Nadia’s hands, still petting Laurel, soothing her as she struggles slightly for breath. When Julian kisses her properly on the lips, Laurel laughs softly into his mouth.

“Liked that, did you?” she asks, then stops and brings a hand to her throat, her already deep voice rough and ragged, hoarse as if she’d been screaming or sick for days. “Oh gods, I sound terrible.”

“Don’t fret, it will pass,” Nadia says. Laurel feels Nadia’s bare breasts against her back as she kneels as well, wrapping her arms around her. “I shall call for some tea with honey for you.”

“I don’t know, I rather like the voice,” Julian mutters, smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. His fingers still tremble where he touches her, but otherwise he seems back to his old self. "Very mysterious, sexy." 

“If you enjoy it so much,” Laurel reaches up and tweaks his ear. He ducks his head, grinning, and presses his burning cheek to her breastbone. Laurel’s hands ruck up into his hair. “Then how about next time, it can be your turn.”

Chapter Text

Nadia tugs the leash. “Come along.”

The leash in turn tugs at the delicate chains that hang between them, connecting the lead to Laurel’s nipples, held in place by rough clamps. The bells that dangle from them jingle merrily at the movement, a cheery contrast to the pitiful whine that slips past Laurel’s lips.

She takes one hobbled step -- hand, then knee -- and then a second. It’s harder than she’d thought it would be, with her calves bound up tightly against her thighs. The wide plug in her ass shifts with every movement, the long, cat-like tail hanging from it tickling over her bare skin. She grits her teeth against the ‘O’ of the gag in her mouth, grateful, at least for the time being, for its presence.

“Heel.”

Laurel stops.

“So well trained,” Nadia praises, as she walks a slow circle around Laurel. “Tell me, are you enjoying yourself, pet?”

A trick question. Laurel knows she is not permitted to speak like this, even if she could around the leather wrapped ring in her mouth. She dares to glance up at Nadia, blinking dolefully. Nadia sighs, wraps the length of the lead around her hand another loop. 

“What do happy girls do to show their mistresses their appreciation?”

Laurel blinks in confusion. With the toe of her shoe, Nadia pushes gently at her hip, making her rock slightly in place. 

Oh.

Realization washes over her, and Laurel flushes hot, as if yet another layer of humiliation over this is simply one too much for her to handle. Slowly, she lowers her front half to the ground, until her ass rises high into the air, and begins to sway her hips back and forth. The dangling tail swishes -- wags -- between her legs.

Nadia laughs, bright as the bells that ring from Laurel’s nipples. “Oh, very good. What a clever girl you are.”

Her hand strokes over the curve of Laurel’s ass, nails dragging against the skin. She jumps and mewls, pushing her behind back into Nadia’s touch, begging for more.

“Sweet, too,” Nadia muses. Her touch reaches Laurel’s hair, scratching her scalp. “And so very pretty, though a little messy, hm?”

Nadia’s touch recedes, having reached the drool on her chin and chest, much to Laurel’s disappointment. The leash yanks. Her nipples burn, but she sits back up on her hands once more. Two tugs and Nadia begins to walk again, clearly expecting her to follow. Another step, then another, focused entirely on moving her body forward as they make a slow lap around the room. 

“I would love to take you out of our room like this, perhaps for a nice walk in the garden?” Nadia’s voice is wistful, wicked. “Wouldn’t you like that, sweetheart? Wouldn’t you love to have everyone out there see how you love to be on your knees for me? On display like the prized pet you are? Then everyone would see how obedient you are, how completely and utterly I own you.”

Laurel sobs. It isn’t fair to tease her this way. Nadia knows full well how that particular thought sets her aflame, her cunt clenching empty and dripping. They can’t, they both know that, but it is enough to pretend sometimes -- an empty promise better than none at all. The image it creates still serves its purpose, sparking something utterly feral, a base instinct, in Laurel. Her body positively aches with want. It takes all her wherewithal to keep her eyes focused entirely on Nadia’s heels a foot or so ahead of her, toe tapping impatiently.

“Is this as fast as you can go?” Nadia asks, her tone sharp. Laurel shivers, tries to totter forward faster, hand-knee, hand-knee , knee-hand and stumbles, knees slipping out from under her. She lands on her side, not hard -- all the pain comes from the sudden cruel jerk of the chain as the clamps are pulled, stretching and biting into her nipples. The bells jangle, and Laurel howls through her gag, chest heaving as the pain rips through her like ice-cold fire.

Nadia is there in an instant, pulling Laurel close, practically into her lap, to look her over. “Darling, are you alright?” she asks, any pretense of their play long gone. Buckle undone, the gag slides from between her lips. She is no longer Pet, and Nadia her Mistress, they are simply Laurel and Nadia once more. 

Laurel thinks, shifting her back and hips, then nods. The sting still lingers, her chest tender, but the worst of it has faded away, mingling with the pleasant buzz in the back of her skull easily enough. Nadia looks unconvinced, hands hovering over her breasts. 

“These should come off,” she says, already reaching for the clamps, but Laurel shakes her head, pulling her chest away much as she can. She could speak now, if she wanted to. She doesn’t want to.

Nadia frowns. “You don’t want them off?”

Laurel shakes her head again.

“You want to keep going, don’t you?”

A nod again, enthusiastic. Laurel smiles, and with her hand she reaches for Nadia’s and gives it two firm squeezes, their silent signal that all is well.

Nadia sighs and strokes the tangled hair from Laurel’s face. “You’re sure that you aren’t hurt?”

Laurel nods, slowly this time, rocking back on her haunches. She wishes she could kiss every worried line from Nadia’s face, but proper kisses she will save for when they are truly done. She settles instead for butting her head gently under Nadia’s chin, nosing into the juncture between neck and shoulder. She can feel how Nadia’s pulse quickens under her lips.

“Oh, I see. Is that how it’s going to be?” Nadia’s hands stroke up and down Laurel’s sides, and Laurel groans so low in her throat it may as well be a purr. A quiet chuckle rumbles in Nadia’s chest. “Yes, yes, very well.”

Laurel falls back, sitting up prettily on her knees, back arched and breasts thrust forward the way she knows Nadia likes best. She reaches for the dangling leash and grips it between her teeth, presenting it with a jut of her chin. Nadia gives her a sweet, indulgent smile, rises to her feet, and places a hand on the top of Laurel’s head, scratching down behind her ears until she can lightly tilt her face up.

She takes the lead from Laurel’s lips and loops it over her other hand once more. “Let us finish your walk, and then I think a treat is in order? What do you say, my darling?”

With a final nuzzle of Nadia’s hand, Laurel begins to crawl.

Chapter Text

“I want you,” Nadia whispers, mouthing hot and insistent against Laurel’s throat. Her hands rove freely, pushing and pulling clothing away as she goes to get at the supple flesh beneath.

Laurel sighs, tilting her head to allow Nadia greater access. She tangles her hands deep into Nadia’s hair, silken purple strands slipping between her fingers, catching on the setting of the newly affixed engagement ring weighing oddly on her left hand.

“You have me,” she breathes, words stuttering as Nadia’s lips reach the jut of her collarbone. Her chest is tight, almost giddy, feeling very much like she and Nadia are getting away with something -- rolling around in bed together in the middle of the day like a couple of love-struck teenagers, enjoying the benefits of being forced out of their home for pre-wedding preparations.

Nadia bites down, worrying her teeth on the muscle joining neck and shoulder, and Laurel keens. Nadia’s tongue flicks out to sooth the red mark she’d left, blooming like a spring rose on the pale backdrop of Laurel’s skin.

Nadia’s breath puffs cool against the dampness, sending shivers down Laurel’s spine. “I want to taste you.”

“Yes, gods, yes,” Laurel pleads to the ceiling, head thrown back as the ecstacy of Nadia’s touch rolls over her. She expects Nadia to lay her down then, to climb between her legs, spread her and take her apart piece by piece like one of her tinkering machines, but it is Nadia who leans back, reclining against the pillows. She looks decadent, regal, voracious as her eyes flash bright as rubies in the afternoon sun, raking over Laurel’s body and make her blood run hot.

“Come here,” Nadia says, crooking her finger. Laurel leans forward, a curious tilt to her head. The moment she is within reach, Nadia catches her, pulling her close with fervent touches, fingerprints branding Laurel’s hips. With her firm-but-gentle grip, Nadia maneuvers her until her knees bracket either side of Nadia’s face, her bare sex hovering just above Nadia’s smiling mouth.

“Like this?” Laurel asks, tentative, unsure.

“Just like this,” Nadia mutters, pressing Laurel’s hips down until she can kiss Laurel’s slit, sweet enough that one could nearly call it chaste were it not for the location. Laurel gasps, cheeks flushing instantly with heat. Nadia’s tongue slips between Laurel’s lips and starts a slow, broad lick from her taint all the way up to flick at her clit before starting the same excruciating drag again.

All of Laurel’s breath leaves her in a shaky rush. Her hands flex uselessly at her sides, come up to squeeze at her own tender breasts. When Nadia takes her clit and begins to suck, her hands scrabble and end up gripping the headboard for dear life. This was certainly not the first time she had felt Nadia’s mouth on her cunt, but this -- the new angle, the way her body trembles slightly from the exertion of holding herself aloft -- makes everything feel new and different, more intense. 

“Do not be so shy, Laurel.” Nadia’s words are muffled slightly, pressed into Laurel’s soft flesh, vibrating, rippling up through her to rattle the cage of ribs around her quick-beating heart. Nadia’s tongue dips into her entrance, lapping open mouthed at the muscle, urging her open. She delves deeper at the same time the pressure of her hands push Laurel even lower. Her stiffened tongue sinks inside, deeper than she had ever managed otherwise, aided by the angle and weight of Laurel’s body. 

Laurel gasps, a pathetic, hiccuping, half-sob of a sound. Nadia fucks her tongue in and out with shallow thrusts, and Laurel’s hips begin to rock in time. It isn’t quite enough, even if the thought alone of what Nadia is doing to her makes her feel like she’s burning to ash from the inside out. On the back-end of a thrust, Laurel’s clit brushes over what must be Nadia’s nose and she sees stars. Her body chases the feeling on instinct, bowing forward between her outstretched arms, grinding down again to feel the ridge press back while Nadia’s tongue fucks into her.

“Oh! Oh, fuck! Na-- ah!” One of Laurel’s hands slips from the headboard and finds purchase in Nadia’s hair. 

Nadia makes a low hum of encouragement, the sound of it lost but not the feeling. Her hands urge Laurel forward, her head rising slightly to meet her thrust for thrust. Her tongue cannot reach so deeply like this, but it hardly matters. Laurel chases her inevitable climax, pinioned between the press of Nadia’s nose against her most sensitive place, and the way Nadia’s tongue finds and drags pleasure from any part of her it can reach. Laurel can feel the hot puffs and gasps of breath against her wetness as Nadia attempts to catch her breath between strokes. 

It’s obscene. 

It shakes Laurel apart.

She comes with a whimper, nails digging deep gouges into the painted wood currently suffering under her death grip. Her thighs tremble and give, losing the last of their battle with gravity to the full weight of Laurel’s orgasm ripping through her. Nadia licks her through it, tongue rolling against her twitching flesh. It takes a second too long for Laurel to realize that this means she smothers Nadia completely. In a panic, she pulls off and rolls to the side.

Nadia gasps. Her face is shining from nose to chin, wide eyes glassy and bright, wild with excitement -- with lust.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” Laurel mutters, reaching for Nadia to cup her cheeks in still-shaking hands. Nadia nearly growls, sitting up and crashing their mouths together, forcing Laurel to taste the musk and salt of her own slick. It makes her heady, makes her wish she was between Nadia’s own thighs.

“Do not dare apologize for that,” Nadia says between open mouthed kisses, chest heaving, licking into Laurel’s mouth, biting at her lips.

“I was afraid I would hurt you,” Laurel whispers, pulling away from the kisses to press her hot forehead to Nadia’s shoulder. 

Nadia strokes the back of her neck. “I am not quite so delicate,” she replies, and kisses the side of Laurel’s head. “In fact, you could take a few many more liberties with me... should you like to try that again, that is.”

Laurel’s breath catches, a thrill skittering over her sensitive skin. She closes her eyes and inhales the scent of Nadia’s skin, lays a kiss directly over Nadia’s thumping pulse.

“I would like that very much.”

Chapter Text

The room is elegantly appointed, nearly every flat surface draped in luxurious bolts of velvet damask, all in matching hues of burgundy and black. It doesn’t look much like a brothel -- not that Laurel had spent much, or really any time in one prior to this. Were it not for the very obvious rack of… implements along the wall, the straps built into all four corners of the too large poster bed, and the long undecorated wall to her left, she could almost pretend this were some lavish hotel, if a tad eccentric. It’s the latter that truly catches her attention, though:That wall, with its littering of holes, of various heights and sizes, some with padded benches attached, all lined with privacy curtains made of heavy black leather.

She reaches out and touches the cushion of one of the benches, sitting at just about hip height, so similar to the ones they keep at home and yet somehow so foreign here in this new environment. The room is clearly meant for more than two people to share, judging by the sheer size alone, and yet it was empty save for them.

Nadia’s arms wind around her from behind. Her lips press against the nape of Laurel’s neck, soft and dry. “How do you feel, my love?” she asks.

Laurel draws in a deep breath, leaning back in the embrace. Her heart is racing, there’s no hiding that if she tried. “Nervous,” she says, then licks her lips. “But excited as well. Is that bad?”

Nadia chuckles. “Bad that you’re excited? Heavens no, if you weren’t excited about this, we would never have stepped foot in this place.”

Laurel lets a wistful sort of smile play at the corners of her mouth and gives the room yet another cursory glance, taking it in all at once. "Speaking of, this is quite an... interesting place. However did you find it?"

Nadia's hands toy with the flimsy ties holding Laurel's cloak together. The silk ribbons slip against each other and part, one by one, allowing the fabric to fall open. Beneath it she is completely bare, has been since they left the palace where Nadia had prepared her. She had sat as innocently as she could, nude as the day she'd been born, cunt soaked with a plug in her ass in the back of a gondola all the way here. Nadia runs the flats of her palms up Laurel's abdomen, over her pert nipples and past her shoulders, letting the heavy cape fall to the floor with a quiet whump .

Laurel looks down and takes Nadia's hands in her own. They are Nadia's again, not glamoured as they had been for their journey. The level of discretion had been necessary for this excursion, though doing so had been taxing both magically and emotionally. Laurel only hopes that her silly request proves worth while.

"I have my ways," Nadia replies, leaving a necklace of kisses along Laurel's nape. "But rest assured, I have spared no expense to assure your safety--"

"And yours."

Laurel feels Nadia smile against her back. "And mine, of course. I swear to you this establishment has the finest reputation in Vesuvia, both for their discretion and… cleanliness."

Turning in her arms, Laurel presses close to Nadia's still fully dressed form, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. They kiss, both reaching for each other at once, lips slanting together easily. She had thanked Nadia so many times already that her wife had nearly forbade her ever saying the words again, and so she poured all the rest of her gratitude into this kiss. 

When Nadia pulls away, she licks her lips, eyes flashing with hunger. "Are you ready to begin?"

Laurel nods.

It begins with Nadia reaching into Laurel's bag, taking all of the assorted amulets she had fashioned one by one, and cording them around Laurel's wrists. Perhaps she had been overly cautious, but as each one is tied she names them in her thoughts: protection against physical harm, against disease, against pregnancy; one to keep her slick, another for relaxation, and she feels the last of her nerves fall away. They look nearly like cuffs around her wrists when Nadia is finished, the thought sending a thrill deep and resonant through her core. 

Nadia, of course, saves the best for last. She sweeps Laurel's hair to the side and presses the delicate golden collar to her throat. Normally they did not bother with such trappings, Laurel knew well who she belonged to. But for this, tonight, she had requested the extra physical reminder, and Nadia had been all too eager to indulge her.

“There, just one more thing,” Nadia breathes, petting down her shoulders, kissing the place where the collar latches. She runs her hands down Laurel’s back, and grips the base of the plug that keeps her open and waiting. Slowly, she pulls it out as Laurel whimpers. Setting it aside, Nadia turns back to face her. “Time to take your place now, my love.”

Laurel reaches backwards, hands touching the bench again, and levers herself up onto it. Nadia helps her scoot down into position until her legs ease through the hole in the wall and out the other side. Where wall and leather stop, so does the bench, leaving her lower half hanging. Her heels touch smooth ceramic on the other side. For a moment, Laurel wonders if that is it, and then a hand on the other side grips her left ankle, drawing it upwards. Laurel starts, a gasp ripping through her chest. Nadia kisses her forehead, stroking and petting her hair.

“Tell me what you feel, Laurel.”

Laurel gasps again, foot twitching as a cuff encircles her ankle and tightens to support her. “S-someone is binding my legs,” she says as the same happens to her other leg.

“The proprietor,” Nadia tells her, voice calm and steady. 

“Oh.” Laurel laughs, mostly at herself, feeling foolish. Silly, that she should demure now at the thought of a stranger’s hands on her. 

“Now you are on display for everyone to see, for everyone who passes to covet,” Nadia says, voice dipping low. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Laurel shudders. “Yes, Nadia.”

The air on the other side of the wall is warm and still. She can see nothing through the leather curtain around her hips, and so her mind swims with imagined thoughts of what it must look like. The other holes in this room were left empty, clearly, but were there more? Was she just one of many? A hall full of anonymous cunts and asses left hanging for those who wished to peruse and try like trinkets at a market stall? She clenches, wetness leaking out of her and dripping down.

A hand appears, or rather, she feels a hand stroke against the swell of her ass and thigh. She releases a quivering breath she had been holding for the gods only know how long. 

Nadia’s lips tease the shell of her ear, asking, “Someone is there, aren’t they?” even as the stranger’s hands begin to explore. Laurel nods, hips twisting, twitching as a thick finger finds that bead of slick she’d leaked and drags it up, smearing it over her clit. The lips of her cunt are spread wide, and that same finger teases at her entrance briefly before sliding in, pumping in and out of her a few times as if to test whether she would be a good fit, before resting the head of a thick cock against her hole.

Laurel’s mouth falls open, lips trembling as the cock pushes into her. She is grateful for Nadia’s preparation, but nothing quite readies her for the feeling: Hot and firm, yet soft in a way no toy can replicate at the highest price, even with magic. There is no romance, no easing her into it. The cock slams into her, the hips of whomever it belongs to slapping against her exposed ass. Laurel cries out as a wave of pleasure rips through her, the stretch of her cunt around the stranger’s cock unfamiliar, heady, intoxicating. 

