「 ✦ juliet ✦ 」

‘missed you,’ you say, sort of, more a muffled collection of consonants pressed against his throat, his short stubble scratching over your mouth as it opens, closes.

‘yeah?’ jack asks, dry and amused as he shuffles you awkwardly back into the kitchen, your feet balanced on the toes of his boots.

he drops the keys onto the table, his bag landing heavy next.

‘yeah,’ you confirm, maybe whine.

you’re next to go. lifted up bodily onto the kitchen table, your knees opening on instinct, creating space between your legs that jack immediately takes up, hooking your ankles behind his thighs.

‘you miss me?’ you ask, looking up at him through your lashes, mouth curling up at the corners.

jack hums like he’s not quite sure, mock debating, before tilting his head down and kissing you stupid. the kiss is long and sweet, and perfectly wet, his tongue sliding in to taste you for just a second before it retreats.

when you try to follow, hungry, tugging on his curls as you press yourself against him, he tilts his head, kissing your jaw instead, that little spot below your ear that always drives you crazy. the scrape of his stubble makes your toes curl in your socks.

another kiss and then he abruptly interrupts the spell he’s put you under, huffs a self-deprecating laugh, says, ‘i had a long night and i smell like hospital.’ there’s a pause as your brain struggles to comprehend the sudden loss, then the next words are exhaled quietly into the space between your neck and shoulder. ‘i’m gonna shower.’

‘what? no,’ you complain as jack pulls back, managing to dislodge your hands from his hair, and if the protest is a little too loud, a little too petulant for a full-grown woman, well, everyone is allowed their small moments of weakness you suppose.

and can’t he see you’re horny? that you need him to take care of you?

you pout. ‘i like the way you smell.’

it’s not a total lie. he smells stale and a little metallic, like the sweat and blood have accumulated in thin layers beneath his scrubs. that and also the cigarette he most definitely snuck during hour four or five. but underneath it all, it’s still jack. still your favorite person in the world.

jack’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘i think you need your head checked.’

you pout some more.

he rolls his eyes, extricating himself from between your legs to sit heavily in one of the chairs at the kitchen table. he bends down, starts undoing his boot laces.

‘you eat anything today?’ he asks.

it’s your turn to roll your eyes, annoyed at the very un-sexy turn this conversation has taken. ‘yes.’

he lifts his head to pin you with a look. ‘with protein?’

you lean back on your hands, legs swinging. ‘not everything requires protein, jack.’

‘you do,’ he says, pulling off his left boot. ‘your brain does.’

you sniff. ‘my brain is just fine, thank you very much.’

right boot next, foot of his prosthesis slipping free. jack just shakes his head. ‘hand me those, will you?’

you slide off the table, walking to grab his crutches from where they were leant against the far wall, prosthesis expertly doffed by the time you return. the bare skin of his residual limb is a little red and irritated, but no more than usual after twelve grueling hours on his feet.

you worm your way back into his space before he can push himself to standing, fit yourself between his legs in a mirror of your earlier position, hand sliding into his hair, watching the grey curls slip through your fingers.

‘i missed you,’ you say again but with more intention this time, more need, a small furrow appearing between your brows.

‘i missed you too,’ he says, blinking up at you, but there’s no heat behind it, just a tired air, exhaustion set deep into the lines around his eyes.

you lean down to kiss him and he turns his head, your nose and mouth meeting scruffy cheek.

‘baby,’ he says, and the endearment is fond but also so exasperated it makes your ears flush hot with embarrassment. ‘you gotta give me some space.’

you can’t help the frustration that bubbles up in response to his rejection, your stomach twisting itself into knots as you step back. the logical part of your brain that knows he’s well within his rights to ask for space warring with the much louder, much less logical part of your brain that wants to sink your teeth into his trap muscle until he cries out.

and really, it’s his own fault anyway, you think, annoyed, the way he’s got you trained—pavlovian response, like a damn dog—to expect his undivided attention as soon as he walks through the front door. sweet kisses and sweet words; much, much less sweet words also, but you love those just the same, and maybe even more so, coming from him. from jack, from his filthy mouth and his big hands all over you, pulling you close, pulling your hair, wanting you. wanting you so much sometimes, like he can’t breathe if he doesn’t have you. the type of wanting that’s intoxicating, overwhelming. the type that’s more than easy for a girl to get used to.

throw a dog a bone enough times and the dog comes to expect the bone. flash an empty hand, the dog still bites. it’s just learned behavior.

‘i don’t want to give you space,’ you snipe, as he stands, forearms and hands braced on his crutches. ‘i want you to bend me over this table.’

jack raises an eyebrow at you. ‘good to know it’s only what you want that matters in this relationship.’

you flush even hotter, the skin on the back of your neck prickling. ‘that’s not what i’m saying.’

‘no?’ he says, beginning to navigate his way through the kitchen and out into the hall. you follow after him. ‘then what are you saying?’

you struggle for words, good words, convincing words, but come up empty. all you manage is a childish, ‘it’s not fair.’ like you’re a toddler who doesn’t want to share her favorite toy, one second away from throwing a tear-filled tantrum.

‘life’s not fair,’ jack snorts, infuriatingly so, back muscles shifting beneath his scrub top with each careful step. ‘if it was, then i’d still have two whole legs. but that’s not how any of this stupid shit works.’

maybe you’re ovulating, you haven’t checked the app in at least a week. too busy with work and endless emails and the podcast you remember to tune into just enough per episode to follow whatever tangent the hosts have gone off on this time. or maybe jack’s just turned you into the type of depraved person who sees her boyfriend come home and can’t stop imagining humping his leg long enough to have a single, intelligent thought. such as, not bratting a man who was in the military for six long years.

‘yeah, well,’ you say hotly, stupid and brazen, ‘that IED might as well’ve blown your dick off too, for all the good it’s currently doing me.’

he pauses, actually pauses with his left foot just past the threshold of the master bedroom, whole body going unnaturally still before his head turns to give you an incredulous stare. it pins you in place, socked feet to the hardwood, freezing you like a deer in headlights.

jack’s silent for a long moment, long enough that you can hear the way your pulse has quickened beneath your skin, jumping and skipping at your carotid. the clock on the wall, too, suddenly audible in the room, the thin hand, the tick, tick, tick as the seconds pass.

finally he says, low and clear, ‘for your sake, i’m going to pretend i didn’t hear that. i’m going to take a shower and when i get out, if you haven’t fixed your attitude, i’m going to fix it for you.’

he disappears into the bedroom, leaving you to chew on his parting words, standing alone now in the hallway. you, the clock, the sound of the birds chirping happily in the magnolia outside the window. and there’s something deeply wrong with you, possibly on a fundamental level, molecular, because the warning just makes you shudder, makes your cunt messy between your legs.

while jack showers, you cook him breakfast. you’ve never been particularly good at cooking, but eggs have always liked you, flipped right in the pan, yolks intact before you plate. eggs, toast, some sausage that gets an uneven color but will taste just fine regardless. you debate for a few uncertain seconds if you should bother cutting up the strawberries gone soft in the fridge when the water pipes groan to completion.

you shut the fridge door, anticipation zipping up and down your spine in unsteady bursts. you can’t keep still. you open the fridge door again and grab the pitcher of water, fill up a glass and chug it. then you put the used glass in the sink, lip down, return the pitcher, and shut the fridge door again.

you’re standing next to the table where you’ve set everything down when jack reenters the kitchen. he’s damp and clean, and somehow better looking than when he last left it. which is, by all standards, deeply unfair, you think. a drop of water clinging to the curl beneath his right ear falls to his shoulder, blooming on the fabric.

you avert your gaze, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, and focus instead on the tops of your pink and white socks where your toes are once again curling, this time against the floor.

‘wow. this all for me?’ jack says, settling himself down in the empty seat.

you nod at your toes. they’re very interesting. all ten of them. big toe, pinky toe, the ones in between.

‘baby,’ jack says.

you look up at him. he’s peering intently at your face.

‘this all for me?’ he repeats.

you blink, momentarily confused, before you realize he wants you to speak. ‘yes, sir.’

jack continues to scan your face for a few more seconds then, seemingly satisfied, he pulls out the seat next to him. ‘that’s very sweet. you want to sit with me?’

you glance towards the empty chair and a vivid memory, in fine detail, flashes across your vision. wrists tied securely behind your back, stomach settled in his lap, large hand tracing the hot skin of your ass cheek, his voice going, ‘oh, that’s a really pretty color, sweetheart.’

you swallow, throat dry. ‘no, sir.’

he quirks an eyebrow and you fiddle with the hem of your sleep shirt, thighs squeezing together.

‘yes, sir, no, sir,’ he mocks softly, ‘being so polite, someone might get the impression you want something.’

your whole body warms. it’s such a casually cruel comment. it makes your cunt throb.

god, you just want him to touch you.

you open your mouth. nothing comes out. you swallow and try again. ‘can i sit at your feet?’

‘sit or kneel?’ jack clarifies.

you bite your lip. ‘kneel.’

he nods his head toward the living room. ‘get a pillow.’

you scurry off and grab the closest one off the couch, bringing it back with you. you set it down next to his bare foot on the tile and begin to crouch down.

jack reaches out and takes you by the chin, stilling you. you blink owlishly up at him.

‘hands,’ he reminds you.

you clasp your hands behind your back, maintaining eye contact with jack as you slowly settle down, knees on top of pillow, ass on top of heels, head level with his left thigh.

‘good,’ jack says, tapping once beneath your chin before he draws his hand back.

he picks up his fork and knife and starts to eat.

you’ve kneeled many times for jack over the course of your two-year relationship. you’ve kneeled in costume, in heels so high they’ve questioned your ability to walk, completely bare, after work, before work, on christmas, on his birthday, on your birthday (three times), and, of course, like now, whenever you’re feeling absolutely desperate to receive a single crumb of his measured affection.

in relation to jack, it’s one of your favorite places to be. second only to being folded up like a pretzel and made to take his cock as slow as he wants to torture you with that day, your knees bracketing your ears. his face hovering above your face, watching every tense and subsequent relaxation of your expression, the lines that smooth out as your eyes go glassy, your mouth slipping open, a little wet, a little dumb. for him, always for him. but it’s a close second, that’s for certain.

he smells good, clean like his body wash and the fabric softener he picks up on the way home when you tell him the container’s running low. dye-free, for sensitive skin, for yours, the way it’s always acting up in the winter time. brutal and dry pittsburgh january’s. something beneath that too, that’s innately jack, a scent you could find blindfolded, upside down, spun in circles until you were sick.

you feel yourself tilting forward but do nothing to prevent it. it feels inevitable, magnetic, this tilting. and when your forehead settles against the solid bulk of his thigh, thin fabric of his sweatpants bleeding warmth, you let out a tiny sigh of relief.

he doesn’t chastise you, just settles his big hand on the back of your neck, slots his thumb into that space behind your ear. grounding you so you don’t float away on him, up to the ceiling like a balloon. by nature, you’re not overly-romantic, but it is something you’ve always appreciated. his weight, the configuration of his body in its relation to yours. as though you were two pieces from different puzzles that impossibly fit together.

after some time, you feel his hand start to smooth over the back of your head, stroking your hair. you keep count of the number, reveling in it as it ticks ever higher. jack pets you like you’re a sweet animal nuzzled up against his leg. like you’re something he collared and brought home. his to keep, his to play with. the thought has your cunt clenching down around nothing, disappointingly empty as it was.

you let out a quiet moan and his hand pauses.

no, no, no, no, no, you think as you suddenly freeze, breath held tight in your chest, don’t stop.

after a tense moment, jack’s hand resumes its soothing repetition, delicious pressure over your hair, the back of your head, your nape if you get lucky with his pinky.

you exhale, your shoulders dropping, press your forehead firmer into his thigh in silent gratitude.

minutes pass. you can tell from the way the birds have gone mostly quiet outside the window. tinkling bird call replaced with the soft sound of your breathing, the shifting and settling of the kitchen chair as jack adjusts his weight, never perfectly still. it’s a minute thing, a tiny ephemeral space in a big, complicated world that could blink out in a moment’s notice or less, but selfishly you think you could live down here, on your knees with jack’s hands on you, turning your brain syrupy and slow.

his hands are just so damn big, is the thing. you don’t know how anyone could have a taste and not become addicted. addicted to the feeling of them holding you, caressing you, tracing the dimples at the small of your back. the feeling of them prying open your mouth, your legs, the hot, slick mess of your cunt when you’re needy for him. you are, if translated into a perfectly divided piechart, much more often than you’re not. data doesn’t lie, not about your feelings, or the unshakable truth that you’re obsessed with jack abbot’s hands in a way that would be concerning, if you cared to consider truths like that. but there have always been much worse obsessions, when it comes to him, such as his voice, or how far his cock reaches down your throat if you’re eager enough to try, so you won’t worry too much about this one just yet.