The cock fucks with a driving pace, each thrust making her jolt, until it quickly stutters, twitches, and spills inside her -- searing hot and unfamiliar. Nadia’s mouth finds hers and swallows her noises with a kiss, tongue licking deep into her mouth as she is filled. 

And then it is gone. Having found their pleasure, the stranger retreats, leaving her gasping and shuddering in Nadia’s arms, dripping someone else’s spend out of her still twitching cunt. It isn’t long before new hands take the old ones’ place, softer, smaller this time.

“A--another! So soon?” Laurel manages to get out, before they use the other man’s come to ease their way, without preamble, into her stretched ass. She chokes, the air in her lungs turning suddenly to syrup.

“There is likely a whole line of people,” Nadia whispers, “just waiting for a taste of you.”

Laurel whines, eyes fluttering as the new stranger rolls their hips expertly. The person’s hands grip her hips to hold her steady as they thrust, slow and dragging each time.

“They’re fucking your ass this time, aren’t they?” Nadia asks, waiting for Laurel to nod. “Yes, I would recognize that look on your face anywhere. You can never hide how eager you are to have that hole filled up.”

Laurel’s face flares red-hot, and grows hotter still as the cock inside her pulls out without coming only for her to feel the splash of their seed against the crease of her thigh moments later. 

So it goes. A third set of hands, then a fourth, each of them taking their turns using and spilling inside her cunt. The fifth stranger’s hands feel distinctly feminine, the familiar but unfamiliar feeling of manicured nails curling inside her while a tongue teases her ignored clit. This is the first time Laurel comes, with a strange woman’s mouth on her cunt. The thought makes her sob with shame, with elation, has her gripping Nadia’s arms, nails no doubt digging half moon crescents deep into the skin. Nadia doesn’t seem to mind, just holds her through it even as the stranger leaves her again and is replaced by yet another cock, larger than the others, filling her ass.

“You’re doing so well, my sweet,” Nadia says, her praise washing over Laurel like a comforting balm. “They love you.”

Laurel pants, words and thoughts failing her. Nadia pets over her stomach, cradles her breasts. Laurel swallows dry and feels the press of Nadia’s collar on her throat.

“What would the people say, I wonder?” Nadia continues, tweaking Laurel’s nipples roughly. “If they knew it was their precious Lady Laurel they were fucking like a common whore?”

Laurel’s chest heaves, a white hot knife of pleasure striking true through her core. Nadia chuckles, pressing kisses to her tacky brow, her temples, her jaw. 

“Do you think they would love you all the more for what a perfect cockslut you make? I do.” 

Laurel’s second orgasm rips through her unexpectedly. She shouts her pleasure full throated, not caring that those on the other side might hear and recognize her voice. A few errant tears leak from the corners of her eyes from pure overstimulation alone. The cock still inside her continues to thrust, faster and faster, until they too reach their climax and pump her ass full of come.

“I -- I can’t, Nadia, no more. Please!”

Without question or hesitation, Nadia reaches for a cord dangling from the ceiling and pulls it three times. The cock slips out of her immediately, and for a moment Laurel hears and feels nothing at all. The next hands that touch her do so only to unbind her ankles, slowly lowering her stiff and aching legs. Nadia hefts her upwards along the bench, easily pulling her back through to their side of the wall. Her legs feel as though they are made of lead, heavy and recalcitrant, unwilling to move or support her if she’d tried. Her well used holes throb, pulsing with the rapid beat of her heart.

Laurel shudders again, a sound almost like a sob bubbling up from her chest. Nadia’s arms hold her tight, rocking her, clutching her to her chest as she peppers every inch of skin she can reach with light kisses.

“Wa--was I good?” Laurel asks, dazed, tongue thick in her mouth.

“Oh my love, you were magnificent,” Nadia whispers. “Just look at you.”

Laurel looks down her body, blinking in flushed surprise at the mess of herself. There is no pain, only bone deep satisfaction mixed with the slight discomfort of the mixed spend leaking sluggishly out of her. It makes her hot all over, gooseflesh prickling every exposed inch of skin.

“Absolutely gorgeous. Did you enjoy yourself?”

Laurel hums, nodding. A sudden wave of exhaustion rolls over her, and try as she might to blink it away, it returns again to drag her back down. Her head lolls against Nadia’s shoulder.

“Good. Tired?”

Laurel nods again, or tries to. Nadia strokes her arm.

“Poor darling. Come, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Chapter Text

The sun outside sets in bursts of pink and gold, the last of the rosy light filtering through the windows of the shop, passing through crystals and turning the front room into a blaze of color. It has always been Laurel’s favorite time of day. Something about the twilight feels special, magical, even more so when she can share it with him.

“Well, this feels familiar,” Laurel mutters, hooded eyes drifting over the length of counter beneath her hands, digging into her hips as she bends slightly over it. Julian’s lips on the back of her neck pause their trailing path halfway to her ear. His arms around her waist tighten and he chuckles, kissing the crown of her head where the faint memory of bone striking against bone lingers.

“Just maybe try not to draw blood this time, hm?”

Laurel snorts, pulling him down by his nape, urging him back to his kisses. “I make no promises.”

She lets herself get lost in the sweetness of his touch, in the way even his most chaste kisses leave her weak-kneed. When his hands begin to creep under the hem of her blouse, that’s when she finally balks, snapping out of her lustful trance.

“Julian--”

“Mm?” he hums, not pausing at all. A cool thumb swipes over her belly button, and her stomach seizes with gooseflesh.

“Julian!”

“Yes, love?” Even he sounds dreamy and distant, unperturbed by her weak, halfhearted protestations.

“Did -- did we lock the door?”

Laurel feels him shrug, then resume his groping, hands dancing along the hem of her breastband. “Haven’t the foggiest. Did you?”

“ Julian ,” Laurel whines for a third time. This time his hands and lips fall away with an exaggerated sigh. Rather than go to the door, she simply throws her magic at it, haphazard, listening faintly for the lock to click in response. Then she turns and slides her arms around his slender waist, tugging his own shirt out of the band of his trousers. Her hands brush upwards, over the plane of his muscled chest to settle on his shoulders, drawing him back down to her waiting mouth.

He smiles against her lips. “Handy trick, that.”

“Oh, I’m full of all sorts of tricks,” she replies, nipping at the tip of his nose. He pulls back, eyes and forehead crinkling.

“Is that so?” His chest swells against hers, barely suppressed laughter hiding behind his rakish grin. “Lucky for me, so am I.”

She feels his hands on her hips dip lower, under the curve of her ass. A split second before he does it, she knows exactly what he means to do, too late to stop him. He lifts her all too easily, settling her lightly atop the counter. She can look him in the eye now, white and red, both flashing with equal mischief and hunger.

“Was that one?” she asks.

“One of them, yes. I can show you another, if you’d like.”

His hands settle high on her thighs, thumbs rubbing teasing, small circles too close to her heat to be accidental. 

“Here?” she asks, breathless. “Our bed is only--”

“Too far,” he intones, very seriously.

“Up the stairs. They’re right there, darling.”

“Too far, darling,” he echoes, mockingly, mouth latching onto her exposed collarbone and sucking a mark. Her hands clutch at the scarf protecting the glass case beneath her, rucking the fabric up between her fingers. While his mouth works its way down, his hands work their way up, under the hem of her skirts to press against her bare skin.

“I do business here,” she mutters even as she tips her hips, allows him to hook his fingers around the band of her smalls and pull them down. “I’ll have to clean the whole downstairs when we’re done.”

“I’ll clean it,” he says from between her breasts. Laurel laughs, catching his hair in her fingers.

“Oh, you will, will you?”

Julian’s eyes flick upwards. His hands pull her underthings off her dangling ankles. “Let me do this here, now, and I’ll do all the cleaning for a week. I swear.”

His teeth nip the swell of her left breast, followed by his tongue as he licks across his mark. 

“An--ah! Don’t you dare!” Her voice stalls his motion, halfway to tossing her smalls to the shop floor. He curls his hand around them, thinks for a moment, and then tucks them into the front pocket of his pants. Laurel’s cheeks flush, hot and pink. “Do you really want me that badly?” she asks.

“Yes,” he replies, simple and quick, with no hesitation at all behind it. She shivers, whatever was left of her resolve crumbling to dust.

Laurel sighs, and leans back as far as the wide countertop will allow. “A whole week?”

Julian smiles, radiant and golden-haloed with victory and waning sunlight, before ducking down and disappearing under her skirt.

His hands are cool, but his tongue is hot against her core where he presses against her. Laurel lets out a shuddering sigh, resting back against her elbows. It’s not ideal, but with the way Julian begins to lap and suck at her clit, she won't be long for this position anyway. His attentions are pointed. There is no teasing her now, all playfulness abandoned for the single minded task at hand. 

He will make her come. He will drag it out of her expertly, and she will shake around his mouth and scream his name to the rafters and hope that no one passing in the alley outside can hear. He takes her apart too easily, sometimes, frightening almost how her body responds to his in ways she never thought herself capable. She can feel it building inside her already, a tell-tale heat roiling deep in her belly, a kettle on the fire set to boil over any moment. Her hips begin to rock in time with his lips, breathy pants of “Yes, Julian. Yes, yes,” dripping from her lips, a litany, a prayer.

Thank goodness she’d locked the door.

Chapter Text

"I look silly," she says, ducking her head. She watches in the mirror how her cheeks flame a blotchy scarlet, easier to focus on that than what hangs between her legs.

"You don't look silly," comes Julian's voice from the other side of the changing screen. Already he sounds breathless with anticipation, and it makes her gut clench and heart race in equal measure.

Laurel rolls her eyes. "You haven't even seen yet."

"I don't have to see to know the truth."

With a mirthless laugh, she runs her hands over the leather straps banding tightly over her hips, her thighs. The harness is beautifully made, but the quality of the items are hardly the issue. Hand tooled and soft against her skin, leather the color of fresh cream with gold -- real gold -- fastenings glinting in the lantern light, with a little false corset style lacing in the back that had made her feel cheeky when she'd ordered it, thinking surely, Julian will love this . It was beautiful, it had cost her a small fortune, and she would feel more comfortable in a potato sack. 

To top it all off, the clear glass cock, the true centerpiece of the look, juts at a proud angle from her mound, confident in its abilities -- an attitude she wishes she herself could embody. Instead, she stands in front of the mirror, turning this way and that repeatedly, trying to find an angle to gaze at herself where she doesn't look…

Laurel sighs, and closes in on her reflection, giving herself a long, hard look in the eye.

Stop it , she hisses inwardly. Get it together.

With a final shake she forces herself to step out from behind her protective cover, into the small room where Julian lounges, already nude, on the bed. When he sees her, his eyes widen, lips parting in quiet surprise. Half hard on his stomach, his cock gives an interested twitch.

Laurel tries to smile, to bite back her unease. "Ta-da?"

Julian laughs, a quiet huff. " Ta-da , she says." He sits up and crawls towards her, stopping when he reaches the corner of the bed. He reaches for her. “Come closer, darling, let me look.”

It’s easier to move, to forget her fears, when he looks at her like that, like she’d gone and hung the moon just for him. Her hand fits into his, and he draws her into the circle of his arms.

“All this just for me?” he asks, hands skirting down her sides, over the leather at her hips, around to cup her ass.

Laurel gasps, resting her hands on his shoulders as her knees begin to quiver under his touch. “S-surprise.”

“You spoil me,” he whispers, eyes darting, never lingering on one part of her for too long before finding something else that catches his attention. Her breath threatens to rattle in her chest, but she stuffs the feeling down, unwilling to let herself sully the look of pure elation on his face.

“You deserve to be spoiled, Julian,” she says, tilting his head until his wandering eyes meet and linger on hers. He gives her a self-effacing smile.

“If that’s the case, do you mind if I, uh… partake in a little dessert before the main course?” His thumbs press her hip bones, between the straps of the harness.

She hisses, bucking into his grip. “What would you -- oh.” Her words falter as she watches him lick his lips. “I -- yes. If you -- okay.”

Julian grins, eager, settling himself into a comfortable position where he can kiss down her stomach towards where her false cock bobs between them. She sucks in a breath, watching him take the glass into his mouth, long lashes falling across his cheeks as he closes his eyes in bliss.

There is no sensation beyond the dull press of the phallus’ base against her clit, but watching him hollow his cheeks and suck her so greedily, wet moans of satisfaction coming from deep in his throat, sets her blood boiling just as sure as if he’d touched her sex. Her hands thread through his hair, not pulling, only gentle caresses meant to encourage.

“Julian--” She whimpers when he pulls off and licks up the curve with a broad stroke of his tongue. It’s flashy, showy, but that’s what this is -- a one-man show meant just for her. He grins, breathing heavily, a light sheen of sweat gathering at the same places he flushes rosy pink -- the bridge of his nose, at his temples, on the flat plane of his chest.

She leans in to kiss him, swiping the wetness off his own lips with her tongue. He sighs happily when they part, blinking at her dreamily. 

“Julian, I--” Her voice catches in her throat, the words sitting in her mouth familiar but not. “I want to fuck you now.”

He shudders, eyes heavy lidded, and nods. “Yes, Laurel, please.”

She falters. “How do you--”

He takes her hand and leads her onto the bed with him, pulling her along on their knees. Hand on the back of her neck, he guides her mouth against his in a last, lazy kiss, then with cat-like grace, he turns onto his hands and knees, arching his back towards her.

“Just like this,” he says, watching her over his shoulder.

Laurel’s hands rest on the curve of his ass, dragging her blunt nails down the skin to raise red lines and gooseflesh. Between his cheeks, he shines, dusky hole already slicked with oil.

“You did this?” she asks, trailing her fingers down the cleft of his ass.

“To be fair, you left me waiting for quite a long time.” He shivers and gives a quiet grunt as the tip of her middle finger presses against his entrance, the well-worked muscle giving with ease, pulling her in to the first knuckle. “I -- ah -- I thought it would be easier f-for you.”

She smiles, working her finger deeper with shallow thrusts. He opens easily, and makes the loveliest noises for her -- whimpers and sighs with every press inside. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, dropping a kiss to the small of his back, directly over a pale freckle. “You’re so sweet, my good boy.”

Her words she punctuates with a rougher thrust, pulling her finger out and easing two back in. He had done a wonderful job of stretching himself, the glide effortless, but still hot and tight around her fingers. He gasps, head dropping to the pillows, fingers gripping the coverlet until his knuckles turn white.

“P-please, please I want -- Laurel, please don’t tease any more, I’m ready.” His voice is reedy, half muffled by the bedding.

She withdraws her fingers. “Where--”

“Here, left.”

Under the edge of the sheet is the bottle of oil, half empty from when he’d used it on himself. Laurel takes it in hand, uncorking it and spilling the rest over the glass phallus. It drips onto her thighs, onto the bed, and she winces -- distracted briefly by the thought of laundry needing to be done -- before Julian’s impatient whines bring her back to the task at hand. She strokes the length of her cock, the motion backwards from what she’s used to, but feeling… good.

The hand not guiding her cock grips what little meat there is of his ass and spreads him wide. He gasps when the head of her cock, cool glass on hot flesh, presses against his hole and slowly slips inside. She goes slow, the angle hard and unfamiliar on her hips. He gives a deep, contented groan and pushes backwards, forcing her cock deeper by inches all at once until she is flush against him. They both gasp in tandem, her nails digging into his hips, gripping him with both hands now.

“Oh gods, Julian.” She gives a shallow thrust, and Julian cries out, voice ragged and cracking around the edges. 

“K-keep going, ‘s… good. Please.”

With effort, she pulls her cock out until just the head stretches his hole, teasing the rim with the clear tip.

“You’re so pink inside,” she marvels, her own voice going hoarse, before thrusting back in. Julian chokes out a moan as she finds her rhythm, panting and meeting her driving thrust for driving thrust. She lays her chest across the line of his back, shallowing the pump of her hips, but giving her the reach to lay her oiled hand on his stomach, trailing down to grip his cock in her fist.

Julian gasps her name, trembling under her as she matches the tempo of her hand to the one of her hips. That same strange angle again, but this time made better with him hot and hard in her hand, flesh and blood, and she slicks her palm over his head and back down with a flick of her wrist. 

“I -- I -- please Laurel, may I come? Please?”

“Already?” she pants, kissing the knobs of his spine.

He keens in response.

Laurel’s eyes slip closed, smile pressed to the skin of his back. “Okay. Okay, sweetheart, yes, come for me.”

She thrusts deep inside, pressing her hips to his ass, and focuses on the stroke of his cock, quick and tight the way she knows he likes to finish. He spills over her fist with a weak cry. Her smile turns to teeth that nip at his side.

“Ooh, thank you. Thank you.” Boneless, he eases himself off of her, arms and legs giving way to the softness of the mattress beneath them. He rolls, with a wince, away from the dampness of his own cooling spend on the coverlet, kicking weakly at it with his long legs until she moves and lets it slips away, leaving cool, dry sheets beneath them instead. Then he reaches for her, pulling her into his chest like a stuffed toy, his uneven breath hot against her neck. “Laurel you are... amazing. A wonder. A joy.”

“Hush,” she mutters, gripping his arm and kissing his wrist. The buckles of the harness dig slightly, trapped between bed and flesh, but it’s a discomfort she’s willing to put up with for the moment if it means being wrapped so completely in his arms.

“I will not hush. That was -- wow.” He laughs, giddy and riding high off his orgasm. “Give my soul a moment to return to my body, and I’ll return the favor, I swear.”

“I’m just glad you enjoyed yourself,” she says.

“An understatement, love. I enjoy myself on a pleasant evening stroll, or at an expensive meal.” He sighs, “That was, to reiterate, wow .”

“Well, thank you. That’s very kind of you to say.”

He stills, his arm around her tightening. “Did you? Enjoy yourself?”

She takes a breath. “I did.”

“You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”

This time Laurel laughs. “I promise, I’m not.” 

She turns in his embrace, no longer satisfied with not seeing his face. The phallus is pressed awkwardly between them, but he smiles down at her all the same, radiant as the sun.

“But next time, I want to prepare you myself.”

His smile falters, then widens inexplicably, teeth taking over his face. “Next time?” he asks with a wicked tilt of his eyebrow.