times stretches, first long and then short. like a rubber band that’s reached its limit, snapping back, reminding you of your physical existence in space, on the floor, in your touch-deprived body. you tilt your head so the next pass of jack’s hand sweeps over the sensitive skin of your ear, callused palm cupping and warming it. a light shiver courses down your spine, makes your belly momentarily tense and then release. you can feel him in there, a familiar background noise that crisps and clarifies when he’s close enough to hear, to swallow in through your mouth and hold in your stomach. this phantom tug at your core, reminding you of the coiled tight desire that’s scratching at the walls, rabid, for release.

you want him badly enough that the want is creeping in at the edges of your vision, tunneling it. a focus that sharpens as much as it dulls, diverts your attention exactly where it needs without distraction. one simple line from point a to point b. you see him in your mind’s eye and he’s sitting there above you still, but he’s now looking down at you, tilting your head back; his hand’s wrapping around your throat and he’s telling you to open, to take what he wants to give and drooling straight into your open mouth, making you swallow his spit; calling you his filthy little girl, his perfect wet hole, shoving his thumb in directly after.

oh, god, please. yes, please please please.

you tilt your head further to the side, temple to thigh, so the next pass of his hand grazes your face. his fingers barely pause, thumb brushing along your cheekbone, stroking back and forth. and you’re pushing your luck here, you know that, but you need direct contact, as much skin on skin as possible because otherwise you’re going to lose your damn mind.

he can tell, right? he can tell you’re teetering on the edge of disaster? nervous system collapse, or worse. a black hole swallowing you up from the inside. and he’ll take pity on you. he’s never done it before, of course, but this time will be different. this time he’ll take one look at your big, wet eyes and the shameful mess you’ve made between your legs and he’ll give you exactly what you need. he’ll take care of his sweet baby. you need him to take care of his baby.

you take his thumb into your mouth the next time it’s swept too close, like an untrained, nippy dog who’s just been brought home from the pound. your head turning and your mouth sucking it warm and deep, cheeks hollowing out in your naked enthusiasm. his finger is now exactly where it should be. inside you. there should always be part of him inside you. you know this. you know. you suck his thumb like you want it to be something else because you do. you want jack to push the waistband of his sweatpants down and fill your mouth up with his cock instead, pull you forward until your nose meets his pubic bone, the length pushing past your gag reflex and into your throat.

you moan, around it, around the soft salt taste of his skin, more than familiar on your tongue, your knees shifting restless beneath you on the pillow. maybe he’ll really do it, maybe he’ll let you suck him off. hold your head as he grunts and comes straight down your throat, into your tummy. you’re good at it. you’re really, really good at it. he’s told you so a hundred times or more. sweet baby and her sweet mouth, almost as sweet as her cute little pussy when it winks at him, so desperate for his tongue to be shoved deep inside.

jack suddenly grips the bottom of your chin and jerks it upward, meeting your startled gaze.

‘i didn’t say you could do that,’ he says.

the whiplash makes you whimper, the hard split between reality and dream, like a bucket of cold water turned over your head, making you tremble and shiver on your knees.

you’re caught between jack’s fingers and he’s currently looking at you like you’re a gasping fish he’s not sure if he wants to keep or throw back, dangling you off the edge of his boat.

he presses his thumb down into the muscle of your tongue and makes sure you feel it.

‘what happened to my polite little girl, hm?’ he says, thick condescension in his voice. ‘where’d she go? i liked her.’

you blink at him, uncomprehending, your brain processing on a slight delay, yanked from your fantasy and fuzzy with denial.

jack clicks his tongue. ‘i forgot. your cunt gets wet and you stop thinking.’

he drops your chin, thumb slipping from your mouth, and picks up his phone instead, like he’s done touching you. like he’s regarded you and found you entirely unworthy of further consideration.

no!

‘please,’ you beg, scrambling for some sort of excuse that doesn’t exist, not really. ‘i didn’t mean to, sir, i just—,’

‘just what?’ jack says, sounding deeply unamused, ‘thought you could take what you want without asking? that’s not polite. that’s greedy.’

‘i’m sorry,’ you plead and your voice is quickly rising in pitch, edging toward the upper limits of its range. ‘i won’t do it again. i promise.’

when jack doesn’t spare you a glance, you rub your face against his thigh, whining high and pathetic. begging him to pay attention to you.

‘please, daddy, i promise! i’ll be so good for you. a perfect angel.’

he snorts, scrolling through his phone. ‘i don’t believe you, baby.’

a frustrated noise escapes past your teeth and if you could stomp your foot while kneeling, you would. he’s just being so mean, so unfair. it’s not like you’re asking for very much. just a tiny bit of attention, a tiny bit of pressure. he could give you his leg, you could rub your pussy against it, hump it until you orgasm, get his pant leg all wet. fuck it, at this point, your own fingers would suffice, you should just—

you move to slide your hand between your thighs and jack says, flatly, ‘touch that cunt and regret it.’

you freeze, your fingers a hair’s breadth away from your waistband, close enough that you can feel your clit pulse in proximity to the heat.

your vision zooms out, and you find yourself standing on the top of a familiar, grassy hill. you’ve been here before, agonized about the exact same decision, devil and angel sitting atop your shoulders like old friends and debating whether you should take that final step forward, uncertain of the consequences that lie below at the bottom, the one you can’t quite see from here, from all the way at the top. whether your feet will out last the journey or fold beneath you, ankles twisting, flimsy ligaments that send you sprawling, face first, to compacted earth. the promise of how good it will feel before that, if it even happens, how regardless of anything, of the fall, of the bruised scraped shins, flimsy ankles, the exhilaration is guaranteed, is a kite that lifts up, suspended wind below your hair and body.

the devil wins, as usual, the house always wins, and you step. you step forward, down. your thoughts and you both running, or half running, half falling, legs carrying you faster down the familiar hill than the rest of you can keep pace—relentless, fearless, this symbolic equivalent of a wheel that picks up speed the longer it rolls, gains traction and blurs to nothing.

touch yourself and daddy will be mad. he's already mad but if you touch yourself he'll be really, really mad. if you touch yourself, daddy will punish you. if you don't touch yourself, he won't punish you. but if daddy doesn't punish you, he's not going to touch you. and you need him to touch you. you need him to touch you or you’re going to combust. you’re going to lose your mind. if he punishes you, he'll definitely touch you. he won’t be nice and he might make you cry but he'll touch you. daddy will touch you. daddy will touch you. daddy will—

your feet fail beneath you, knees buckling, and you slide your hand beneath your waistband.

jack pushes his chair back and the sound of wood on tile is so loud it startles you sideways off your pillow, out of your head. you throw out your free hand to catch yourself before you topple over and brain yourself on the table leg.

‘stand up,’ jack says, voice clipped.

your heart is thumping in your chest, hair wild in your face as you stare up at him. at where he’s carved space between himself and the kitchen table.

a small muscle twitches beneath his left eye, and it looks involuntary. ‘don’t make me repeat myself.’

you scramble to your feet.

jack surveys you for a long, agonizing moment as you stand there. scans you from head to toe and back up again, taking stock of your body like it belongs to him, like he’s making sure his things are in working order. you shift nervously beneath his scrutiny, heart going a mile a minute. the weight of his gaze is as heavy as fingers where it lands, dragging along your skin, speeding up your breathing and making you pant. when it catches on the space between your legs, where you’ve darkened the cotton fabric of your panties, you squirm, a phantom hand between your legs knuckling your clit, teasing you. you can’t help but squeeze your thighs together, think about how you dressed this morning thinking only of him, of jack in the wake of your intense, erotic dream, in the hopes he would pull your panties to the side and have his wicked way with you.

he tilts his chin down. ‘strip.’

you hook your thumbs into your ruined panties and tug them down your legs, shivering a little when they pool at your ankles, revealing your pussy to the room, to jack. jack, who's just sitting there and watching you, appearing totally unaffected as you step out of the leg holes. like you’re the world’s least enticing stripper. like he’d rather be doing anything else.

you bite your lip, your stomach swooping, then tug your shirt off as well, your nipples immediately pebbling in the cool air. though you would be convinced it was just as equally, if not more, from the weight of jack's eyes on them, on you. your bare tits moving in time with your rib cage, the short, rapid breaths of a prey animal. then you’re standing in the kitchen in nothing but your birthday suit and your pink and white frilly socks.

you bend to remove those too and jack stops you. ‘leave them.’

you pause, bent naked at the waist. in your mind's eye you can already see it, your body laid out across his lap, little socked-feet kicking in the air as his palm cracks down on your ass, like a little girl punished for not doing her chores, for letting her room get too messy, for not making her bed. the sound of his hand on your ass almost as loud as the sounds coming from your mouth, your begging and your pleading. it’s sick. it’s disgusting. it makes your cunt so fucking wet.

jack motions to the gap between his legs. ‘come here.’

you straighten, stepping forward into his space and moving to get into the proper position, stomach to thighs, when he stops you again.

‘oh no, sweetheart,' he says, mouth turning up at the corner, ‘not this time.’

you blink, and jack twirls his finger in the air.

‘turn around.’

you do as your told, confused, and face away from him. you jump a little when he grabs a palmful of your thigh, his big thumb pressing in at the bottom curve of your ass cheek, pushing it open to expose your twitching hole, your wet pussy from the back.

jack huffs a quiet laugh, like the view of your drooling cunt amuses him a great deal. unfortunately, for you, this just makes it drool all the more. you’re not sure if it’s pavlov or stockholm you should be thanking for that reaction.

‘cute,’ he says, digging his thumb into the line where your ass meets your thigh before letting go. ‘sit down.’

you gage the distance and sit carefully down in his lap, knees touching, and jack immediately wedges his hand between your legs to yank them apart.

you fall back against his chest, your precious balance disrupted, and gasp as he props each of your legs over his thighs so you’re spread wide. cool air kisses your wet cunt as it’s exposed, puffy clit visible now between your folds, peeking out from behind its hood.

‘there we go,’ jack says, dragging a warm hand up and down the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. ‘comfortable?’

‘i—,’ you say, nonsensically.

you're so confused as to what's happening, and momentarily distracted by the sensation of jack touching you so close to where you need it. his big hands on your body, teasing you, callused fingers catching a little with each pass. has he been planning on... edging you this whole time? that would certainly be unexpected.

you swallow, and say, much clearer, ‘yes, sir.’

jack takes his free hand and slides it over your chest to wrap around your throat, holds you with his fingers pressed in right under your jaw, making sure not to cut off your air supply. it’s an oddly safe feeling, being held like this, by jack.

‘good, that’s really good, sweetheart,’ jack says, nosing at your temple, hot breath ghosting over your ear, ‘'cause we’re gonna be here for a minute.’

holy shit, he’s really going to edge you. you squeeze your eyes shut, shuddering. your mind is miles ahead of you, already feeling him there, fingers sliding through your slick folds to press at your hole, remind you of where he’s about to put them.

mmffuck, please touch my clit, please please please touch my clit, daddy.

his intense body heat slowly seeps through the layers of his clothing and warms all the naked skin it touches, in utter contrast to the temperature of the room, your hard nipples pushing out, begging for attention, begging for his mouth. the dichotomy makes your head spin, makes your pussy gently weep between your legs.

you need him. you need him to touch you there. you lift up your hips, hopeful.

then jack says, direct and low, nipping at your earlobe, ‘i’m gonna spank this disobedient cunt until you’ve learned your lesson.’

you suck in a sharp breath, eyes flying open. your heartrate immediately skyrockets, jackrabbiting in your chest. oh fuck, oh jesus fucking christ. you have completely misread the situation. a risk calculation so terrible, so far outside the estimated score window, that it's actually embarrassing. you feel so fucking dumb.

‘how many do you think it will take?’ jack muses, his fingers walking up and down the crease of your inner thigh, like he's talking about something inconsequential. the weather, a baseball game. ‘ten? twenty?’

yeah, nope. no, thank you. you start to struggle in his hold, knees drawing up in an attempt to get your feet under you and run, but you have no leverage. when this doesn’t work, you try and use your core to barrel forward out of his lap.

‘wow, you’re so right,’ jack says, winding his thick arm around your waist and locking you into place, imprisoning you back against his chest. ‘thirty is a much better estimate for a petulant brat like you.’

‘no!’ you exclaim, trying to find somewhere for your palms to push against, to dig your nails into until he lets you go, but jack just squeezes your throat in warning and huffs a derisive laugh against your ear.

‘you want to keep fighting me? go ahead,’ he says, ‘i personally cannot wait to learn how high you can count.’

you freeze, horror setting in at the implication, then go utterly limp in his arms. ‘no, wait, i’ll be good. i’ll be good. please.’