Laurel kisses the corner of his mouth.

“Next time.”

Chapter Text

“Just when I was -- ah! L-looking forward to wearing something with a low neck for once,” Laurel hisses. Nadia’s teeth worry a spot high on her neck, a spot not even the highest collar will cover, and they both know it. The days old bruise there previously had hardly begun to fade to a dull lilac before Nadia took it upon herself to bring it back to fresh, lurid red.

From the other side of her, Julian chuckles. “Maybe she has a point, Nadia.” He strokes a finger down between her breasts. “Best to make it even.” His lips latch onto Laurel’s collarbone, pulling yet another mark to the surface. Laurel arcs up into their twin touches, whining.

“You’re both horrid,” she gasps, even as she tilts her head to give Nadia better access. Her wife smiles against her skin, and pulls off with a wet pop. 

“Your complaints are duly noted,” Nadia says, thumbing over her freshly made bruise. 

Laurel shudders. “It’s almost like… you want me to look freshly ravished in front of the whole city.”

Nadia’s fingers dance between the rest of the marks she’d left, various sizes and colors. Some were still only just barely pinked, others deep as ripe plums, trailing down in a constellation from her throat to her breasts. “You’ve found me out, Laurel.” She smiles, nosing against Laurel’s temple. “Is it terribly selfish of me, to want everyone to know you’re mine?”

Laurel’s eyes flutter closed, head sinking down into the pillows beneath her. “Careful, Nadia. Julian will think you’re playing favorites.”

He lifts his head, teeth scraping over Laurel’s skin. Nadia’s hand finds his cheek, cupping it. He nuzzles closer, kissing her palm. On the side of his neck, matching blooms of purple and red marr his pale skin, ones from Nadia and from Laurel’s own teeth, bleeding together like smears of watercolor paint.

“Nonsense,” Nadia says softly. “I adore you both. You know that.”

Laurel snakes an arm around Nadia’s waist at the same time Julian begins to kiss up her forearm.

“I know,” Laurel whispers against her chest. 

“It is nice to hear again, sometimes,” Julian says between kisses. 

Laurel’s lips press over the soft skin of Nadia’s ribs. There is a mole there, darker than the rest of the skin around it, that she loves, and she takes it between her teeth, biting down into the flesh, drawing it into her mouth and laving it with her tongue.

Nadia’s surprised gasp turns quickly to a contented moan. Laurel’s eyes flicker upwards to see Julian mouthing at her breast. When Laurel pulls away, her mark lingers on Nadia’s skin, nearly in the perfect shape of a heart.

“At least now we’re even,” Laurel says, and blows cool air over the bruise. “Even if nobody but us will see.”

Laurel reaches across Nadia’s chest and lays a hand on Julian’s hip, where another one of her own marks blooms from the night before, such a novel sight on him even after so long.

Julian’s hand curls into Nadia’s hair, kissing her cheek sweetly before settling down against her shoulder. “All that matters, really.”

Chapter Text

Wrists bound.

Ankles bound.

Trussed up like a captured animal, Laurel tests the strength of her restraints and revels in their lack of give. Her tongue presses the crude gag between her lips, a strip of fine, cream colored silk already soaked through. She rolls from her stomach onto her back, chest heaving with effort. 

Across the room, the click of high heels echoes, growing closer and closer until Nadia comes into view. A vision in pale pink and lilac frills, she presses the toe of her boot to Laurel's cheek and gives it a firm nudge.

"Your kingdom fought bravely for your safe return, princess," Nadia says, voice theatrically imperious. "Alas, in the end they were, of course, defeated by my superior forces."

Laurel makes a show out of wiggling, yanking at her bindings, crying muffled nonsense into her gag until Nadia shushes her with another touch of her boot -- this time to the center of her chest, pinning her in place. 

"You will be relieved, I think, to know that peace was brokered upon their surrender. Instead of war between us, there shall be unity, for only the small price of your hand in marriage to me…” Nadia pulls a face, her carefully crafted arrogant facade slipping. “A terrible arrangement, really, given that I already have you captive and can do with you as I wish. Have our characters no political acumen whatsoever?”

Laurel rolls her eyes, huffing through her gag. She presses her chest upwards into Nadia’s boot as if to say ‘focus’ . Nadia shakes her head, mouthing a silent ‘sorry’ before sniffing, raising her chin high again as she assumes her role.

"I am terribly sorry, I know how desperately you hoped for your freedom. What a pity that now it seems you’ll be staying with me for far longer than either of us anticipated."

Nadia smiles down at her, looking not especially sorry at all.

Laurel's heart races in her chest. In spite of it, she turns her head away from Nadia, who tuts, removing her foot so that she can kneel at Laurel’s side.

“Oh, come now, princess. Is it really so terrible, the thought of being wed to me?” Nadia’s hand cups her cheek and turns her back. Laurel can hear the humor threatening to break through in her voice, can see the mirth twinkling in her eyes. 

Laurel shakes her bound wrists and grunts.

“Did I not offer to afford you every luxury you could ask for?” Nadia asks, eyes widening with mock surprise. “I seem to recall it was you who tried to flee, who tried to kill my guards. You made yourself prisoner here, Laurel, when you could have been my guest. Now I offer to make you my Queen, my equal, and still you balk?”

Her hand trails lower, over the fabric of the thin negligee Laurel wears. It covers little but just enough, leaving her ‘tantalizingly hidden,’ as Nadia had teasingly put it. When her hand cups Laurel’s breast and squeezes, Laurel keens.

“I would not like us to be enemies, my dear,” Nadia muses, kneading Laurel’s breast, tweaking her quickly hardening nipple through the sheer fabric. She grins. “Mm, so responsive. I believe we could get along quite well, you and I, if only you let me show you all that I can provide for you.”

Laurel arches like a cat into Nadia’s touch, forgetting that she is meant to fight. Through the silken gag she gasps, tiny mewling things every time Nadia flicks or runs the back of a nail across her tender flesh.

“That’s it,” Nadia says with a sigh. “I can give you so much pleasure, Laurel, if only you learn how to ask for it.”

Laurel blinks her bleary eyes, a questioning whine in her throat. Nadia smiles.

“Did I not say I wished to make you my equal? I have no desire for a slave, I have plenty of servants who will do as I say without question. When I ask you for your obedience, I want it freely offered."

Nadia leans in and takes Laurel's tortured nipple between her lips, the friction of tongue and fabric working in tandem to make her scream. She kneads the other breast, beginning her twisting, teasing pinches there. Laurel whines, twisting not to flee from Nadia but to push closer to her, all pretense of denial slipping from her mind.

Nadia releases her and licks her lips, fixing Laurel with a heated stare. "Now… will you be obedient for me, princess?"

Laurel nods frantically, a muffled “Yes!” escaping from her stretched lips.

“Mm, good.” Nadia kisses Laurel’s sternum sweetly. “I knew you could be a good girl if it suited you.”

She lays a trail of kisses down Laurel’s quivering stomach, watching her all the while through a curtain of dark lashes. Laurel sighs, twitching at each tickling touch, until Nadia reaches the top of her mound, nosing gently into her dark curls.

“Granted, you’ll surely need some work before you’re suited for my court,” Nadia continues, pulling away from Laurel’s heat suddenly. 

Laurel nearly sobs, thrusting her hips upwards. Nadia laughs.

“That is precisely what I mean, such greediness will need to be trained out of you.” She lays a finger to her plush lips, tapping them thoughtfully. “A thorough grooming is first in order, I think. I’ll not have my future queen looking like a dungeon rat.”

Nadia rakes her hand through those same curls her mouth abandoned and gives a firm tug. Laurel half gasps, half screams, gooseflesh prickling all over her skin as she shudders. Nadia’s eyes are bright. “Wouldn’t you like that, princess? To be bathed and dressed, pampered, as befits your new station? To be made so pretty for me and me alone, so that everyone will know exactly who you belong to now?”

Laurel’s eyes slip closed, her head lolling backwards in abject pleasure, Nadia’s words pouring over her like the warmest, sweetest oils. Deep in her core, she throbs with need, her already dripping cunt clenching around nothing. She whines again, but Nadia gives her no relief. The hand holding her curls drops away and pets its way up her stomach, then back down, nails scraping over the tops of Laurel’s thighs.

“Once you’ve been taken care of, your real work will begin, mm? I’ll teach you respect, how to follow orders. You’ll learn how I want to pleasure you, and how to pleasure me in turn. And I warn you, I have very high standards.”

Hot breath grazes over Laurel’s sex, sending her into a frenzy. Her thighs drop open as far as her bindings will allow, urging Nadia to look, to touch, at last.

“You will work so hard for me, but if you do, I promise I will always take care of you,” Nadia whispers, fingers digging into Laurel’s hips. 

The words are familiar, softly spoken, play bleeding into the fringes of reality. Laurel whimpers, bucking and twisting in desperation.

“Is that what you want?” Nadia asks, and Laurel sobs out another garbled “Yes! Yes,” thrashing her head, nearly insensate with lust. 

Nadia’s hot tongue presses against the cleft of Laurel’s cunt and she shrieks, biting down hard on the silk in her mouth, grateful for its strength. Nadia works her over, lapping at her entrance, tonguing her in languid strokes before she seals around Laurel’s clit with lips and teeth, flicking with the tip of her tongue until Laurel shakes, nails digging into the palms of her hands where they lay trapped between the small of her back and the floor. 

Her vision goes white when she comes, pure and stark, like looking straight into the midday sun. When at last she blinks her eyes, she sees spots dancing across the ceiling, her hearing muffled, her own panting breath loud in her ears. Nadia is still there, licking her in broad, long strokes, kissing her clit on the upstroke every time it twitches. When she catches Laurel watching, she grins and pulls her mouth away, replacing it instead with damp fingers that massage her too-sensitive clit in slow rolls. 

Laurel’s breath catches, her body attempting to curl away, but Nadia grips her tight and holds her steady. 

“Ah-ah, princess.” Nadia’s voice is rough and low, and the title sends a fresh, sharp heat straight through Laurel’s core. “Wherever do you think you’re going?”

Chapter Text

Laurel kisses down the length of Nadia's spine, lips and hands shining from the fragrant oil she'd spent the last hour working into Nadia's skin. She is putty beneath Laurel's warm hands, not asleep, but drowsing somewhere in the middle of sleep and wakefulness.

Laurel reaches the curve of Nadia's ass, kissing the swell of soft flesh before gently dragging her teeth over it. Nadia hums, knees shifting languidly against the sheets.

"Nadia..." Laurel whispers, lips tickling over soft skin. 

Nadia hums again.

"Nadi, I want to taste you, can I, please?" 

With a soft sigh, Nadia's thighs part ever so slightly where they lay, propped on a pillow beneath her hips. Laurel takes her silent invitation, and drags her tongue over Nadia's slit, gathering warm wetness on the tip of her tongue. Her fingers dig into the muscle of Nadia’s ass, massaging as she kisses and licks as best she can. The angle isn’t perfect, Nadia’s clit is buried against the pillow, but Laurel makes do. She licks upwards, her tongue flicking lightly over Nadia’s perineum.

“Mmn, Laurel… ” Nadia gasps, elegant fingers digging into the pillow she clutches. A wicked thought crosses Laurel’s mind, her cheeks burning with it in a way that makes her grateful Nadia cannot see. The palms of her hands lay flat on the cheeks of Nadia’s ass, thumbs dipping down into the cleft to spread her further apart. Her dusky hole stares back at Laurel, twitching slightly as the cool air of the room hits. Laurel’s thumbs trail dangerously close, stroking over the searing hot skin on either side of her. 

“Is this alright?” Laurel breathes, feeling transfixed. She hears Nadia give a shuddering exhale, a quiet, muffled ‘ uh-huh’ before she lets her fingers trace over the lightly puckered flesh. She leaves behind a faint trail of oil, making Nadia shine, a dark jewel set in the molten amber gold of her skin. Her hole twitches again, and Laurel smiles. 

She dips her head down and lays her mouth over where she’d left the oil. Nadia’s hole is silky and flutters beneath the flat of her tongue, and tastes of salt and soap and bitter vanilla. Laurel laps open-mouthed across her, tongue making a wet mess, trails of saliva dripping back down to soak Nadia’s cunt.

Nadia pants into her arms, quiet grunts of pleasure falling from her lips and getting lost in the folds of down and bedding. Laurel pulls back and blows a stream of cool air across her entrance. Nadia gasps, eyes flying open and hips bucking so wildly that Laurel loses her grip.

Laurel laughs and kisses the sweet curve of Nadia’s sit-spot -- half onto her thigh. “Oh, you liked that, didn’t you?” she asks, chest still shaking with latent giggles. Nadia near growls and presses back into Laurel’s waiting hands, gasping when Laurel pulls her apart again and resumes her attentions without another word.

Nadia’s moans are short, breathy and almost startled with every lick. Very different from the noises Laurel is used to hearing from her, teasing and drawing from the deepest parts of her. 

“Has anyone ever done this to you before?” Laurel asks, breath puffing hot against Nadia’s hole just to see her clench again, utterly obsessed by the sight of it. She touches again with the pad of her pointer finger, dragging downwards, stretching her open ever so slightly, revealing hot, pink flesh.

“Nn-- not, not for a long time,” Nadia replies, stuttering when Laurel presses the tip of her tongue past the ring of muscle -- not terribly deep, Nadia is far too tight for that now -- but enough to make her intent known. There is a flash then, of something like jealousy and pride warring in Laurel’s chest. It burns through her in a wave. She is unwilling to let any thoughts of him into her head or heart now, but unable to shake the sudden desire she feels to claim Nadia as her own -- to touch and kiss and fuck every place of her she can until there is no more memory of anyone else before her left anywhere on Nadia’s skin. She would never share these thoughts aloud, of course, but they drive her forward with renewed intensity.

I am going to make Nadia come like this , she thinks almost feverishly to herself, spearing her tongue as deep as she can, rolling it round the muscle to relax her. She’s going to come by my hand, on my tongue. Her hand slinks under Nadia’s stomach to reach her clit, fumbling blindly until she finds her, slick and swollen and wanting.

Laurel’s name spills from Nadia’s lips, a desperate, pleading gasp. She ruts her cunt into Laurel’s hand and Laurel chases her, burying her nose between Nadia’s cheeks, not caring if she breathes or not, the whole of her thoughts consumed only with licking over Nadia’s hole with short, light flicks that have Nadia keening and twitching delightfully under her.

“You’re so pretty, Nadia,” she mutters between licks. “So, so pretty, and you taste so good, my gods...”

Nadia comes, and by the near squeal she makes, it takes her by surprise. Laurel strokes her clit through it with very little finesse, but it doesn’t seem to matter much. Nadia shudders, thrusts her hips down into the pillow and Laurel’s hand, then presses her backside against Laurel’s mouth where she still works lazy and slow over her hole, as if she is unable to decide between which of the sensations she craves more. 

Laurel eventually pulls away, giving Nadia a reprieve. She retrieves her hand from under Nadia and resumes stroking and massaging up her wife’s spine, almost liquid now in the wake of her orgasm. When she reaches her shoulders, Laurel lays fully across Nadia’s back, pressing her weight down, letting their curves slot together like the pieces of a puzzle.

She kisses the back of Nadia’s neck through a tangle of purple hair.

“‘M a horrible influence on you, I think,” Nadia says, turning her face slightly out of the pillow to be heard.

Laurel laughs again.

“Perhaps, but I don’t see you complaining.”

Chapter Text

Laurel has never been one to consider herself delicate or small, but she feels so in Julian's arms. He lifts her easily, her long legs thrown over his forearms while hands, calloused and rough from years of ropes and handling things far heavier than she, grip her ass to drive her down onto his waiting cock. Julian hardly needs to thrust, manipulating her body by sheer strength alone. The muscles of his back flex beneath her hands, shoulders bunching, coiling, slick and shining with sweat with every punishing drive of her hips against his. 

His fingers threaten to leave bruises, he grips her so tightly, afraid of letting her fall even with her arms wrapped solidly around his neck. Selfishly, she hopes that they do, wants to see the blooms of his fingerprints across her ass and thighs the next morning, even if seeing them will make him frown and fawn over her in apology - a reminder of just how strong he really is.

She pants his name directly into his ear, whispers bitten-off encouragements about how good the stretch of his cock feels in her ass, pleading for him to come inside her, to fill her up.

“Julian -- ah, please,” she begs, breath stuttered as he pumps her up and down, practically using her body to fuck himself. The friction against her clit isn’t enough, the quick drag against his abdomen. She wants to come, clenches around his unrelenting cock, but though she drags a rough moan from his throat, she cannot find her own release like this, much as she wants to. “Please, can you touch me? Please -- I need--”

“I’d have to--” he grunts, breath hot and damp against her neck. He licks the sweat from her collarbone. “Ah -- I’d have to put you down. Do you want that?”

Laurel whines, digging her nails into the corded muscles of his neck, up into his sweat soaked hair. She clings, and petulant tears spring to her the corners of her eyes. “N-no. Fuck!”

"Let me," comes Nadia's voice, her cool hands suddenly petting over Laurel's shoulders, winding over her arms to break the near choke hold she kept on Julian's neck. “Come here, my darling.” 

Julian’s hands slide to her hips, her lower back, and for a moment it feels as though Laurel is falling in slow motion. In reality, Nadia guides her back down with gentle, secure arms under her armpits. Nadia holds her, suspended between the two of them like a bridge, arching over nothing but air with only their combined power keeping her aloft. Nadia’s hands come to cup Laurel’s breasts, toying and teasing her nipples so that she squirms against their unfaltering grip.

“Nadi?” Laurel gasps, her sex-addled brain still struggling to keep up.

“I’m here, I’ve got you,” Nadia tells her, sweetly kissing her temple even as her fingers pinch and tweak with cruel pressure.

Julian thrusts now, the angle different, deeper, the pace of his hips quicker, more frantic as he uses his new leverage to pound into her. Laurel’s hands twitch and grip at Nadia's wrists, nails digging in crescents. The burden of her shoulders and head are supported solely by Nadia's chest, solid as a wall behind her, taking her weight effortlessly so that Julian can shift her legs, one over his shoulder to free his arm so that he can reach between her legs and at last -- finally -- touch her clit.