‘yeah?’ jack coos. ‘you’re sure?’

you frantically nod.

‘you’re gonna take your punishment like a good girl?’

you nod again.

jack hums against your temple. ‘what’s your safeword?’

‘pringles,’ you murmur.

he pinches your side. ‘what was that?’

‘pringles,’ you say louder, cheeks heating, embarassed as you always were that your under-developed brain had chosen the stupidest safeword on the planet and it had stuck like glue.

jack unwinds his arm around your waist to hover his hand an inch above your pussy. and despite all logic, your fear hasn't dampened the impact of the last thirty minutes. your clit is still more than eager to be touched, perking up at the heat radiating from jack's palm.

‘every time i spank this bratty cunt, i want you to thank me,’ jack tells you.

your teeth sink into your bottom lip, muffling a whimper.

jack meanly pinches your thigh. ‘do you understand?’

you wince, shifting your weight in his lap as much as you can.

‘yes, sir,’ you quickly say.

'good,’ he says and spanks your cunt.

there’s no warning, no advice to take a slow, deep breath or to count down from three. he just spanks your pussy like it’s the ending punctuation to his sentence.

your eyes blow wide at the sting and you squeak. fuck!

jack laughs. ‘what a cute sound, baby.’

he smooths his palm along the inside of your thigh and you try and swallow the pool of saliva that’s collected in your mouth.

‘let’s try some real words next time, okay?’

he spanks your cunt again, harder.

fucking fuck! you squeeze your eyes shut against the pain, trying to block it out, and barely manage the shaky, tight ‘thank you’ he requested.

jack rubs your inner thigh.

‘oh, you’re so welcome,’ he says, like you’re having a normal conversation.

he spanks your cunt again, barely pausing, and it hurts just as much, if not more, as the last. your pussy is getting sensitive, his big hand evenly distributing the sting from clit to hole, making the entire area hot and angry.

‘thank you,’ you repeat, between gritted teeth, pain sweat gathering at your palms, beneath your arms.

your stomach tenses in anticipation as jack raises his hand between your legs again and then rains down three hard spanks in quick succession. you can't stop the cry that tears itself from your throat, your hips trying to scoop inward and away from his hand, belly and thighs shaking.

jack makes a cooing noise in your ear, ‘aw, sweetheart, does that hurt?’

the cruelty of the question combined with the burning, aching skin of your cunt makes your eyes well up with tears.

‘yes,' you choke out, your voice thick with emotion.

jack hums, sounding pleased. ‘what do you say to daddy when it hurts?’

you swallow around the lump in your throat, a tear slipping down your cheek. ‘thank you.’

jack spanks your cunt again. ‘that's right. disobedient brats say thank you when they’re punished.’

between this spank and the next one, the rest of the tears spill over, flow without interruption down your cheeks and over the hand jack has wrapped around your throat. you whine and sniffle the entire time he’s spanking you, like once you un-stoppered the emotion, it turned out to be bottomless.

after the twentieth time his hand comes down between your legs, your thighs automatically close on reflex, a survival defense, knees drawing up to protect you against the pain, the stinging blows.

jack tuts, tapping your knee. ‘open your legs, little girl.’

a pathetic sob bursts from your chest. you don’t want to. it hurts so bad, he’s making you hurt so bad. he’s being so mean to you. you hate it. you hate it even as you listen, as you open your trembling legs to reveal your abused cunt, the blood that’s risen to the surface, lips all puffy and swollen.

you can feel your clit pulse with each heartbeat, a metronome between your legs.

‘ouch,’ jack says, in faux-concern, and then starts spanking your cunt again.

there is a point that's reached during your punishment where the required ‘thank you’s dissolve into mindless apologies, where instead of thanking him, you start blubbering and asking for forgiveness. barely comprehensible ‘i’m sorry’s chanted each time his hand comes down.

you’re an utter mess, inside and out. you feel raw in every way a human being can possibly feel raw. it's horrible and painful and humiliating but it also functions as a successful release of all your pent-up emotion. by the end of it, you feel like a wet rag jack has diligently wrung out with both hands.

jack lets go of his hold on your throat and drags his blunt nails up the inside of both your thighs, making your belly twitch.

‘mm all done, baby,’ he says, inhaling a slow, deep breath at the crown of your head. ‘punishment's over.’

you sniffle, coming down, your heart still pattering in your chest like hummingbird wings, quick and flighty.

jack rubs the stretch of skin just below your navel. ‘say, thank you, daddy, for teaching my bratty cunt a lesson.’

‘th-thank you, daddy, for teaching my bratty cunt a lesson.’

jack kisses the top of your head, and then your temple, wraps both his arms around you in a bear hug. ‘see? you can be a good girl, baby. daddy just has to remind you sometimes.’

you make a rather pitiful noise at this that has jack shifting you, arm sliding beneath your knees to settle you sideways in his lap. he returns his mouth to the top of your head and rocks you gently.

‘okay, baby,’ he says, ‘shh, it’s alright. you’re okay.’

‘i’m sorry,’ you whine, sniffling, rubbing your tear-stained face against his collar, wishing you could climb underneath it, hide inside his shirt.

‘hey, none of that now. no more apologies,’ jack says, ‘you did good. took your punishment so well for me.’

the praise sinks warm into your skin and you nuzzle closer into his chest. ‘i did?’

jack gives your head another kiss. ‘yeah, you did. you were so brave, and you listened the entire time. i’m really proud of you.’

i’m really proud of you. the words make you glow and you can’t help the smile that stretches across your face, so you adjust in his lap a little and tuck your face into the crook of his neck to hide it. jack lets you, running a hand up and down your spine.

‘you’re daddy’s favorite girl, you know that?’ he says. ‘no one drives me up the wall quite like you do.’

a surprised laugh bubbles out of your throat and you hiccup into his neck.

You rubbed at your eyes, trying to focus as monitors beeped insistently around you mr.patterson in bay four was complaining about chest pain for the fourth time tonight, and your hands shook slightly as you scribbled vitals into the chart.

“bp’s trending upward again,” you muttered under your breath, noting the slight tachycardia.

from the corner of the room, dr. parker ellis appeared.

she always moves through the er with this effortless command, clipboard in hand, stethoscope slung around her neck like a badge of authority.

tonight, though, she looked at you and raised an eyebrow, clearly noticing your fatigue.

“hey,” she murmured, closing the distance between you, her voice a steady anchor in the chaotic hum of the er.

“how are you holding up?”

you shrugged halfheartedly, forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

“honestly i’m just barely holding it together. everything feels so off tonight.”

parker tilted her head, studying you oh so carefully. her eyes were sharp and focused, the kind that missed nothing but there was that underlying calm, the quiet reassurance she always carried.

“talk me through your patients,’ she said, voice steady. ‘start with vitals, labs, any concerning trends, and your plan.”

you exhaled loudly, trying to steady yourself.

“okay mr. patterson in bay four his bp spiked to 148 over 92 about twenty minutes ago, heart rate’s creeping up to 112, and his troponin’s pending.

parker listened, nodding occasionally, her presence both grounding and… very distracting.

i gave him 2 mg of morphine for the chest pain, repeated his nitro, and i’m monitoring for any st changes on the ecg.”

“you’re running on empty,” she observed, leaning closer to check the readout with you her hand brushed yours ever so slightly as she pointed to a t-wave inversion on the monitor. the contact was brief but enough to make your stomach flutter.

“you’re overthinking some of this,” she murmured, her voice low, leaning closer so you could feel the faint warmth of her presence.

“his troponin trend is minor, and you managed his pain appropriately. you’ve got this, baby. you just… need a moment to breathe.”

you froze for a split second, your pulse spiking as the word lingered in the air. “baby?” you echoed, voice shaky, not sure if you were surprised or flustered.

your fingers grazed the keyboard too hard, almost dropping the chart, and you cleared your throat awkwardly. “i-i mean yeah i’ve got this,” you stammered.

her smile deepened as she watched you blush. “yeah, baby,” she murmured, brushing her fingers over yours on the keyboard.

“you’re doing so well tonight. i know it’s been rough, but look at you keeping up with all of this, managing your patients, staying precise even when you’re running on empty.”

somehow just hearing her say that made your exhaustion feel less heavy.

gosh, you loved hearing her praise you.

“yes thank you i can handle it,” you mumbled, though your voice wavered.

parker smiled softly, almost like she knew exactly how you felt. “i know you can,” she said, her tone low and intimate.

“but sometimes even the best doctors need a little boost.”

she gestured to the empty supply room just off the main er floor.

“come with me.”

the lights of the main er faded behind you as you followed her into the small room. the air smelled faintly of antiseptic, the quiet setting only punctuated by the hum of the refrigerator and distant beeping of monitors.

she closed the door, her hand lingering on the doorknob before she locked it. the faint click made your stomach tighten. she leaned casually against the counter, eyes locking on yours she never failed to make your pulse skip.

you couldn’t help the rush of heat that pooled low in your chest and between your legs she had always had that effect on you, even before tonight. you’d always liked dr. ellis maybe more than you should have.

you want her. you want her hands on you, guiding you, teasing you, making you hers right here.

“you’re tense,” she said, her voice dropping an octave. “and it’s affecting your judgment. let me help you reset.”

“you’re brilliant,” parker whispered, walking closer, her gaze locked on yours.

“you just forget sometimes. you need a reminder.”

she leaned closer, dangerously close. her lips brushing your ear as she whispered, “and sometimes you know a little motivation comes in ways that aren’t in any textbook.”

“relax mama,” she murmured,

“breathe. let me show you how good it feels to reset.”

parker’s eyes flicked to your lips, and she caught the way you bit your lower lip that stirred something inside her.

“can i…?” she whispered, voice low and teasing. “can I kiss you please?”

you opened your mouth to answer, but before a word could come out, she muttered under her breath, half to herself, half to you, “fuck it.”

and then she claimed your mouth. the kiss started soft, testing, her lips pressing lightly against yours, gentle at first.

your hands went instinctively to her shoulders, then slid up to her locs, tugging her closer a low, breathy moan escaped her lips.

her mouth opened slightly, teasing yours, and then her tongue brushed yours slow, deliberate, exploring. you gasped softly, fingers tangling in her hair as the sensation shot straight to your pussy.

she deepened the kiss all while pushing you up against the wall, sucking your lower lip between her teeth for just a moment, then nibbling it lightly, making you groan into her mouth.

you gasped into her kiss, tugging harder at her locs, letting a soft whine slip past your lips. “parker…” you breathed, growing wetter by the second as the kiss grew messier.

“fuck, you taste good,” she murmured against your lips before diving back in, tongue slipping into your mouth.

you broke the kiss for just a breath and whispered,

“can you… touch me?”

her lips curved into a smirk against yours,

“oh, you want that, huh?”

her hand slid from your waist, teasing along your hip, under the edge of your scrubs. slowly, her fingers dipped inside your panties, brushing against your wetness.

“shit. you’re fucking soaked.” she murmured, voice low and husky, lifting her slick fingers just between your faces. she spread them slightly, letting you see exactly how wet you were for her.

“open your mouth,” she ordered, voice low and urgent her fingers pressed against your lips, sliding in as your tongue met them instinctively.

you wrapped your lips around them, sucking and swirling, tasting yourself on her, moaning softly.

she smirked clearly pleased with how eagerly you took her fingers.

“fuck mhm just like that,”

“so good, baby…” she whispered trailing her fingers back down inside your scrubs.

a low, hungry groan escaped her lips as she pressed just enough to make your knees tremble.

“look at you,” she whispered against your mouth, teeth grazing your jaw. “you’re so wet for me dripping just from this.”

her lips crushed against yours again, tongue sliding urgently into your mouth while her fingers circled your clit.

you gasped into her mouth, breaths uneven as the kiss turned messy lips sliding, tongues tangling with wet, desperate sounds.

she controlled the pace of the kiss, slowing when you rushed, deepening when you hesitated, her authority wrapping around you like a safety net.

"that's it, baby," she said breaking the kiss to rest her forehead against yours.

her fingers dipped inside you just a little before she teased and rubbed your clit instead.

her hand moved lower, not even going inside where you wanted her the most her fingers pressed just enough to make your breath catch.

but instead she pulled back just slightly, choosing to tease you, keeping the pressure light.

a teasing, knowing smile touched her lips.

“not yet,” she murmured, her voice low and steady.

her other hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place.

“be patient.”

“please?”

her hand shifted moving from the back of your neck to the front, her fingers wrapping gently but firmly around your throat. not enough to hurt just enough to remind you exactly who was in control.

"please what, baby?"

"use your words."

the demand sent a fresh wave of heat pooling between your thighs.

“i-” your voice faltered, barely more than a whisper. “i need you…”

parker tilted her head slightly, watching you struggle, her thumb pressing on your clit.