Laurel keens, head thrown back against Nadia’s shoulder. Those rough fingers stroke her almost too-sensitive clit as Julian continues to fuck into her. Her asshole burns from the stretch, her clit thrums under his expert touch, and her breasts ache from Nadia’s terrible, perfect fingers. The arousal inside her builds from not enough to too much seemingly all at once. It crashes over her like a rogue wave. Laurel bucks and strains in their twin grips, the feeling of nothing but air beneath her back strange, frightening, exciting. 

Julian stills as best he can, hips continually twitching forward, fucking into her with shallow thrusts like he can’t help himself, his breath shuddering. 

“Nngh -- Julian, please don’t stop, Julian, please ,” Laurel begs, still twitching out the last of her orgasm. Nadia’s grip keeps Laurel from pressing down onto him, laughing into the rat’s nest of Laurel’s hair.

“Aren’t you going to come inside her, Julian? She wants you to ever so badly.”

He huffs, eyes flashing up to Nadia’s, molten and wild. Then he grins, teeth taking up nearly half his face like the pointed curve of a scythe, a hangnail moon, and grinds his hips against Laurel’s ass. A few more pumps and it’s over for him as well; he curses, biting into the muscle of Laurel’s shin where it rests, close to his jaw.

Laurel gasps at the hot spill of him inside her, stretching against Nadia’s grip, eyes fluttering open and closed in tandem with her mouth, making silent pleas against Nadia’s throat.

He doesn’t slip out of her, but instead presses deeper, even closer, maneuvering her legs down around his hips so that he can bring the three of them chest to back to chest, Laurel pinned between the heat of both of their bodies at once as they continue to hold her aloft.

“I’d say she liked that,” Julian quips, still breathing heavily. A single bead of sweat trails down from his forehead, getting lost in his sideburns.

Laurel feels Nadia laugh before she hears it. “Safe to assume you did as well.”

With a contented sigh, Laurel winds one of her arms around Julian’s broad shoulders again, the other reaching up behind to sink into Nadia’s hair. “You’ll both be the death of me, I swear it,” she says, and she smiles, feeling quite like she’s floating.

Chapter Text

At first the balm had felt like nothing.

Laurel had watched Nadia with hawk-like eyes as she uncorked the tiny clay pot, the herbal smell wafting from it familiar but its composition foreign -- sweet, almost vanilla, with a faint spice of ginger and the tang of ozone, like a storm brewing on the horizon.

“Normally I would not abide magics made by someone’s hands other than yours, my dear,” Nadia said casually to her, warming the nearly clear substance between her fingers. She had taken Julian in hand then, with an almost perfunctory coolness, and rubbed the melted oils directly under the head of his cock. “But I feared if I asked you to concoct such a thing, it would spoil the surprise for the both of you.”

Then Nadia had turned her full attention to Laurel. Stalking to her side, she brought her reslicked hand between Laurel’s splayed thighs, immobilized by an ingenious harness -- padded leather cuffs around each ankle and thigh, the connecting sling looped around the back of her neck making sure she stayed spread -- her own body forced to hold itself on perfect, lewd display. 

Nadia’s fingers were warm against Laurel’s clit, soft and slick with whatever it is she rubbed deep into her tender flesh. It had nearly felt cool at first, perhaps just because of the air around them settling against her. Laurel moaned, enjoying Nadia’s attentions, but they were quickly pulled away. Nadia had only wiped her fingers off on a towel, and given Laurel a sly, knowing smirk before slinking away to join Julian, waiting as naked and eager as she, on the other side of the room.

That had been an hour or more ago.

It hadn’t taken much longer, actually, a few minutes, for the balm to begin its devilish work. First the initial coolness had solidified, far more than just the air alone, but drawn in and made heavy against Laurel’s clit like an ice cold finger. She had twitched, gasping into the open air, but nothing was there to relieve her. Then steadily, the cold had faded, and Laurel hoped that would be the end of it. That was when the tingling had started.

Now, Laurel burns .

Her whole cunt positively aches, her clit the swollen epicenter of sensation, radiating out through her body. She can feel the wetness that leaks from her sopping wet cunt trickle down against her ass, whatever latent magic laying in the balm making her gush eagerly onto the bed below. Despite this, she feels entirely unable to reach her own pleasure. The burn drives her mad, a rapid pulse building, deeper than anything she’d felt before, like being touched from somewhere inside herself in ways impossible through normal means. Her very nerves are plucked like bowstrings, drawing her to new heights, making her head light and dizzy, but it isn’t enough. Laurel needs to be touched, needs the tangible feeling of a hand or a mouth or a cock against her, to soothe, to tamp and smother the fire ignited and left to burn with abandon in her core.

A wavering moan pierces her thoughts, splitting and scattering them. With all her strength, Laurel opens her eyes and sees Nadia’s, blazing like hot coals, watching her from the chaise pulled up to the end of the bed. Julian’s cock disappears in and out of Nadia’s cunt as she rides him, long legs spread over his lap. Broad hands bracket her hips, stark and pale against the warm ochre of her skin. They trail upwards across Nadia’s abdomen in languid strokes as if to say look, look at what you cannot touch. Her heavy breasts bounce with every thrust, dusky nipples peaked with interest. 

Laurel’s throat goes dry, a pitiful, choked moan eking its way out past her sex-numb, swollen lips. Her eyes roll back in her head with a shudder as her clit gives a faint throb.

“ Laurel, ” comes Nadia’s teasing, tinkling bell of a voice. “I want you to watch me, remember?”

Dazed, Laurel blinks and fixes her swimming vision back again on Nadia and Julian. They make quite the stunning pair -- all perfect contrasts and compliments, angles meeting curves, warm reds and cool pinks, soft where he is hard -- poetry in motion.

“Nadia--”

“Yes my darling?”

“ Nadia!”

“Much as I love the sound of my name on your tongue, why not tell me how you feel instead?” Nadia gasps, amusement bright on her flushed face. 

“I--” Laurel’s lip quivers. Her hands twist uselessly against the bindings keeping them tethered to the headboard. “It burns, I want -- I can’t --”

“Oh, I know, my sweet. I know. You both have been so wonderfully patient.” Nadia all but sighs, sinking all the way down and rolling her hips.

Laurel lets slip a whimper, near spellbound by the sight of Julian’s cock working inside Nadia, the twitch of her muscles as her core works to keep her movements slow and languid, surely all for Laurel’s benefit. 

Laurel’s cunt clenches, empty and wanting, desperate for the feel of that cock inside her, for anything inside her, to stretch her, to quench the unbearable heat that threatens to burn her up to ash from the inside.

“It feels as good as it looks, I promise you,” Nadia says, as if reading Laurel’s mind, eyes flashing with impish delight.

Julian moans, the ball between his teeth preventing him from doing much else. His fingers flex against Nadia’s stomach, and she covers his hands in hers and drags them up to cup her breasts, squeezing them roughly.

“Hush. You’ll both get yours once I’ve had mine.”

“ Fuck ,” Laurel grunts, Julian whining emphatically in agreement. She bucks her hips against air, only to have the flare of torturous magic reignite tenfold. With a cry, Laurel begins to shake, desperately humping nothing, her whole body twitching and convulsing as she once again does not come, but feels another wet hot rush as she soaks the sheets beneath her with her juices. With a weak sigh, she sags as much as she possibly can, already feeling the tingling heat building again, unrelenting and ever present.

It was going to be a very, very long night.

Chapter Text

Gazing up at Nadia in all her glory is like staring too hard at the sun -- brilliant and bright, bad for your health, probably, but you just can’t help yourself. Its beauty draws you in, warms you up from the marrow of your bones to the roots of your hair, makes you feel alive where its rays brush over your skin. This is how Laurel feels, watching Nadia settle herself over Laurel’s lap, ready to sink down onto the false cock protruding proudly from Laurel’s mound. She smiles, tossing her long hair over her shoulders so that the ends of it tickle Laurel’s bare thighs. 

“You are so beautiful,” Nadia whispers, fingers trailing a winding dance up Laurel’s stomach.

“ You’re beautiful,” Laurel whispers back, with a dopey grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. She reaches out a hand to Julian, hovering behind Nadia’s back at the end of the bed.

“You’re also beautiful.”

“Oh, well, thank you,” he says, taking her hand in his and allowing her to tug him closer until he too straddles Laurel’s legs, knees bracketing her own. His grin is electric, easy to spot, towering over the crown of Nadia’s head even kneeling. 

He places his hands on Nadia’s shoulders, gently working the muscles of her neck with his thumbs. Laurel’s hands skim up the taut muscles of her thighs. Nadia sighs, tension oozing out of her body, replaced with pure bliss. With effortless grace, she lets her hips sink down, impaling herself on Laurel’s cock in one swift motion, taking the toy down to the root until her hot sex brushes over Laurel’s. A sound of satisfaction rumbles from deep in her chest, eyes sliding shut as Julian continues to rub her shoulders.

“You’re far too tense, Nadia,” he says, lips pressed to the top of her head. He guides her down, pressing at her shoulders until she caves, bending low so Laurel can wrap her arms around her.

“Just relax, hm?” Laurel whispers, scratching at Nadia’s scalp, tangling long strands of silken hair between her fingers. She gives a shallow thrust of her hips, slipping the phallus just the littlest bit deeper to make up for the change in angle. “Let us take care of you for a change.”

“Always do,” Nadia groans, mouth open against Laurel’s collarbone. Laurel runs hands along her back, down her shoulders to her ass, back up and down again. Gripping right where ass meets thigh, Laurel draws Nadia in, guiding her along with her thrusts. Nadia’s hips catch her rhythm quickly, pushing down as Laurel thrusts upwards to meet in a perfect stroke. All the while she mouths insistently at Laurel’s neck and jaw -- kisses, nips, little kitten licks that make Laurel shiver.

Over Nadia’s shoulder, Laurel watches Julian waiting patiently, petting over the globe of Nadia’s ass with one hand while the other fists his cock lazily. Nadia rises up on her elbows, hair a wild curtain, streaks of violet across her face. 

“Ready?” Laurel asks, brushing the errant strands away with a hand. Nadia kisses her palm, bites playfully at her wrist as it passes.

“Oh yes, I’m ready.”

Nadia bites her lip as Julian lines up behind her, pressing the head of his cock to her entrance alongside Laurel’s false one. Laurel cannot feel it, so she watches Nadia and Julian’s faces with rapt attention, watches as they both gasp in tandem, sweet echoes of each other’s pleasure as he pushes into her and Nadia receives him, tilting her hips back as much as she can without letting either of them slip out of her. Her forehead rests against Laurel’s breastbone, and Laurel can feel the heat of her skin sinking down through her. She wonders if Nadia can feel the rapid beat of her heart, pounding away with reckless abandon in her chest. 

It must be torturous, Nadia’s wet, tight heat, the stroke of every artfully carved vein and ridge in the phallus she had chosen rubbing against Julian as he seats himself fully inside. Nadia seems to handle the stretch well. There is a fine sheen of sweat in the small of her back, her mouth partly open and panting hot breath against Laurel’s skin. 

Then Julian begins to move, pulling back out slowly and pushing in again with a rough groan. Nadia whimpers, and Laurel strokes the back of her neck with a comforting touch.

“Are you alright?” she asks. 

Nadia’s eyes fly open with a sharp inhale, as if she’d forgotten all about the two of them behind and below her, so entirely wrapped up in the sensations overwhelming her. She catches Laurel’s gaze with her own, pupils blown wide enough to nearly swallow up the crimson red of her irises entirely.

“M-move, please,” Nadia breathes, desperation tinging her voice. She licks her lips. “Together, both of you, please.”

Laurel rolls her hips, trying to find Julian’s rhythm and match it. When one slides in, the other out, rocking against each other inside her gaping hole all the while. Julian leans across Nadia’s back, kissing at her ear, pulling the lobe between his teeth. Nadia purrs, and turns her head to catch his mouth in a sloppy, sideways kiss, tongue licking out over his lips, his teeth.

Eventually Julian’s breath turns ragged, his hips losing their slow pace one too-eager twitch at a time. “I -- I won’t last like this,” he gasps, red in the face. “Nadia should I -- may I--?”

“No, no,” Nadia grunts and Julian whines. “Hold, and come -- come up here to me.”

Laurel doesn’t feel him pull out, but her own thrusts suddenly move with much more ease. His fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, palm cupping his swollen sac, Julian hobbles on his knees around the side of them, whining when Nadia, propped up on an elbow, gestures him closer with a crook of her finger. He settles in a wide stance over Laurel’s head, her gaze entirely taken up by pale, muscular thighs, the faint curve of his ass, the whole of him smelling of sweat and sex.

Up on her hands now, Nadia leans in, mouth open, and takes Julian’s cock between her lips. Laurel watches the bob of her throat as she swallows around him, mesmerized, until the insistent rut of Nadia’s hips reminds her to thrust once again. Julian rocks gently into Nadia’s mouth and she lets him, holding still for them both to fuck in and out of her, no longer pressed together as one but filling her up all the same.

Julian babbles a warning, hands fluttering near and in her hair, but Nadia only takes him deeper. He spills down her throat with a bitten off cry, and Nadia swallows it with practiced ease, only a thin trail escaping from the corner of her mouth as he pulls out and collapses somewhere behind Laurel’s head. Laurel whimpers herself at the sight, mouth watering, wanting to lick it from Nadia’s chin. Instead she focuses her attention solely on bringing Nadia to the brink, thrusting her hips harder, hands once again gripping Nadia’s ass so that she can fuck up into her. She knows her angle must strike true when Nadia gasps, hands scrabbling to clutch at Laurel’s shoulders, nails digging in stinging crescents.

“Yes,” she rasps. “Just like that. Good, Laurel, that’s so good, yes --”

With three quick thrusts, Nadia slams herself down onto Laurel’s cock and begins to tremble, jaw clicking as her mouth opens on a near silent scream. Laurel’s hands pet her through her orgasm, stroking over Nadia’s thighs, her quivering abdomen, up her arms to her elbows, smoothing away the newly risen gooseflesh.

Then Nadia collapses, like a severed marionette, dropping so solidly and suddenly into Laurel’s embrace she can’t help but let out a quiet ‘ oof .’

“Was that good?” she asks quietly, rubbing soothing circles into Nadia’s back now. Nadia lets out a low hum, turning her head so that she might kiss the corner of Laurel’s mouth.

“More than good, my love,” she mutters, voice rough and wrecked. “More than good.”

Chapter Text

When Laurel at last deigns to wake, somewhere around half past nine judging by the hot mid-morning glare streaming in through the portholes, the bed is rumpled but empty. She rolls into the empty space Julian must have left behind hours ago, smelling the spiced, sun-warmed scent of him lingering on the pillows. He would be out on deck by now, no doubt, helping to run the rigging, scaling the masts with that easy, cat-like grace of his, not evident anywhere else save aboard ship.

She stretches, the bed linens soft against her bare skin, and kicks the coverlet off. Her hands drift lazily between her legs, finding herself already damp, skin sleep-soft and sensitive. With a sigh, Laurel slips her fingers between her nether lips, heel of her palm grazing against her clit.

Yes, Julian was very likely sitting amongst the sails, ropes and legs intertwined, perched as easy as a bird as he tightened lines, tied sturdy knots with those long, dexterous fingers. She can imagine the way his knuckles shift under paper-thin skin, the veins cut through with black ink rising pale blue as his hands flex, pulling thick cords of rope though themselves in ever complicated loops.

Two fingers ease inside herself, and she muffles her own quiet gasp in the pillow where he rests his head every night. She takes them with little effort, sleep and the night before leaving her open, wet, and wanting still. 

Or, perhaps he’d be sitting up in the crow's nest, his favorite place to relax these days, a quiet place to slip off his eyepatch and let the sun beat down on his face, pinking his skin, turning his hair to a flaming riot.

Laurel shivers and grinds her clit down into her palm, fingers sinking that much deeper inside herself, never as good as his own.

She imagines he would come to her, skin flushed and warm from his climb into the skies, shirt thrown off, faint sheen of sweat on his chest, pooling in the dips of his collarbone begging for her tongue to lap them up. She whimpers and rolls onto her back, spreading her legs wide across the bed. Her unsatisfying fingers slip out of her hole and instead skate over her clit, slicking herself with her wetness. The smell of him is everywhere, in her nose and her mouth where they both are smashed sideways into the pillows. Her fingers work in rough circles, pressing harder than he would have to, trying to drag her orgasm out of hiding, trying to imagine they are his -- to remember where every callous new and old lies.

With a frustrated whine, Laurel bucks her hips into her own touch, trying to spread her cunt open with one hand while rubbing herself with the other, fingertips fluttering over her entrance but not pressing inside. How would he touch her, she wonders, if he were here to do so? Would he take her in his mouth? Or would he take one look at her, wet and swollen, and slip himself right in? 

“Mmn, Juli- ah -n--”

“Yes, dear?”

Eyes flying open with a ragged gasp, Laurel’s legs twist up on instinct, trapping one hand between her thighs. The other flies up, less to cover her bare breasts, and more so in a feeble attempt to press her racing heart back into her chest.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” he quips, pushing his shoulder off of the wall to saunter over to the bed.

“Fuck, Julian!” she gasps again, chest heaving with adrenaline. “How long have you been there?”

He grins, settling on the edge of the bed. “Long enough.” He lays a hand on her thigh, and she jerks away, pouting at him.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

He laughs, then covers his mouth to stifle it when all she does in response is glare. “What? I thought you were still sleeping! Forgive me for trying to be respectfully quiet.”

“Oh, you’ve never been quiet a day in your life, and this is the day you start?” she huffs, body finally relaxing by inches. “You could have said something. Surely you realized I wasn’t sleeping quick enough.”

He grins, ears pinking slightly. “Ah -- well -- my apologies, but you seemed a little, mm,  distracted?”

Laurel feels her own cheeks heat. She coughs. “So you just decided to stand and watch? Like some sort of lecher? A peeping tom?”

“Oh, now I don’t know if that’s fair. It seems you were expecting me, after all.”

Laurel gives a breathless chuckle. “Heard that, did you?”

Julian grins, single uncovered eye raking over her not-so-subtly. “I certainly did.”

“Well then.” Slowly, Laurel rises to her knees and slides a hand into his hair, catching the ties of his eyepatch and pulling it off. It flutters gently down to the floor. He blinks both eyes up at her, wide with surprise, then bites his lip.

“Well then?”

“Care to do something about it?”

His hands slip around her waist, exactly as she remembered them.

“Gladly.”