“need me how?” she pressed, softer now, but no less commanding.

your hands found her wrist, not to pull her away, but to hold onto something steady. “don’t tease me,” you breathed. “please…”

“more. please, i need more.”

you mumbled voice breathy.

she smiled, “oh, i know you do. and i’m gonna give it to you.”

her hand slid down your body, fingers hooking into the waistband of your scrubs. she tugged them down along with your panties in one smooth motion, exposing you to the cool air of the room. her knee nudging your legs apart.

“relax, baby…” she whispered dropping to her knees, her hands steady on your thighs as your head fell back against the wall.

“let me take care of you. mama.”

her fingers traced your inner thigh before dipping between your folds circling your clit with firm, teasing strokes.

“so wet and needy. i’m gonna make you forget every damn patient tonight.”

you moaned, hips bucking into her touch as she slowly slid two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that sensitive spot deep within. her thumb kept working your clit.

“do you feel that? i’m hitting that spot?” she whispered, voice low and throaty.

“yes… oh fuck yes…”

“good girl that’s it just for me, baby… feel how good it is… all that stress just melting away.”

your head fell back against the wall, your back arching violently, a sharp cry escaping your lips as she repeatedly hit that spot that made your knees wobble.

"keep focus on me. focus on how good im making you feel you're letting go, aren't you?

“so fucking capable, taking everything i give."

“that feels so good fuck” you cried out.

"that's it, i know baby," she whispered.

“uh-uh… eyes on me, baby dont you dare look away,” she murmured tapping the side of your face when you leaned your head back against the wall again, her voice low and commanding.

“look at me while i make you feel good.”

her eyes locked onto yours as her tongue traced a slow, deliberate path upward, drawing a sharp moan from your lips and sending your hips instinctively bucking your fingers flew to her locs, gripping them as your hips jerked forward.

"p-parker!”

as her tongue traced lower, she nudged her nose against your clit with each stroke, making your toes curl.

your gasps came out loud and ragged, forcing her to press a hand over your mouth.

“quiet… we don’t wanna get caught, do we?”

her name tumbled out in muffled moans as the coil deep in your abdomen tightened. she wrapped her lips around you, teasing just right a low, throaty chuckle rumbled from her as she pulled back letting her tongue take over with firm, deliberate strokes that had you trembling against the wall, helpless under her control.

"mmmm this pussy tastes so good," she hummed against you, the vibration making your eyes roll back. her lips sealed around your clit, her tongue working in tight circles.

soft muffled whimpers and moans filled the small room, the sounds of your pleasure mingling with the wet, obscene noises of her mouth against your pussy. she was relentless, a rhythm that had your hips rocking against her face, chasing a release that was coiling tight in your belly.

she leaned back slightly, eyes locking with yours, she let her spit drip slowly onto your clit before sucking it into her mouth like it was a pacifier.

She then slowly took her mouth off of you her lips glistening, as looked you dead in the eyes.

“tell me do you like how im taking my time eating this pretty pussy?” she murmured, voice low and husky.

“i—” you tried, but the words wouldn’t come, only a whimper slipping past your lips.

suddenly she stood, leaning over you, her hand shot out, gripping your chin.

“answer me,”

“y-yes mm fuck… so much” you gasped, nails digging into her shoulders, hips trembling and jerking involuntarily.

satisfied, she dropped back down to her knees resuming her sucking and teasing.

“parker i… i can’t i’m so close…”

your back arched, body quivering as you neared your release.

“i’ve got you sweetheart” she whispered, thumb pressing circles against your clit.

“you’re doing so well, baby… so fucking good for me.”

“ i could eat this pussy all fucking day and night.’ she said moaning against your pussy.

she slid two fingers inside you, curling them to press against that sensitive spot, her tongue returned to your clit, sucking it into her mouth.

the dual sensation was your undoing. your orgasm crashed over you, a blinding, all consuming wave of pleasure. your cries were swallowed by the small room as your body tensed, trembling violently, your inner walls clamping down around her fingers.

“that’s its.”

even as you writhed, oversensitive, she kept on.

"that’s it, baby. such a good girl, taking what you deserve come for me again.”

her fingers slid inside you even faster two at first, then a third, stretching you open as she curled them against your g-spot.

"i c-can’t!"

your nails dug into her shoulders, your body coiling tight as another wave built.

“yes, you can,” she said, her free hand slapping your thigh twice hard enough to make you yelp.

“now come, or i’ll leave you right here right now without letting you come again.”

the threat sent you over the edge. your back arched, your vision blurring as your pussy clenched around her fingers once more, your release spilling in her mouth she lapped at you through it, her low moans vibrating against your hypersensitive flesh, until you were a trembling mess in her hands.

she finally slowed, placing one last gentle kiss to your oversensitive clit before she stood up pulling you in a messy kiss.

“let’s get you cleaned up.”

after wetting a cloth she crouched slightly, pressing the damp cloth against your sensitive skin, wiping away every trace of your arousal.

“there,” she said, stepping back slightly, hands resting on your hips to steady you.

she tilted her head, eyes soft but still teasing. “how are you feeling?”

“shaky and amazing,” you breathed, your legs still trembling from that overwhelming high.

parker let out a low, quiet laugh, her gaze dropping to your lips before meeting your eyes again.

“oh yeah?” she murmured, stepping closer, her voice dipping low again. her thumb brushed lightly along your jaw, slowly.

“fuck… your taste is so addictive,” she said, softer now, almost like a secret meant only for you. a faint, knowing smile touched her lips.

“i can’t wait to taste you again.”

“careful, dr. ellis,” you said quietly. “you keep this up, and i might start relying on you more than i should.”

“that definitely reminded me and boosted me. just like you said i needed.”

Your leg bounces against the tiled floor and you sigh, grabbing your phone to scroll through your camera roll until your girlfriend shows up.

As you’re deleting all your unnecessary screenshots, you come across a candid picture you took of Mel. Your face heats up as you remember that night.

You were both exhausted after a 10 hour shift, but Mel had insisted on preparing dinner for you and Becca. You offered to pay for takeout but Mel had rolled her sleeves up and chopped up some vegetables, saying her usual spiel about daily nutrients and getting enough fiber. You had smiled and came up behind her to press a kiss to her cheek, but you accidentally startled her and the knife slipped.

You helped her clean up the cut and finish dinner, but when you two went to bed later that night, and Mel’s hand started snaking down your sleep shorts, she suddenly stilled.