Chapter Text

Laurel has that look in her eyes. Julian recognizes it, or should, anyway. Should know that she’s up to something from the moment she rolls over him, sheets slipping invitingly down to her hips. Her thigh brushes over his morning wood, but she studiously ignores his hiss, only kissing him on his prickly jaw and resting her chin on his sternum.

"Come out with me today," she says, eyes near glowing in the morning light.

“Oh, are we not working today?” he asks, grinning, tucking a sleep-tousled curl behind her ear. She gives him a small shrug and smile, point of her chin digging in just the wrong side of uncomfortable, but he hasn’t the heart to move her.

“I’ve got a few errands to run for the shop, I think the people can do without me for an afternoon.” Her fingers trace tickling circles through the hair on his chest, barely skirting over his left nipple. “Do you have patients today?”

He suppresses a shiver. “N-no, all clear. Was going to do some inventory perhaps but, well, such things can wait.”

She kisses him, square over his heart in a way that still makes his pulse leap into his throat. Then her lips trail downwards, light and quick, stealing his breath.

He tries to reach for her, press hands to her skin -- surely if work can wait, so could errands in place of other things, but she rolls away again. Sitting on the edge of the bed she tosses him a wink over her shoulder.

He really, well and truly, should realize what is happening. 

At around half past noon, it becomes clear that "errands" aren’t exactly on the agenda. Somewhere between when she denies him coffee at home, insisting that they wander through the market because, “Selasi will make it better than either of us,” which leads swiftly into a stroll through the marketplace and Red Street looking at things that are definitely not for the shop.

She touches him near constantly. A hand in his, on the small of his back as he leans over a low stall, fingers trailing over the inside of his elbow as she draws away. He can hardly complain about the time spent with her, arm in arm in public with no fear, something he is still getting used to. It lights him up from the inside

What he can complain about is her hand, currently palming his cock over his pants under the table of the little Heart District bistro he’s already forgotten the name of. It had started on his knee, innocent enough, then slowly, throughout the meal, crept higher and higher up his thigh, nails dragging through the fabric of his pants.

“Hmm -- ah, Laurel?”

Fork raised halfway to her mouth, she slides her gaze to him. “Yes, dear?”

“You, mm.” Her hand squeezes, the dull friction too little and too much all at once. His thoughts, for a moment, go completely white. “ Here?”

“Oh, should I stop?” she asks, innocent as a lamb, and pulls her hand completely away.

He gasps into his fist, biting at the leather of his glove as he white-knuckles the edge of the table. He’s hard, can feel the way his cock presses the seam of his trousers to make him uncomfortably aware of it. Drawing a deep breath in through his nose, he chuckles and turns to glare sidelong at her out of his good eye.

“Did you lure me out today just to torment me?” he asks, voice a harsh croak. 

She laughs, drawing her fork through the sauce on her plate idly. “Perhaps.”

“You terrible minx.” He takes her hand, that same wicked hand,  and kisses the back of it. “I think we should get out of here, what do you say?”

When he says ‘out of here,’ he doesn’t necessarily mean the alleyway behind the restaurant, but that certainly is where they end up -- his back pressed to the rough stone, scraping at him through his shirt, grinding his erection into her thigh, her mouth making a wretched mess of his neck. He whimpers at the feel of her teeth against the apple of his throat, at the press of her body against him. Julian doesn’t relish the thought of coming in his pants like a riled up teenager, but the way she works against him, the way she’s teased him all day, it seems to be inevitable.

“You’re not going to last, are you?” she asks, nails digging into his hips.

He shudders and shakes his head, eyes slipping closed. “Please--”

And then she’s gone again.

His eyes snap open, chest heaving, skin flashing feverish hot and cold as he adjusts to the sudden lack of contact.

“Wh--”

She smooths her skirt, adjusts her blouse back into position, even takes a moment to fluff her hair. “I do still need things from the shop,” she says.

He blinks, uncovered eye gone owlishly wide. “Y-you need--?”

“Things for the shop. Remember? Just a few ingredients. Perhaps groceries for supper tonight, do you have any ideas?”

Her casual words simply slip off and out of his brain like water from a duck’s back. Nothing registers past the violent echo of his own heartbeat, the ache in between his legs.

She re-tucks his shirt, pressing wrinkles from her own grip with the palms of her hands. Even such a perfunctory touch makes him gasp and shudder. He imagines he must look somewhat presentable despite feeling like a bubble about to pop, floating somewhere high above the city in a rainbow haze, because she takes a step back from him and nods. 

At the mouth of they alley, she turns and holds a hand out to him. She looks perfect, unflappable, as if nothing had even happened between them. The only evidence is her slightly kiss-bruised lips, stretched into an impish grin.

“Are you coming?” she asks, mischief dancing in her eyes. That look. Stupid, Julian. So stupid.

He groans, and takes her hand in his.

Chapter Text

Laurel watches the people milling about in the garden, looking tiny from the vantage of the balcony, bobbing spots of color amidst the winding topiaries. The sight of them, close enough that she can see the feather in one woman’s hat, the color of a man’s cravat, makes her chest tight, her blood run hot.

Nadia presses against Laurel’s bare back from behind, hands skimming up her stomach.

“Mmn, Nadi-- what if? What if they see?” Laurel asks, trembling in Nadia’s hands, shaking like the leaves of ivy surrounding them in crawling tendrils around the pillars of Nadia’s private balcony. The cool breeze blows across her and teases her nipples hard, caressing her as surely as Nadia’s warm palms.

“Is that not what you want, darling?” Nadia asks, mouthing wet and hot against her nape, her teeth a searing brand where they press lightly. “Don’t you want everyone to see you like this?”

“Nngh.” Laurel shuts her eyes, and presses eagerly into Nadia’s grip, unable to repeat the obvious here and now. Of course this is what she wants. She is heady already with arousal, slick between her thighs pressed against the stone railing. 

“Open your eyes, Laurel.” The path of Nadia’s hands diverge around Laurel’s ribcage, one trailing upwards over her throat, the other down between her legs. “I want you to keep them open. Can you do that for me?”

Laurel gasps as Nadia’s fingers circle her clit, eyes flying open. She nods fervently. “Yes, Nadia, yes.”

“Very good. Now, look past the garden. Do you see our city laid out before us from up here? Every one of those flickering lights?”

Nadia’s fingers are relentlessly cruel, stroking her utterly without mercy. Laurel’s knees begin to buckle, but Nadia keeps her held tight.

“Mm, yes.”

“They are all your audience, my sweet,” Nadia breathes, sucking a mark into the skin of Laurel’s shoulder blade.

Far in the distance the city of Vesuvia does indeed sparkle, a crude mirror of the sky above. The skyline stretches for leagues, a shimmering blanket of blacks and purples set with twinkling yellow, hearth fires and lanterns all lit and aglow for the evening, whispering with their winking directly into her ear-- we see you, we love you .

“Don’t you want to put on a good show for them?”

Laurel shudders, too close to coming already. “I--”

Nadia’s fingers flick across her clit, the smooth backs of her polished nails, the plush pads of her fingers. Laurel’s voice breaks, a wanton cry fading into a whimper that echoes out into the evening sky. Too loud, far too loud. Laurel cannot see if anyone turns up to look, but her heart begins to beat a violent tarantella in her chest.

“Wh-- what if they hear Nadi-- what if--”

“If you don’t wish for them to hear, then you’ll just have to be quiet, won’t you?”

Laurel bites back a sob. “I-- I can’t, I don’t--”

The hand that had since been pressed to her breastbone touches her lips now, urging her mouth open with gentle insistence. Laurel welcomes Nadia’s fingers inside, eases under the press of her fingers against the flat of her tongue, the firm grip of her palm against her chin and jaw.

Tears spring to the corners of Laurel’s eyes, her body caught in a tumult of sensations, torn between Nadia’s fingers on her tongue, on her clit, working her from both ends while below the world continues to turn about its axis completely unaware. Laurel’s hands grip at the railing, bits of stone dust and rock biting into the tips of her fingers, underneath her fingernails. It keeps her here, keeps her grounded to the moment instead of letting her fly off somewhere into that velvet sky never to be seen again.

“Will you come for me, Laurel?” Nadia asks, not expecting an answer. “Will you come for them?”

It’s these words that push Laurel over the edge, curling tight into Nadia’s arms as her orgasm overtakes her, Nadia’s hand cupping Laurel’s sex so that she might rut the last of her pleasure against Nadia’s palm. Eyes wide she looks down into the foliage below, at the dancing party lights, hears the tinkling laughter of a guest somewhere, stories below.

Laurel moans as her oversensitive cunt clenches, twitching with aftershocks. She licks sloppily between Nadia’s fingers.

“Oh, very well done my love,” Nadia coos. “Bravo.”

Chapter Text

Laurel whimpers, face half smashed into the bedding, silk covered fingers clawing uselessly at the coverlet. Julian's cock splits her open from behind, her cunt aching around his girth as he takes his last few erratic thrusts and spills, a searing hot splash, deep inside of her. She nearly chokes on the sudden feeling of fullness, gasping, breathing in a mouthful of damp fabric. Julian's cock continues to twitch and pump into her, milking himself for all he can, until at last he begins to slip out of her.

"Careful," Nadia whispers, either to Laurel or Julian, she can't be certain. "Very good." Her hand pets over the small of Laurel's back while Julian gives her a more solid pat-pat on her haunches, like she is a well behaved farm animal.

The head of his cock eases out, and immediately Laurel can feel come begin to trickle from her well used hole in his wake, even as Nadia's stern voice warns her to hold . Desperately she clenches, trying to stem the flow, shaking all the while -- her bones threatening to rattle right out of her skin.

Julian's voice is rough and wretched when he speaks, but full of tenderness, something almost proud in his tone. "Look at you, you took all of it so well."

"She did," Nadia agrees. Her cool fingers trail over Laurel's mess of a cunt, no doubt scooping up the little bit she'd let slip. "For the most part, anyway."

Nadia's come covered fingers press shallowly inside Laurel's asshole, stretched wide but unused, unfucked as of yet. She smears Julian's spend around Laurel's sensitive rim, pressing it inside. 

"You asked for it, and so you will keep what was so graciously given to you, do you understand?" Nadia asks, single finger pulling like a hook, forcing Laurel's hole to gape slightly, her cunt twitching in response. Laurel bites back a moan, clenching her eyes shut. She nods, duvet scratching her cheek.

"Mmn, fuck. Yes, Nadia."

"Excellent. Come now, stand up."

Standing is worse. Easier to keep his load inside her with the clench of her thighs, perhaps, but oh, the wet, slick, stick of her own arousal coating her thighs, squelching and practically bubbling up around her neglected clit, combined with Julian's -- marking her ass and, try as she might to fight the inevitability of gravity, already threatening to leak out of her.

Nadia guides Laurel with a gentle hand to the tall floor length mirror and begins adjusting and smoothing the skirts of her gown back into place. Fashionable, but terribly thin, they swish gorgeously around her hips and ankles, but give Laurel very little confidence in their ability to conceal her shame.

Nadia doesn't seem to share these concerns, only presses and tucks at Laurel's clothes, making her somewhat presentable again. She combs and fluffs Laurel's curls with her fingers, pinches her already flushed cheeks until the apples pink prettily.

"There," Nadia breathes, giving her cheek a final, light pat. "Absolutely lovely. No doubt the ambassador and his partner will just adore you."

In her reflection Laurel looks wrecked still, eyes glassy, chest heaving and blotchy. The thought of facing the ambassador and his retinue like this fills her with a low hum of dread. Laurel sniffles delicately, bottom lip rolling between her teeth.

"And you," Nadia says, gaze drifting over Laurel's shoulder. "My sweet Julian, did you enjoy yourself?"

He appears behind Laurel in the mirror, hands trailing up her half-gloved arms. "More than I could possibly hope to describe."

"Good to hear. It is a rare treat indeed that you should be allowed to come inside my cunt." Nadia's hand presses low on Laurel's stomach when she says the word ' my'. Laurel hisses, and Nadia smiles. "I believe a thank you should be in order?"

The tips of Julian's ears go red. "Y-yes, Nadia! Of course, my apologies. So sorry. Thank you, thank you so much!"

"For?" Nadia drawls patiently.

"For, god , for allowing me to come inside Laurel."

"You are very welcome." Nadia kisses him lightly on the cheek, careful not to leave a smudge of lipstick on his pale skin. "Now, I believe it's nearly time for dinner. Shall we?"

Arm in arm, Nadia and Laurel descend the stairs together. Laurel keeps a death grip on Nadia's forearm, Nadia covering her tense hand with her own lax one.

“I’ve one last surprise for you,” Nadia whispers suddenly. Laurel blinks, startled. At the bottom of the stairs there is a faint hubbub of voices that freezes Laurel's feet mid-stride, a familiar prickle of magic at the base of her neck. Nadia pulls to a halt on the step below, gazing up at her slyly.

"Nadia--" Laurel whispers, heart thumping in her throat, so close she can almost taste it.

"Yes, my love? Is something wrong?"

"Nadia what--"

"There you two are!" Asra's friendly voice calls up from down below. 

Laurel feels her eyes nearly cross, all the blood in her body suddenly draining to her feet and leaving her faint. Asra bounds up the remaining stairs two at a time towards them, white curls bouncing with every step. Without thinking he reaches for Laurel, pulling her into a tight hug which would normally be received and returned with enthusiasm.

Instead, Laurel tries not to gasp directly into his ear, only capable of patting his back dumbly with one hand. The smell of him overwhelms her, bitter herbs mixed with spicy incense that still sing home in every nook and cranny of her heart. It is a comforting thing, usually, one more than welcome. Currently, she wants nothing more than to shove away from him and crawl out of her own skin. Over his shoulder, she watches Nadia's grin grow wider, crinkling the corners of her wicked, twinkling eyes. 

She feels she might collapse when, at long last, he finally releases her and goes to hug Nadia. Laurel sags against the bannister, breathing deeply, shakily through her nose.

Asra turns back, his smile faltering into a small frown. "Are you alright, Laurel?"

"Oh fine, I'm fine!" she lies, words tumbling out too quickly. "Just, so -- so surprised to see you here! What are you doing here, Asra?"

"A little surprise for you, dear." Nadia says, voice smooth as the silk of Laurel's gloves. "You were so nervous about the ambassador's dinner, I thought it would serve you well to have another familiar face at the table."

Laurel's neck couldn't possibly be a shade lighter than crimson, but somehow she manages to nod and smile. "That's just -- so sweet of you Nadia. Wow. A whole Asra! Here for dinner!"

The whole Asra in question glances between them, brows pinched slightly at the center. Nadia lays a gentle hand on his arm, drawing his attention back to her.

"And will Muriel also be joining us this evening?"

Laurel certainly doesn't gasp, but perhaps a small whimper makes its way past her clamped tight lips. Too distracted to keep it in, a small stream of Julian's come leaks out of her, smearing between her restless thighs.

Asra shakes his head, smiling dreamily at the mere mention of Muriel's name. "No, he really wasn't feeling up to it, what with the other visitors and all. He sends his love, though."

“Such a shame. I’ll have the staff send you home with some food for him, we’ll surely have plenty,” Nadia says. 

“Oh! More company?” comes Julian’s voice, echoing off the walls from the direction of his own personal rooms. “Who is it?”

He stops short, easy smile frozen on his face when he spies Asra. His eye widens a fraction, but thankfully he composes himself far quicker and with more ease than Laurel had. “Why, hullo there, Asra, I wasn’t aware you were joining us for dinner?”

“Apparently nobody was,” Asra mutters, looking between all of them curiously. When his violet gaze lingers too long on Laurel’s face, she turns away with a cough into a gloved fist. Nadia’s attention shifts swiftly to Laurel, playful gaze softening.

“Why not go ahead to the dining room with Julian, Asra. We’ll join you in just a moment.”

The two of them retreat around the corner. Laurel leans her full weight against the bannister now, knees buckling. Her brow feels damp with sweat, her thighs still sticking together uncomfortably, hyper aware of the slip between her ass cheeks and her slit with every movement. Nadia crowds close, taking her trembling arms in her hands.

“You invited Asra ?” Laurel whimpers once she is close enough.

Nadia chuckles and brushes an errant curl from Laurel’s sticky forehead. “I told you there was one last surprise.”

Laurel shivers. “Yes, but -- but Asra? ”

Nadia takes her chin gently in her grip and tilts Laurel’s face up to meet her eyes. “Is this too much for you?” she asks, voice dropping low below a whisper, suddenly very serious. “You need only say the word, Laurel, and I’ll take you to the baths at once myself and get you cleaned up.”

“I--” Laurel’s lips part, then close. Shame and humiliation flare bright as a bonfire in her chest, but so too does her desire, left like unbanked coals to smoulder deep inside her. The shock of Asra’s presence had thrown her, certainly, but was it enough to stop? To call everything off? She has no doubt as to Nadia’s sincerity in the matter, Nadia who is looking down at her with such care, with all the love in the world, waiting for her to answer.

“I -- no. No, I’m fine. I can do this.”

The corner of Nadia’s mouth twitches upwards. “There is no need to be brave, my sweet. I’ll not be disappointed, I promise you.”

“No! No, really. I’ll be fine. I -- I want to.”

Nadia leans in close, careful still of marking Laurel with an obvious lip print, but pressing their cheeks together. “So eager to please,” she breathes directly into Laurel’s ear. “My good girl, I am so proud of you.”

Laurel sighs, eyes slipping closed as Nadia’s praise washes over her, warm as a balmy summer breeze. 

“Are you ready to go to dinner, now?”

Steeling herself with a final, deep breath, Laurel nods.

Laurel was not ready for dinner.

Nadia had cleverly seated Asra directly to Laurel’s right, Nadia at her left at the head of the table. Normally this place would be Julian’s, but he had been relegated a few seats down so as not to offend the ambassador’s sensibilities. There was no need for the court physician to have a special place at the table, after all. Asra, however, as a guest of the palace, was perfectly content to sit close -- too close -- to Laurel, his shoulder brushing hers with every lift of his fork, every touch like a jolt of electricity straight to Laurel’s core.

If standing had been unbearable, somehow sitting is even worse. No longer does she worry about come sliding down the insides of her thighs, she is only aware of it, in the most uncomfortable way possible. Her ass presses to the chair, her thin skirts the only barrier between her bare skin and everyone else. Across the table from her, the ambassador sits with his partner to his left. They both watch her, or perhaps they don’t, but she can’t help but feel their stares sitting heavy on her.

Can they tell that something is amiss? Can they see the flush on her cheeks, the sheen of sweat on her upper lip, the fine tremor in her hands as she lifts her water glass to her lips and drains it all in one long gulp? All throughout the meal, she feels Asra sneaking furtive glances at her. When she barely picks at her dinner, and the ambassador is turned away in rapt conversation with Nadia, he turns just slightly in her direction.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asks, voice laced with such genuine concern Laurel feels like she might start to cry. “You’ve hardly eaten, you look flushed. Are you sick?”

“I’m not sick, Asra. I’m fine,” she hisses, and spears a large bite of seared meat and vegetables with her fork as if to illustrate her fineness. It tastes like ash in her mouth, but she swallows it all the same, attempting an easy smile. By the way his brows pinch, it must not look as convincing as she would like.

The ambassador’s partner, tall with deep-set eyes and a long, dark ponytail pulled over their shoulder, suddenly turns away from the conversation and stares, it feels, directly into her very soul. Panic flares bright in her chest. Why would they look at her like that? What had she done? She’d been so careful, all this time, but what if she’d slipped? Perhaps they could sense something wrong with her, or her magic, or could smell her like a bitch in heat. 

The thought makes her shudder, concentration slipping, more come leaking out directly onto the fabric of her dress. She cannot stop it this time, her muscles strained and exhausted. The wetness seeps out, down into her skirts, between her crossed legs. She cannot even make a sound, only feeling the heat of sheer mortification prickling at the roots of her hair, travelling all the way down her spine.

“I’m just worried about you,” Asra continues, oblivious to her thoughts, what her body is doing. He lays his hand gently over hers, a sweet gesture that makes her entire body seize up. She jerks her hand away, fork clattering against the china. It draws everyone’s attention, and Laurel wishes that she could simply sink down into the floor, chair and all.

“S-so sorry, clumsy fingers,” she tries to laugh, setting her fork down with more force than is necessary. 

“You know, funny story that, ambassador -- I’m reminded of the summer I spent--” Julian’s beautiful voice cuts through the quiet, responding to some part of the conversation Laurel clearly had not heard. Everyone’s attention diverted, she turns baleful eyes to Nadia, who only sips her wine, an amused smile hidden behind the rim of her glass.

“Laurel--” Asra whispers, voice harsher than his usual pleasant drawl. Right. Asra. Gods, she’d already forgotten about him. Poor Asra, could he feel the echo of her heart, beating against the cage of her ribs like a frantic, trapped bird? Her head snaps back to him, shame churning her stomach like a whirlpool.

“Sorry, you -- you startled me.”

“Laurel, your aura is going haywire. What is up with you right now?”

“Asra, I--”

“Let me guess, you’re fine?”

“I -- yes. I’m fine!” she snaps, their harried whispers bitten between their bowed heads, nearly touching. “Please, Asra, I am begging you as my dearest friend. Do not press this right now. Not here.”

The drone of Julian’s voice pauses, and in the brief interim, Nadia clears her throat. 

“Doctor, perhaps you would like to continue your… delightful story somewhere more comfortable?” She smiles, radiating an air of warmth and confidence. “Shall we all retire to the study for dessert?”

And then she stands. 

As is custom, when the Countess stands, so too does the rest of the table. Even Asra and Julian scrape their chairs backwards immediately. The only one who doesn’t, who can’t stand, is Laurel. 

Once again she feels the weight of everyone’s stares descend upon her, heavy and delicate as a pile of bricks. As Nadia’s wife she should have been the first to stand, and yet here she is. Laurel knows -- she can feel it, knows that there is a stain on the back of her gown, very likely also on the seat below her. She can’t. She simply can’t. There is a moment, in the flash of a second, where she considers just simply magicking the spot away. Surely no one would see in so short a time, but then she remembers Asra again. He would feel her cast, would know that something had transpired, if he doesn’t already. Truly, she hasn’t the mind left for logic or reason.

 She clenches her fists so tightly her nails threaten to draw blood from her palms, and stays seated. Nadia stares down at her, and arches a delicate purple brow.

“Are you well, my love?”

“Forgive me,” Laurel manages through clenched teeth. “I do believe I am not feeling well after all.” 

“Was something the matter with the food?” the ambassador asks, sounding almost suspicious.

“Oh, oh, no. No, of course not.” Laurel looks up at the ambassador, and speaks directly to him for perhaps the first time all night. “I am ever so sorry to interrupt. Please, spare no thoughts for me and carry on with your evening.”

“There is no need to apologize.” With heady, knowing eyes, Nadia places a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Doctor Devorak, I’m terribly sorry to steal you away from the fun, but it seems that my dear wife is feeling ill. Would you please?”

Julian snaps to attention. “Of course, Countess!”

He shimmies out from between the close-pressed chairs, and makes his way the short distance to Laurel’s seat. With a nod, Nadia takes Laurel’s hand and presses a kiss to the back of it, a perfect dark lip-print branding her cream colored glove.

“Come, everyone. My offer of dessert and conversation in the study still stands. If you would all follow me?”

Bodies stream out of the dining room in two single file lines, following Nadia’s regal figure like trailing ducklings. Julian’s hands find Laurel’s shoulders the minute the sound of the dining room door clicking shut echoes out, and Laurel’s body and face crumple in tandem. 

“Oh, darling, are you alright?” Julian asks, fingers tracing delicately up her neck. 

She nods, even as she feels tears spill from the corners of her eyes down to her chin.

“I can’t stand up,” she says weakly. She almost feels like laughing at herself, at the sheer absurdity of her situation, but all that comes out is a small sob.

“You can’t -- oh. Oh, ” Julian’s voice warbles as the realization, the implication of her words, settles upon him.

“ ‘Oh,’ what?” comes Asra’s sharp voice. 

Laurel jumps, and so does Julian, by the nearly painful strength with which he grips her. Laurel’s head swivels towards his voice. Asra stands too casually, arms crossed, leaned against the frame of the closed door. She had felt him leave her side, she was sure she had, so sure that he had followed Nadia, but it seems… well…

Laurel folds her arms on the table, shoving her half empty plate aside, and pillows her head upon them.

“Ilya, why can’t Laurel stand?”

Unseen, Julian begins to babble. “I -- well, you see it’s. Hah, well really, it’s a funny story you see, now -- uhm… hm--”

Laurel raises her hand, and then her head. Julian’s near panicked voice trails off. “Don’t, Julian. Just -- just don’t.”

“What -- what should I?”

She sighs, resigned. “Just, help me up would you?”

Rather than offer her his hand like a normal person, Julian simply bends down and scoops her bodily from her chair. Her arms fly around his neck in a momentary panic, then they both look at one another, then back to Asra, who of course is still there, standing, waiting for an explanation.

Slowly, Julian places her back down onto her feet. Still, she can feel the wet slide between her legs, and now the cool clinging of the skirt against her backside. When she looks down there is, blessedly, by some grace of the gods themselves, no spot on the chair cushion.

Asra stares at her, wide eyed for a brief moment as they make eye contact, and then his face shifts into one of sly understanding.

“So this was…?”

Laurel winces, and gives a small shrug.

“And you.” Asra points to Laurel. “You two?” He pauses. “You… three? ”

Laurel bites the inside of her cheek so harshly she tastes the tang of blood. She nods.

Asra also nods, brows raising and lowering, furrowing briefly as the words settle. He blinks decisively. “Right, I think maybe I should leave now. Give Nadi my thanks for dinner?”

“I will do that, yes.”

“Great. And tomorrow, Laurel? We’re having lunch together,” he says, with a glint in those violet eyes. “It seems like you and I have a lot of catching up to do.”

Laurel nods again, words failing her. Her face could not possibly be hotter.

Asra slips from the room without another word, the door closing with a solid thump behind him. Julian’s hands hover behind her back.

“Well, that went… It certainly went a way, didn’t it?”

“Julian,” Laurel sighs. “Please just take me to our room, I’d like to change my clothes now.”

“I -- of course.”

And once again, she finds herself in his arms.

Chapter Text

Laurel kneels, made small in the shadow of the twin beast that is Nadia and Julian’s looming bodies. Nadia’s arms touch the wall above Laurel’s head, bracing herself against the onslaught of Julian’s thrusts. His cock slides, not inside her, but through the tightness of Nadia’s gleaming, well-oiled thighs. He brushes along the length of her cunt with every pass, slicking him further, the head of his cock just kissing her clit. Laurel’s tongue waits on the other side, licks lightly over his slit and -- she shudders -- tastes Nadia and Julian combined.

He pauses every few strokes, when Nadia flexes her thighs tight around him to hold him still. That’s when Nadia lets Laurel suckle at him, lets her take the crown of him fully between her lips until he whimpers into Nadia’s ear and she releases him to resume his easy slide. His broad hands grip the twin globes of Nadia’s ass, spreading her apart so that he can enjoy the slight of his length disappearing between her legs. Laurel covers his fingers with her own, skirting over his skin and Nadia’s, resting on the dimples his fingers make in her hips. 

When the angle is just right, Laurel leans close and laps at Nadia’s clit. Nadia hisses, chuckling on the back end as she exhales. At the same time, Julian presses forward, and Laurel takes her chance. She licks over them both, slotted perfectly together like pieces of a puzzle. They are fruit perfectly ripe for picking, Laurel’s lips and tongue dancing between them both. Laurel can feel the tremor running through Julian like a fault line.

“Clever, very clever,” Nadia murmurs, low and thick as sweet woodsmoke. Her words wrap and curl around Laurel’s heart and squeeze, filling her with warmth.

Nadia takes Laurel’s hair in her grip and presses her close, nose smashed against her mound, Laurel’s tongue flattening against the two of them. Laurel breathes in deeply, the familiar musk of Nadia’s cunt a heady cocktail with Julian’s precum smeared across her, mixed with her own arousal.

“I want you both to come,” Laurel whispers open mouthed into Nadia’s coarse curls. Her tongue rolls against wet flesh languidly, her breath reflecting hot against her own nose. She feels dazed, lost in some dreamlike stupor made entirely of her own desire. “I want you to come at the same time.”

Nadia’s nails scratch at her scalp, petting gently. “You’ll have to work hard for what you want, then, my sweet.”

Nodding slowly, Laurel continues her work, gathering saliva on her tongue and letting it drip over them both. She dips her head, lips working at the underside of Julian’s shaft, then back to flick the tip of her tongue past the hood of Nadia’s clit. Julian’s slit leaks intermittent bursts of precum. Laurel bumps his cockhead with her nose, licks him clean with a quick sweep of her tongue and hums, her lips pressed in a sweet kiss to his glans.

“Move, Julian,” Nadia sighs, voice tight in a way Laurel recognizes. Nadia is close already, and Laurel feels a smug sort of pride begin to sing its sweet song in her chest. She renews her efforts as Julian begins to thrust once again, slow, sinuous pumps of his hips, allowing Laurel to still swipe her tongue across them both when he crests the apex of Nadia’s thighs.

It’s Nadia who comes first with a sharp gasp, her hand tightening in Laurel’s hair as the muscles in her abdomen flex, her thighs tightening, cunt no doubt pulsing directly onto Julian’s cock nestled between her swollen lips. Laurel hums again with satisfaction. She licks around the ridge of him, pressing her tongue firmly to the sensitive fold of skin where head meets shaft.

Julian yelps, cock jerking and spurting hot across Laurel’s cheek, then again, and again, dribbling come across Nadia’s thighs. Nadia laughs, pushes off the wall and drags Julian into a sloppy, sideways kiss over her shoulder. He groans, his half-hard cock still twitching, still trapped in the cradle of Nadia’s thighs.

Then Nadia gasps, both startled and delighted, as Laurel licks Julian’s spill directly from her skin, leaving broad, wet marks in her wake. Gooseflesh creeps in as it cools and evaporates, puckering her skin, raising every fine hair to stand on end.

“You look quite pleased with yourself,” Nadia says, pushing long bangs away from Laurel’s face, forcing her head back with some roughness.

Laurel swallows the come resting bitter in the shallow bowl of her tongue before grinning, pulling slightly against Nadia’s grip. “Oh, believe me, I am.”

Chapter Text

"Mmn, Nadi, you don-" Wet, soapy hands run the length of her abdomen, gliding easily across Laurel's skin. They meander northward, slipping over her breasts and squeezing, kneading expertly, palms rolling over slick nipples. Laurel's breath shudders and she shifts in Nadia's lap. "Don't have to--"

"Don't have to what?" Nadia asks, chin curled over Laurel's shoulder. She keeps Laurel pressed close, fingers working pale, lavender scented lather into her skin. One palm travels higher, smoothes soap over the front of Laurel's throat, forcing her head back. Laurel swallows directly under Nadia's palm.

Laurel is warm all over; between the heat of the water, of Nadia at her back, she is surrounded by it, cocooned in it. Even the air she breathes is damp and heavily scented, steam curling in delicate wisps towards the ceiling. Nadia takes the bar of soap from the dish beside them and lathers her hands once more, then drags them in massaging circles down Laurel's shoulders and arms.

"I could bathe myself," Laurel says quietly, feeling almost shy. Nadia presses her lips to the damp curls at Laurel's nape.

"I'm aware of that," she replies. "I want to do this for you."

Nadia's two hands cup Laurel's -- slightly smaller, squarer, the fingers not nearly so elegantly tapered -- and begins to roll over the muscles with her fingertips.

"And, if I'm not mistaken, you also want me to do this. Isn't that right?"

"Mm, maybe…"

Nadia lays Laurel's hand back in the water, and places her hands on Laurel's thighs. Laurel lets slip an interested hum, and Nadia chuckles.

"Spread your legs for me, Laurel."

Sighing, Laurel lets her legs drop to either side of Nadia's knees. Water rushes in to fill the space, striking against her half submerged sex. Heat against heat, she still shivers, the small wake lapping against her clit. Nadia's hands descend, covered in a new layer of bubbles. They dip into the crease of her thigh, down between her legs and over her lips, scrubbing the skin, the hair there lathering heavily with rainbow suds.  

Laurel squirms. Nadia's touch is teasing, infuriatingly controlled. She brushes her clit only when absolutely necessary, which seems often, but does not linger. Then she moves to the insides of Laurel's thighs, spreading soap down to her knees, leaving her sex entirely ignored in spite of how it aches for attention.

"Nadia--" Laurel sighs, reaching up to cup her wife's cheek, skin so soft under Laurel's damp fingertips.

"Yes?" She kisses the pad of Laurel's middle finger.

"I -- I want more." Laurel whines when Nadia's cupped hands drop water directly onto her mound, washing away the soap. "Please?"

"More?" Nadia asks with quiet incredulity. "No, not just yet, greedy girl. Not until I've finished with you."

Groaning, Laurel weakly protests when Nadia pokes at her, lifts her into position so that she stands in thigh deep water, bent at the waist on her elbows. Like a rag-doll, Nadia lifts Laurel's thigh until her foot is propped on the low, tiled seat. Her skin prickles with gooseflesh, knowing that her cunt and ass are on full view from behind even before Nadia strokes over her heated flesh again, this time with purpose.

She watches Nadia reach again for the soap, this time taking the whole bar and rubbing it between Laurel's shoulder blades, down her spine. It slips and skips against her skin, not the same hot press of hands as before. That comes after. Once she has been thoroughly lathered, Nadia's fingers begin tracing idle whorls in the creamy bubbles, tickling across Laurel's back and sides until she twitches away, snorting, shooting Nadia a half-hearted glare over her shoulder.

"Oh, but tickling me is fine? Is that part of it?"

Nadia smiles, changing the pressure from fingertips back to flat palms.

"I haven't a clue what you mean." Nadia hums, grin in her voice. She grips Laurel's ass, pushing the cheeks up and then apart. Laurel gasps and rocks back into her hands. Nadia pats her hip, one single wet, soapy smack.

"Nngh--"

"You need to exercise greater patience, Laurel." Lips press a searing kiss over Laurel's tailbone. Nadia's cheek rests daintily on the swell of Laurel's ass, her hands still roaming in slippery strokes. "I want you to be nice and clean before I dirty you up again."

The moan that escapes Laurel's chest is lewd, embarrassingly wanton. It makes Nadia chuckle. Her soapy hand slips down into the cleft of Laurel's ass, stroking soap-slick fingers over Laurel's hole in teasing circles. Laurel keens, drops her head down to folded arms, arching her back, presenting her ass as best she can. Back and forth, Nadia works the suds over her, never pushing in, only just using the slip to her advantage, a deliberate, building torment of pleasure.

"Please," Laurel begs again, panting into the crook of her elbow. "Please, Nadia, I'm clean now! I promise I'm clean! I promise, please! "

Another bowlful of water splashes down her arched back, rinsing her off, dripping bitter, floral bathwater into her mouth in the process. She spits it out with a cough, but hardly minds when Nadia's hands, soap free, finally touch her exposed sex. One finger, then two quickly slide into her eager wetness, curling downwards to press at the raw nerves inside her. Laurel chokes, shuddering as she is filled. Nadia's other hand reaches around and beneath her to stroke her clit in time with every thrust of her fingers. She spreads Laurel's cunt lips wide, rubs rough and fast, then slow and deep over her until she is a quivering wreck, gripping the slick rim of the tub with white-knuckled fists. 

"Is this how you want to come, Laurel?" Nadia asks, voice carrying over the slosh of the water, the thrum of Laurel's own pulse between her ears. "Soaking wet, bent over for me like a dockside whore?"

Laurel's cunt clenches hard around Nadia's fingers. 

"Oh, you do like when I call you such crude names, don't you?" Nadia laughs. "We can scrub you and dress you as prettily as a queen, but you really are just a filthy little slut at heart, aren't you?"

Nadia's thrusts grow faster, deeper, the wet squelch of Laurel's sopping cunt competing to be heard over everything else.

"Yes!" Laurel gasps, whining high in her throat as a third finger eases into her alongside the others. "Yes, please make me come like this, Nadia, please!"

"Like this?" Nadia's breathing is labored, brought low by desire. "Like what, Laurel?"

"Li- ahh --" Nadia's fingers find that spot, that wretched spot inside her that makes her eyes cross and her blood sing in her veins. "Like -- like a w-whore! Y-your needy little slut wants to come! Please let me come?"

“Oh, needy as well as mine now? Excellent addition.” With a twist of her wrist Nadia drags yet another wave of pleasure from somewhere in the depths of Laurel’s soul. “Come for me then, slut. Go on.”

With a great, heaving sob, Laurel lets go, her climax tumbling over her, rattling her brain in her skull, pounding between her temples like the beat of a drum. She screams behind clenched teeth, pumps her hips into the rhythm of Nadia’s fingers to wring out every last drop of satisfaction.

Laurel collapses with a splash, grateful for the seat to catch her, and for Nadia’s arms to wrap around her tightly, cradling her against her chest.

She feels a kiss at her brow, too blitzed to return the gesture, or even open her eyes. Laurel nuzzles her cheek into the crook of Nadia’s neck, nose buried in her damp, sweet smelling hair.

“Thank you, Laurel,” Nadia whispers into another kiss, this one at the crown of her head. “That was--”

Laurel’s eyes crack open a sliver as Nadia's nails skim over her shoulder.

“Worth getting pruney for?” she asks, reaching for Nadia’s hand, gone slightly wrinkled. She kisses knuckles that smell like her.

Nadia’s laugh echoes off the walls, the water, and every chamber of Laurel’s heart.

"Worth it in spades, yes."

Chapter Text

Laurel's jaw aches, a pleasant, all too familiar feeling. When she bites down, a struggle given how full her mouth is, her teeth meet with just enough resistance to satisfy her. The head of the false cock presses close to the back of her throat, making her shiver nearly every time she swallows.

Above her, Nadia straddles her face. She grips the hair at the crown of Laurel's head tightly and pulls her close, sweet, stinging pain trickling down the length of Laurel's spine. The longer phallus, extending from the opposite side of the gag’s wide mouthpiece, bumps against Nadia's clit. 

Rocking her hips, Nadia teases its head along her slit, making it glisten. Laurel whimpers, the sound helplessly muffled. Her tongue rolls against the cockhead between her teeth, mouth watering for the taste of Nadia's cunt -- so close, yet unattainable. Nadia sinks down slowly onto the length of the cock, taking it all with a soft, pleased sigh. The weight of her hips forces Laurel's jaw wider, the gag deeper.

The smell of Nadia is overwhelming, the sight of her swollen clit, the gleam of wetness on her bare lips, split wide by the phallus. Laurel feels herself grow wet again between her legs and she moans, eyelids fluttering, seeing spots.

"Wishing that you could taste me?" Nadia asks, rocking harshly against Laurel's chin.

Laurel grunts, something that she hopes sounds like Mmhm . 

Nadia smiles down at her, looking apologetic. "Poor thing. If only you hadn't come without permission, this could be your tongue inside me right now."

Laurel whimpers. Nadia's thighs squeeze her cheeks, her hands brushing back Laurel's hair, thumbs stroking over her brow. Her hips find a steady rhythm, humping down against Laurel's face. Laurel grits her teeth against the base of the cock in her mouth, suckling on it, desperate and aching.

"On the other hand," Nadia muses, breathless, panting with every thrust. "You do make quite the lovely toy. Perhaps I should keep you like this more often."

Laurel blinks rapidly, a furious, petulant whine building in the back of her throat. Nadia laughs.

"Oh, don't care for that, do you? What will you do to stop me, Laurel?" Nadia sits heavy against Laurel's jaw, grinding her clit down against the tip of Laurel's nose. "I could keep you gagged like this, ready to use, to give me pleasure whenever it suited me. Would you really hate being such a sweet fuck toy, my darling? Just for me?"

Laurel shudders, hips twitching of their own accord, her cunt giving another feeble twitch of interest.

No . There was nothing she would love more . 

She cannot say it behind her gag, but Nadia seems to understand. Something about the way Laurel looks up with such absolute adoration, the way her bound hands twitch and strain to touch and guide Nadia's hips. She gives another plaintive whine, the prettiest she can manage and tilts her face into Nadia's cunt, meeting her thrust.

Nadia's eyes burn fiercely with pride. "I thought not."

Chapter Text

Stupid, Ilya. Very, very stupid.

He looks at the mess of sparkling powder, now strewn across the floor of the shop, mixed with minute shards of broken glass. Bad enough, that. Already the fine dust had plumed up into his face, bent low in his attempts to stop the jar's inevitable tumble. He’d then done what any responsible man who had dropped and broken something that did not belong to him would do, and hastily swept all of it up and dumped it into the bin, stirring up more particles like motes to dance and hover in the air. He’d apologize to Laurel later, he reasoned. Whatever its contents had been, surely they could be replaced. She was well enough acquainted with his clumsiness not to leave things of too much import laying out on counters where they could be swatted over by errant coat tails or overly enthusiastic, gesticulating hands. She’d give him a gentle ribbing, perhaps pout a little, but he could certainly kiss that sour look from her face given enough time.

He’d thought that would be the end of it.

He’d thought very, incredibly, extraordinarily wrong.

It had started almost like a fever, a sudden coming on of warmth, sweat prickling at his brow. Julian was no stranger to the feeling, but the speed with which it hit did set him a little off-kilter. Then, very much unlike a fever, he had started to feel the burn deep in his groin. His cock had hardened with inexplicable quickness, leaving him flushed and gasping, grinding the heel of his palm into his crotch to stem the feeling. His knees had buckled, nearly sending him careening towards the floor if he hadn’t caught himself on the edge of the dining table first. It took all of his power to shuffle himself towards the bed, his mind a swimming, dizzy fog of pure arousal.

He'd barely had the wherewithal to shuffle his pants down to his knees, relieving the pressure on his unnaturally straining, aching cock. It helped, until it didn't. Already he was oozing precum, ruddy and twitching as if he'd been hard and wanting for hours instead of just mere minutes. Julian grits his teeth against the wracking pleasure, rolling under the surface of his skin like a static current. Reluctantly, he takes himself in hand, unsure if it’s the right move but unable to think of anything else beyond the blinding, all consuming feelings of Want! Need! Touch! He hisses, eyes near rolling back into his skull as he comes, dribbling over his fist from only that single, perfunctory touch.

In the wake of his orgasm he feels cool relief flood through him, clearing the haze from his mind. Panting, he wipes his hand off on the coverlet, careless of the mess. It had to be that powder, whatever it was. It had to be. Some kind of magical reagent, meant to do… Well, he couldn’t imagine this was its intended use but what did he know, really? 

Laurel would know, once she returned home, Laurel would-- the thought of Laurel is enough to spark the burn inside him again. He groans weakly, gripping the root of his cock, trying to think of anything but her for once, but nothing stops the rush, his cock swelling again, ruddy and glistening with his earlier spend. Magic, of course it was magic, just had to be magic. Why wouldn’t it be? Magic powder in a magic shop doing magic on his… He shakes his head, thumping it back against the mattress. A feeble whimper escapes from his throat as yet another wave of pleasure crashes over him, rolling in and out like the tide. 

This time when his thoughts drift inevitable to Laurel, he does not stop them. Thinking of her, imagining the softness of her skin, the rose and sandalwood smell of her hair, strewn across his chest in waves and tangled curls. His chest shudders, grip tightening on his shaft. It isn’t so quick now, the second wave more forgiving. He strokes himself, palming over the head, smearing precum over his hand with a muffled cry, biting the inside of his cheek so harshly he tastes the bright, metallic flash of blood against his tongue. It makes him keen, bucking his hips upwards into the tight grip of his fist.

And then a click, the sound somehow muffled yet heightened, his ears straining for the next-- yes! Thank the merciful heavens, yes! The click of the second lock, and then the third, the jangle of keys, the click of a heeled boot against the wooden floor of the downstairs. Julian opens his mouth to call her name, but only a quiet whimper escapes, tongue clicking weakly against the roof of his mouth. 

The footsteps pause.

“Julian?” Her voice calls up the stairwell and Julian’s cock twitches with interest in spite of himself.

“Up --” his breath catches, panting as his hand flexes around himself. “Upstairs!” 

Please, his heart screams out at the same time.

It feels like a lifetime passes and no time passes all at once. The pounding of her feet on the stairs, the swish-clack of the bead curtain as she slams it to the side, hands already blazing with a crackling energy that makes every hair on his forearms stand on end.

And then she stops, taking in the sight of him no doubt. He can’t bring himself to look at her face, honestly afraid that if he sees her face he may spill again, there and then. He hears her make a quiet noise of confusion, the light and spark of her magic dulling, then fading away entirely. He hears the thump of her bag drop from her shoulders, whatever groceries and supplies she’d purchased rolling haphazardly across the floor.

“Oh --” she breathes, and takes a step forward. Julian keeps his eyes fixed on the wall behind her until he can’t bear it anymore and closes his eyes with yet another bitten-off whine. He feels the edge of the bed dip under her weight. “Is this? Gods, Julian, you frightened me. I thought something had happened to you!”

“S-something, ohhh, something hap -- something certainly did happen,” Julian tries to laugh, the sheer hysterical absurdity of it all setting over him, mixing with his already cloudy thoughts. 

He feels her lean in like a weight across his body, even without her touch. Through the thin skin of his eyelids he sees the shadow of her hand reaching for his brow, and he jerks away, eyes flying open to see liquid blue eyes staring down at him, crinkled at the edges with concern.

“Don’t -- don’t touch me,” he gasps. 

Please touch me, his brain cries.

Ignoring him, she crawls closer to hover at his side. “You’re not making any sense, Julian. Why can’t I touch you?”

He sucks in a deep breath through gritted teeth. Every muscle in his body screams, every joint feels like jelly. “D-dropped something. Downstairs. I -- I don’t… what it was?”

Laurel’s brow furrows, her head shaking slightly before stopping, her eyes widening with surprise -- then alarm. “The vial on the counter?” she asks.

Julian nods. “Broke it, tried to clean but... Must’ve, ah, breathed too much in?” He barks a laugh, brain floating and utterly weightless in his skull. “Should have been wearing a mask, eh?”

“ Oh , oh my poor darling --” Laurel whispers, and places her hand gently on his forehead. Was he burning up? Her hand feels ice cold against his brow, a soothing balm. He nearly sobs. What he would do for that touch everywhere, for her lovely, perfect hands to quench the fire clearly raging away inside him.

“Why? Why would something do this?” he grits out, because even tormented like he is he has to know, wants to know, needs to know.

Laurel laughs, incredulous and startled. “Well, it’s not supposed to do this .”

They both glance down at his straining erection at the same time, still held in his loose, distracted grasp. Ever the showman, his damned cock, under their combined attention, bobs and aches anew with such force it steals the breath from his lungs. He bites at his bottom lip, chuckling, shaking his head all at once.

“Laurel, fix it? Can you? Fix it?”

Laurel blinks. “Fix it?”

“ Laurel --”

“I -- there is no antidote, Julian! It’s -- it’s an aphrodisiac, a highly concentrated one! You're not meant to -- it just… needs to run its course. I don’t know what you want me to do!”

He meets her eyes, pleading, unable to speak the words but hoping that the look on his face -- flushed, eager, pathetic -- speaks for him.

“Laurel,” he sighs, shifting against the mattress, the sheets sweat soaked beneath him. He reaches for her with the hand unoccupied by his desperate, leaking cock, and places it over her knee. She covers his hand with her own immediately, instinctively. Then a sense of realization seems to settle over her, eyes widening once again, cheeks and neck flushing prettily.

“Oh, oh I -- you’re certain?”

“Please,” he says, this time aloud.

Laurel chews her own lip, eyes darkening as the black of her irises overtake the grey, the lightest blues. 

“Yes, yeah, I -- oh honey of course I can do that." She leans down, brushing his hair gently away from his face and kisses him, like some fairytale prince, meant to break the spell on him.

That isn't how it works, much as he wishes it was, but the kiss is sweet -- her mouth tasting familiar, faint like candied lemons. Her hair falls around him in a curtain as she deepens the kiss, tongue dipping between the seam of his lips. He opens for her eagerly, lips parting, tongue darting forward to meet her own. She moans, shivers, and he feels it travel through him all the way from their lips down to his cock, and once again he jerks and spills over his own hand.

Laurel breaks free of their kiss, looking wild-eyed. She glances back at his cock, then to his face again.

“Is that--?”

Julian grimaces, already feeling his sac swelling again, his cock -- only gone half hard -- once more rising to the occasion. “Didn’t help the first time,” he grunts, twitching in his own grasp.

“First time?” she asks, voice a low, hoarse whisper. He loves that voice, loves knowing that she only sounds like that for him, with him. “How many was that?”

“Only two, but -- nngh -- ”

Laurel’s hand meets his thigh, creeping close to his swollen cock. Her fingertips trail through the pool of cooling spend on the crease of his thigh, and brings them to her lips. Julian chokes on a moan, wanton and desperate. Her smaller hand lays on top of his, fingers curling around the ones already curled around his cock and eases it away, replacing it entirely with her own.

“Once more, yeah? Just like this, I’ve got you now.”

Julian can only nod, the feel of her hand on his cock at last overwhelming and all-consuming. He had thought her touch would sate him, but it seems to only make him burn brighter, hotter. Perhaps instead of simply being smothered, he would flare, expand rapidly, and then collapse, like a dying star. That’s about how he felt, like the universe was shaking apart in and around him all at once.

She strokes him, using his own slick to ease her movements, thumb rolling over the head, under the glans with every upstroke. Julian cannot speak, he cannot see, his entire body, his soul, is concentrated into the apex of his hips where she pumps him. He cries out, voice breaking around her name as he comes for a third time in what could only be a half hour at most. It should be painful, but it isn’t. It is very nearly the most exquisite orgasm he has ever experienced, even if the thought makes him queasy.

Laurel shushes him through it, slowing her strokes until he has no more to spill, and then sits back, looking flush but satisfied.

“There, that should--”

Her voice trails off as once again, as every other time, Julian’s cock immediately begins to harden once more, his stomach twitching, his voice raising in a high pitched keen.

“Okay,” Laurel mutters, and begins to unbutton her blouse, pulling the hem free from her skirt. She eyes his cock with all the intensity of battle that he has ever seen in her. As though it were an adversary for whom she must calculate a plan of attack. She pulls her shirt up over her head, along with her breastband, leaving her topless in nothing but skirt and shoes. It should be comical, it would be comical, if she wasn’t the most beautiful sight he had ever laid eyes on. Her dusky pink nipples harden in the sudden coolness of the bedroom and Julian’s mouth waters to take them into his mouth.

Laurel sighs, and looks sidelong at him, apologetic.

“I get this feeling that this is going to be a long night.”

Chapter Text

Laurel is not a patient woman by nature, nor particularly altruistic. All of them know this, and so the fact that she must be here -- kneeling beside Nadia and Julian, watching only as they fuck, is torturous. She lets her fingers dip between her legs, strokes over her swollen clit in time with Julian’s even, measured thrusts into Nadia’s cunt. It’s hardly satisfying just sitting on the sidelines, and she whines as much in petulance as she does with arousal, drawing Nadia’s attention.

“Needy as always my love?” Nadia purrs. Her nails leave long, lurid scratches across Julian’s shoulders as she pulls away, reaching out to draw Laurel closer with a crook of her index finger. “Come here.”

Given permission, Laurel crawls eagerly forward and presses her cheek into Nadia’s hand, kissing her palm, taking two elegantly-crafted fingers into her mouth to suckle them. Nadia chuckles, then moans as Julian rocks forward, kissing her exposed neck on a particularly rough thrust. Her fingers flex against Laurel’s tongue.

“Nadia --” Julian grunts, panting into her shoulder in between open-mouthed kisses. “Nadia, please may I come? Want to -- inside you? Please?”

Nadia hums, and pulls her fingers from Laurel’s mouth, tracing damp tips over Laurel’s bottom lip. “What do you think, Laurel? Should he be allowed to come?”

Laurel nips at Nadia’s fingers playfully. “Certainly not before you, Nadia,” she says, gaze sliding down to Julian with wicked intent.

Julian whines, teeth grazing over the jut of Nadia’s collarbone, tongue rolling over the just-bitten spot. Nadia’s hand rakes through his curls and tugs from the crown. “You heard her.”

With a shiver, Julian renews his efforts, thrusting into Nadia with the long, deep strokes he knows she loves best, pulling nearly all the way out before sliding in again. Chills erupt across Nadia’s skin as she rocks along with him, breasts bouncing an enticing rhythm with every thrust. Her hand slips free of his hair, and he raises up to tower over her. Gripping her by the thighs for leverage, he bends her nearly in half, pressing her knees nearly to her chest to change and deepen his angle.

Nadia keens, head thrown back in abject bliss. She looks radiant, cheeks flushed and sex-sweet, lips kiss bruised, hair strewn across the pillows in a wild halo. Laurel’s hand finds her own sex again, the other coming up to toy with a nipple, twisting and pinching it to hardness, imagining it to be either of them instead -- Nadia’s long fingers buried in her cunt, Julian’s cool callouses tweaking at her breasts. 

With a great gasp Nadia’s climax takes her, body curving, bucking and fighting against Julian’s grip, her hands covering his around her thighs and digging deep crescents into the backs of his hands. Julian’s eyes squeeze shut, no doubt trying desperately to stem his own pleasure as Nadia clenches around him.

“Please --” he grits out, trembling from exertion, a bead of sweat running a rivulet down the arch of his nose and dripping off. “Nadia please, please let me come I -- you --”

Nadia shudders and nods, a quiet yes, yes, breathed through parted lips. Julian nods along with her and thrusts once, twice, three more times before burying himself deep and spilling insider her with a choked gasp, the muscles of his back and ass twitching spasmodically, hips jerking in small half-pumps.

Julian’s reedy whine combined with Nadia’s renewed cries drive Laurel’s own pleasure, wracking shivers shaking her spine to jelly. Her fingers quicken, stroking herself, nearly too slick, her clit too hard at first, to gain any pleasurable friction. Desire burns low in her gut, at the base of her liquid spine. She is close, so close, if she could only just --

“Don’t.” Nadia’s firm voice cuts through her, stalling her impending orgasm mid quake. Laurel opens eyes she hadn’t realized had slipped closed, and in pinned like a butterfly to a board by Nadia’s gaze. “Mmn, naughty girl, thinking I wouldn’t notice if you came?”

Laurel whimpers, and with great effort takes her shaking hand away from her cunt, clenching sticky fingers into a tight fist. “I -- I’m sorry Nadia.”

“Got carried away, did you?” Nadia asks her, languid and slow from her own orgasm.

“Yes, Nadia.” Laurel nods.

“Would you like to come?” Nadia’s eyes blink slowly, but the fire behind them burns ever bright.

“Yes, Nadia.”

With a lazy smile, Nadia turns her head back to Julian, still inside her to the root. “What do you think, Julian?” she asks, parroting her earlier question. “Should Laurel be allowed to come?”

Julian blinks at her at first, dazed, and then a grin spreads slowly over his features. “Not before you do,” he replies coyly, thumbs stroking over the sensitive backs of Nadia’s knees. 

Nadia hums a laugh, rich and decadent. “You’ll have to move, then.” She shifts, still speared on his rapidly softening cock. “And I fear you’ve made quite the mess.”

“I think Laurel can clean you up,” Julian says, laying his weighty gaze entirely on Laurel.

She grins. “Careful, Julian. If you let coming inside her go to your head, who knows how long it’ll be before she lets you again.”

Nadia sighs, a sound of mock impatience. “I can think of a great many better uses for both of your mouths than this.”

Julian shifts, pulling himself free of Nadia’s cunt. Immediately, a dollop of pearlescent come oozes out of her, past the gaping muscle of her well-fucked entrance. Laurel moves closer for a better look, taking Julian’s place between Nadia’s spread thighs with practiced ease. Carefully, gingerly, she spreads the lips of Nadia’s cunt wide, watching as more of Julian’s come leaks out, dripping down the cleft of her ass.

“Fuck,” Laurel breathes, already licking her lips. “You haven’t a clue how gorgeous that is.”

Nadia laughs. “I have an idea.”

Ignoring her, Laurel’s tongue darts out and, in a single, broad stroke, collects Julian’s spilled come and swallows it. Beside her, on the other side of Nadia’s knee, Laurel feels Julian shudder, sees his spent cock jump painfully out of the corner of her eye. Tasting the bitterness of him makes her crave the honeyed sweetness of Nadia’s cunt. Eager, Laurel seals her lips over Nadia’s sex and begins to lap and suck, pleasuring Nadia yes, but also pulling Julian’s come from deep inside. Nadia groans and grips Laurel’s hair, forcing her nose deep into tyrian curls, her tongue deeper as it delves past Nadia’s entrance to tease the last of Julian’s spend from inside her.

Nadia’s hips roll against Laurel’s lips, sending a new flare of heat straight through to Laurel’s own cunt.

“Good girl, make sure you get all of it,” Nadia whispers.

Chapter Text

“Best hold still, darling,” Julian coos, winking up at Laurel from between her thighs. She is spread wide to accommodate the broadness of his shoulders, the ache in her muscles already settling in with a pleasant burn. From above, Nadia’s finger strokes comfortingly over the bridge of Laurel’s nose, shifting her crossed legs just slightly under Laurel’s pillowed head.

“I am holding still,” Laurel breathes, cheeks burning as Julian’s thumbs trace idle circles in the creases where her ass meets thigh. “ You best hold still.”

“Yes, do be careful, Julian,” Nadia says lightly. “I am rather fond of Laurel’s cunt after all, and would like to keep it unmarred.”

Laurel shivers.

Julian takes their ribbing in stride, shaking his head with a grin. “Oh, ye two of little faith. I’ll have you know my hands are quite sure -- like death. And taxes.”

Nadia snorts. “From a man resurrected, that saying loses a touch of certainty, don’t you think?” 

“I’ve not heard either of you complain about my hands before,” he says, releasing his grip on Laurel’s thighs. Beside him their assembled accoutrements sit innocuously on a towel. This is it, Laurel thinks, eyeing them with some measure of trepidation . A bowl, a brush, a folded straight razor. She wanted this, she reminded herself. She’d asked for this.

“From here,” Nadia says to him, and taps Laurel’s right thigh. “To here.” She taps her left.

Julian makes a surprised-but-pleased sound in the back of his throat and draws his gaze away from Laurel’s exposed sex, flickering up to meet Nadia’s. “All of it?”

Laurel tilts her face upwards, swallowing thickly. “Nadia?”

Nadia’s hands trail over Laurel’s shoulders, smiling beatifically down at her. “I want to see all of you, my sweet.” Her fingers wind into the coarse curls at the apex of Laurel’s thighs, petting her, tugging gently. “Just for now. There will be plenty of time to play when we do this again.”

A small whimper builds in Laurel’s chest at the thought of again already. To be so exposed, so utterly, unabashedly on display -- clinical and yet so terribly, almost unbearably intimate. Her cheeks burn, desire and embarrassment warring inside her, stoking each others flames higher and higher.

Julian reaches for the small bowl, a warm, brown terracotta, and then the dampened brush. It’s a familiar sight, this. Laurel watches him every morning, swirling that same brush in quick, precise circles around the little cake of soap, working it to a creamy, spiced smelling lather just as he is doing now.

Only this time he doesn’t bring it to his face. 

Julian takes the brush and sweeps it up and down the length of Laurel’s slit, coating her cunt lips in rich foam. Laurel gasps, the softness of the brush tickling, teasing past her clit. He swirls and strokes it over her mound, up towards her bellybutton, then down into the dips of her thighs. 

Laurel’s breath comes in shallow pants, fingers clutching at the edges of the plush towel laid beneath her. Then, seemingly satisfied, Julian sets the brush aside, and takes the razor in hand. It is the very same one she sees him use every day, cleaned and freshly sharpened just for this -- for her -- the blade gleaming in the bath’s lantern light. It fits perfectly in the curve of his hand, natural and well balanced from years of use. It isn’t so much that she is afraid, she isn’t, she trusts Julian implicitly after all, but somehow this trust doesn’t do much to quell her pounding, hummingbird heartbeat. The thought of cool, sharp metal pressed to her skin by another hand is enough to make her dizzy, lightheaded, and she is grateful for Nadia’s grounding touch, fingers massaging at her temples.

“Are you ready?” Nadia asks, for both of their benefits Laurel is sure. Laurel forces herself to take a deep breath, holding it for a count of six, and nods.

“Yes, please, I’m ready,” she whispers.

Laurel feels only the barest hint of pressure, the light scrape of the blade against her steam-softened skin like a whisper. Her eyes slip shut under Julian’s slow, methodical movements. He is careful, precise, starting high on her mound and working inward in short even strokes. He smoothes the skin with one hand, pulling it taut before gliding the razor over it with practiced care. With each pass, dark curls mixed with white foam fall away, carried away by the razor and leaving only pale, lightly pinked skin behind -- sensitive and untouched. 

She had often wondered how it felt, spending enough time between Nadia’s legs to marvel at the smooth skin, the trimmed and perfect thatch of curls she left in a wide triangle just above her clit. Laurel had even watched her, found herself enraptured by the ritual of it all, almost covetous. It was a decadent practice, purely aesthetic, and Laurel couldn’t help but feel a touch homely in comparison, more conscious than ever of the unruly, untamed mess of curls between her own legs, even if neither Nadia or Julian had ever complained.

It had shamed her to even bring it up, taken them months to tease the words out of her, months where even just seeing Julian in the mornings, razor to his cheeks, had begun to make her warm, make her cunt twitch and throb for attention. She had finally spilled her desires, only in the dark safety of their shared bed where they could not see the bright, lurid flush of her cheeks as she spoke. Laurel had thought perhaps that would be the end of it, a naive, fool thought given her lovers’ natures, their unrivaled joy at embarrassing and completely debauching her. 

And so here she has ended up. Julian’s long fingers take special care around her lips, pulling and manipulating her flesh to get at every nook and cranny of her. The sound of the hair being scraped away is, perhaps, the loudest sound Laurel has ever heard, pressing against her ears, louder even than her own thrumming pulse knocking between her temples.

The only thing that cuts through the noise is Nadia’s voice, melodic and distracting. “You are going to look so lovely like this, sweet girl,” she whispers. “All of this pretty new skin for us to explore, to touch and kiss. I cannot wait to spread you open like this, to taste you.”

Laurel keens, turning her burning cheek against Nadia’s legs. Nadia’s hands turn her face back, smoothing gentle thumbs over her eyelids until Laurel blinks them open again. “Don’t look away,” Nadia murmurs. “I want you to watch him groom you for me, I want you to know how beautiful he’s making you for our pleasure.”

Julian hums, low and appreciative. His thumb and forefinger spread the newly bare folds over her clit wide, pulling a surprised gasp from Laurel’s lips. Already it feels so different. “Nearly finished, I think,” he says, smoothing a finger down her slit, checking for missed spots.

“Almost.” Nadia tilts her head. “Don’t forget her ass.”

“What?” Laurel mewls, eyes widening, torn between Julian’s touches and Nadia’s words. 

Julian chuckles. “Might need your assistance for that, if you don’t mind.”

“But of course,” Nadia replies, both of them ignoring the wild confusion on Laurel’s face.

She feels Julian’s hands at her ankles, and then suddenly her legs are being lifted up, pressed back against her chest. Laurel’s stiff muscles scream out in sweet agony from the new, unexpected movement, the sharp stretch of the angle.

“ Oh gods ,” she whines as Julian’s hands are replaced by Nadia’s, holding her up and open for Julian’s inspection. Laurel jolts, jerks in Nadia’s ironclad grip, and very nearly screams when the soapy brush returns to smear another, new layer of suds between the cheeks of her ass, teasing over her hole.

“Hold still,” Nadia reminds her evenly, patiently. “You’ve been so well behaved, Laurel, don’t you dare make a fuss now. Not when you’re almost finished.”

Laurel shakes her head, still resting in Nadia’s lap. “Mmn -- Nadia!”

“Shh, I know, pet, I know.”

The gentle scrape of the blade returns, careful and meticulous as ever. Laurel’s eyes begin to water, her breath shuddering in her chest. It doesn’t take Julian very long to finish, but Nadia keeps Laurel’s legs splayed so that Julian can run a warm cloth over her, clearing away any remnants of hair and soap clinging to her skin. It’s overwhelming, the soft terry against bare skin that had never been bare before. Like being touched for the first time all over again, Laurel whimpers and cries out, hips rocking side to side.

“All done,” he declares, but still Nadia holds her fast. Julian runs a single finger from just above the rim of her asshole to her entrance, coming away with the pad glistening. He raises his evidence up to Nadia’s sight. “I think it’s safe to say she enjoyed that.”

He licks his finger clean, eyes fluttering closed as he savors her taste on his tongue. When he opens them again, they are molten, the heady weight of them descending on her cunt. Laurel’s hole clenches weakly around nothing, feeling the aching emptiness, the way her newly bare lips stick together slightly with her slick.

“May I?” he asks, husky-voiced. He isn’t asking her. While his gaze is all for Laurel’s cunt, he waits for Nadia’s quiet go-ahead.

“You worked so very hard. Go on, take your reward.”

Julian’s hungry mouth descends on her, lapping at the wetness he’d only toyed with before. This time Laurel does scream, his tongue too soft, his cheeks too cool against her overheated skin, swollen with desire, nothing left to protect her from the full sensation of his touches.

Laurel shakes apart with embarrassing quickness, orgasm taking her by surprise as it rolls through her, hips rocking against his face as he licks her through it, mouthing at her clit with his lips, the tip of his tongue. He licks over her in broad strokes, not just her slit, but over her lips, clearing her of her own arousal and teasing more from her at once with the feeling of too much warmth, too much wet.

At last Julian pulls away, face shining with her spend, eyes bright. There is a high flush of satisfaction in the apples of his cheeks as he grins.

“How does she feel?” Nadia asks, the first hint of breathlessness making itself known in her voice, her own lust getting the better of her.

“Exquisite.” His grin widens, glinting as surely as the curve of the blade he’d held earlier. “You should come see for yourself.”

Chapter Text

“Are you certain there isn’t -- ahh -- something you’d rather be doing?”

Laurel pulls her lips free of Nadia’s right breast with a wet pop. She smiles up at her, gripping her tighter in the vise of her legs, wound around her thighs to keep her pulled close against the edge of the bed, against Laurel herself.

“Is that a hint or a genuine question?” she asks, quirking a brow.

Nadia’s nails scrape across Laurel’s scalp, tugging fondly at her hair. “A genuine question.”

Laurel lets her eyes slip closed with a happy sigh, a small smile tugging the corners of her lips. “No, I’m quite all right here,” she says cheekily, and moves back to latch onto Nadia’s nipple.

Nadia hisses, hand in Laurel’s hair pressing her close as Laurel’s tongue sweeps across the dusky nub, teasing it to hardness with light flicks and pressing it back, nearly flat, with firm pressure. She sucks the whole of Nadia’s nipple and areola as deep into her mouth as she can manage, flat of her tongue rolling against the puckered, sensitive skin before digging gentle teeth into the surrounding flesh.

“ Oh -- oh you,” Nadia chuckles, sucking air in through clenched teeth. The muscles of her stomach quiver, her body giving a small shudder.

Laurel smiles around her, and drags that smile along her skin, nipping at bud of Nadia’s nipple. With her other hand she cups the breast not currently under her attention, feeling the familiar, perfect heft of it in her palm, kneading its softness with her fingertips. Laurel swipes her thumb across that nipple even as she trails her lips and teeth down the pendulous swell of Nadia’s breast, licking and kissing at the seam where supple flesh meets the wall of her chest. Laurel sucks a mark to the left of Nadia’s sternum, low enough to be covered by Nadia’s clothes, but only just barely.

“I love this,” Laurel murmurs, leaning her cheek against Nadia’s chest, breathing in deep at the warm valley between her breasts where her lingering perfume smells the strongest. Laurel watches her own fingers toy with Nadia’s nipple, plucking and teasing the tip with the pad of her finger, the back of her nail, until it strains, same as its twin. There is gooseflesh along Nadia’s ribcage, every fine hair standing on end across her breasts, backlit by the glow of the lantern that turns everything about Nadia honey-warm and welcoming. Laurel traces the seam where puckering flesh turns to smooth, brown skin in dizzying circles.

“You’re incorrigible,” Nadia hums, no heat at all behind her words. Her nails continue to scratch at the nape of Laurel’s neck, a comforting rhythm that send trails of pleasure down along Laurel’s spine, pooling low in her core. 

“Perhaps,” Laurel says, kissing Nadia’s sternum. She lifts both breasts in her hands then and simply gazes at them a moment, dropping sweet, tight-lipped kisses to each before descending once again to Nadia’s left breast this time. She gives the one on the right the same treatment with her fingers, making sure the nipple retains its drawn peak. “Though, I don’t really hear much complaining.”

Chapter Text

Laurel slips in and out of languid, thoughtless space. She feels Nadia’s hands skimming her skin, massaging stiff joints, pressing soft lips to bruises that have yet to form but will be purple and tender come the morning.

“You were so good for me, Laurel,” Nadia whispers, the words warm against Laurel’s neck. Laurel shivers, curling further into the cradle of Nadia’s arms. “So beautiful, and so very good.”

“Hmmng,” Laurel mutters, articulate as ever. Her hand finds its place over Nadia’s heartbeat, feeling it pulse under her palm, Nadia’s breath rising and falling in her chest. 

“Are you alright?” 

Laurel feels Nadia breathe the question, stirring the hair at the nape of her neck, and lifts her gaze, smiling dazedly.

“I’m fine, I’m --” Laurel takes a deep breath, all sweat and sex and Nadia’s sweet jasmine perfume. “I’m perfect, actually. Absolutely perfect.”

Under her resting palm, Laurel feels the uptick of Nadia’s heart, a subtle shift, a flutter.

“Good,” Nadia sighs, arms tightening around Laurel’s waist a fraction, a barely there flex of her muscles against Laurel’s skin. Nadia’s nose stays buried against her neck.

“Are you alright?” Laurel echoes, smile drooping at the edges. A beat of silence follows. “Nadia?”

“Hm?” Nadia does not jolt, or at least would never admit to it. She blinks at Laurel in slight surprise, pulling back to look her in the eye. “Of course I am, my sweet.”

Laurel watches her for a moment, sees the shine in her eyes, the high flush of pink on her cheeks. With great care, Laurel takes Nadia’s cheeks between her hands, stroking thumbs over the high points of her cheekbones. “Are you?”

Nadia’s eyes slip closed, a soft sigh leaving her lightly parted lips. She tilts her head to the right, heavy against Laurel’s palm. “I am, I promise. So long as you enjoyed yourself and are well.”

“I’m fine,” Laurel says again. She kisses Nadia’s brow. “It was wonderful, you are wonderful Nadia.”

Nadia hums, corner of her lips twitching.

“You do know that, right?” Laurel presses, sitting up until she straddles Nadia’s lap, sitting higher, looking down into her lidded, crimson eyes. “You always go on about how perfect I am, how hard I work for you, but so do you, you know. You are so good to me, I fear I don’t tell you so enough.”

Nadia hides her smile in the cup of Laurel’s hand, kissing her palm, her wrist. “Giving you pleasure is no great hassle for me, Laurel. It’s what you deserve, and it’s what I enjoy most.” Her teeth graze gentle over the meat of Laurel’s palm, at the joint where thumb becomes heel. “To see how well you’ve taken to it, how much you love what I can do to you, is all the assurance I need.”

Heat rises in Laurel’s cheeks. She brings their foreheads together, noses bumping against one another’s sweetly. Nadia’s hands grip her hips, a steady pressure of fingers and thumbs against her muscles.

Laurel sighs. “Fine, but let the record show I’m telling you now anyway.”

“It has been noted and appreciated, thank you,” Nadia says with a small huff of a laugh, her skin flush against Laurel’s.

“I love you, Nadia,” Laurel says, voice a sudden harsh whisper. It does not pain her to say it aloud, she says it often and with fervor, but this time the words stay thick in her throat, a swell of emotion taking her by surprise. Perhaps the haze of their activities had not yet worn off as thoroughly as she’d thought.

Nadia’s lips capture hers in a sweet, gentle kiss. It is light, careful as if it was their very first, and she pulls back without deepening it, a small, quiet sound in the back of her throat.

“I love you too, Laurel.” She kisses the corner of Laurel’s mouth, then the tip of her nose, the freckle on her chin. “Now, what do you say? Shall we get you cleaned up?”

Laurel groans, remembering for the first time the dried slick between her legs. “Yes, please.” She blinks, considering. In the quiet pause, her stomach gives a slight gurgle. “Also food? I’m famished.”

With a bright laugh, Nadia sweeps her sideways into her arms, lifting her as easily as she had the day they were wed. “As you wish, my dearest.”