Mel had to pass on using her bandaged fingers to make you cum, so she went down on you instead. She mouthed over your cunt so eagerly her glasses fogged up. Her tongue dragged over your slit again and again until you whined and tugged on her braid, and she relented - using her other hand to spread your folds open while she pressed a kiss inside.

You squirm at the memory, suddenly sweating. A familiar heat pools in your stomach and you feel a faint dampness collecting in your panties.

The door to the break room swings open and you flinch, scrambling to make yourself busy. You hastily gather the playing cards into a stack and fumble with fitting them back in the box.

“I guess you haven’t been busy?” Mel asks as she settles down in the seat across from you.

“No, not really.” You answer, avoiding her gaze as you try to blink away the thoughts of her mouth on yours.

You bite your lip in frustration as the cards slip out of your grasp and spill all over the table. Mel holds out her hand, unbothered. You place the empty box in her palm and help her stack the cards in one pile. She eases them into the box and closes the top, giving you a smile. You can tell she’s tired by the way she massages her neck, so you keep to yourself and give her the time to take a breather.

Mel hesitates for a few seconds, watching you as you fidget absentmindedly with the stethoscope around your neck.

“ I, um, have a surprise for you. Do you want to see it? I don’t think we’re getting any more patients any time soon.”

You look up at her. Mel’s cheeks are a rosy pink. She stares at you sheepishly and you grin.

“Sure.”

You follow Mel across the emergency department to the lockers. Your footsteps echo through the hallway and you can hear the steady beeps and gentle snoring coming from each room.

Mel punches in the code for your locker and swings the door open before unlocking her own. You set the deck of cards in your backpack as she rummages through her belongings and shoves something in her pocket.

Once she’s ready, she shuts her locker and leads you to the bathroom. Mel stops just outside the door and glances around the hallway.

“Ellis is doing her rounds. I’m sure it’ll be fine if we step off for a few minutes.” you reassure her.

Mel blinks. “Oh. Yeah. Sounds good.” Her gaze flits across the department again before she pushes the bathroom door open.

You trail after her. “What do you want to eat after we get out? I’m thinking we could stop by Eatn’ Park. My treat.” You offer as Mel starts washing her hands at the sink. You stare at her long fingers and swallow.

“You sure? I mean, I’m okay with that. You just seem pretty tired.” Mel says. She dries her hands off with a paper towel and tosses it into the trash can.

“ Oh no, I’m fine. I’m surprisingly not tired. Must be that tea you made for me before we clocked in.”

“Yeah?” Mel responds, pushing a stall door open.

You nod and lean against the wall, ready to wait for her while she uses the restroom.

Mel meets your gaze and tilts her head towards the stall. “C’mere.”

You furrow your eyebrows but listen, joining her inside the small space. Your back presses against the door as she locks it shut. Mel’s knees awkwardly insert in between yours.

“So… the surprise..?” you ask as you wrap your arms around Mel’s waist.

Mel doesn’t say anything. Instead, she shuffles closer and kisses you.

You immediately reciprocate, your hands automatically tightening around her hips as you pull her towards you. Mel tugs your bottom lip in between her teeth and you sigh in response. She pushes her tongue into your mouth right as she nudges your legs open to settle her thigh in between yours.

You stifle a moan as you begin to grind on her leg. The sound of fabric brushing fabric echoes throughout the empty bathroom. Your heart beats in your ears.

Mel pulls away to brush some hair out of her face and your lips chase after hers. You dip your head down to suck at that sweet spot on her neck and she groans. Your cotton panties are slick, the arousal easing the friction between your cunt and Mel’s scrubs.

Mel starts to untie your scrub bottoms and reality hits you. You nip at her neck in retaliation.

“We can’t. Need to get back to work.” you breathe into her ear. Despite the ache in your stomach and the way Mel’s quiet whines make your hips jolt across her thigh, you know that you both have a responsibility to your patients.

“I’ll make it quick, promise.” Mel begs desperately. She pulls away to look in your eyes and you immediately give in.

You know better than to let Mel make you orgasm even once because of how insatiable she is. Some nights she’ll bring you to a high over and over until you’re seeing stars and the bedsheets are wet with devotion. But you don’t doubt Mel. You trust her and know very well how she can make you cum in an embarrassing amount of time.

“Okay. Just one.” you nod.

Mel grins and kisses you again in gratitude. She must really be exhausted. She only gets like this when she wants to relax, and nothing makes her feel better than seeing you go dumb on pleasure because of her.

You hear Mel take her hand out of her pocket, another layer of fabric rustling spinning through your ears.

Mel dips her fingers down your stomach and your head falls onto her shoulder. Your breaths hit her collarbone, quick and shallow as her rough fingertips gently prod at your clit over your panties. Mel bites her lip when she feels how wet you are.

She starts drawing circles over your clit and you slowly let go of your haste to indulge in pleasure. Just as your mind starts to go fuzzy, Mel removes her fingers and replaces them with something else. You faintly register that Mel is holding something in her palm when you feel a firm pressure against your cunt and hear a barely audible click.

You feel the buzzing before you hear the soft hum of the vibrator Mel presses against your pussy. You let out a choked groan at the unexpected sensation and keen into Mel’s shoulder. She shushes you gently and runs a hand down your side as she returns to making circles around your clit.

You tremble against Mel, already feeling that knot form in your belly. Mel angles the vibe until it’s adjusted enough and the shaft hovers over your slit. Mel uses her knee to open your thighs wider and spread open your folds. She presses the shaft into your cunt, your panties a thin layer preventing it from dipping inside any further.

You whine and dig your nails into Mel’s hips. She moans in response, rambling under her breath about how pretty you look right now.

You’re so wet the vibe starts to glide across your cunt. Your hips grind automatically against the toy.

Mel leans down to press a kiss to your head and you break - climaxing so hard your knees almost give out. As you recover, Mel bumps the vibrations up by another level and you squeal.

“Just one more - please - just one-“ Mel pleads, pushing the shaft deeper until your cunt sucks it in and it touches your g-spot.

You moan so loudly Mel presses you against the stall door and covers your mouth. She watches your fucked out expression with furrowed eyebrows and her chest heaves.

You don’t last long until your orgasm approaches a second time and you’re arching into Mel’s chest, gripping onto any part of her you can reach. Mel turns down the vibration level and pulls the part away from your clit. She thrusts the shaft in and out of your cunt until you finish riding out your high and the sound of your slick-soaked panties echoes through the bathroom.

Mel pulls the vibe out of your bottoms and you can see it clearly for the first time. It’s a light pink. You think you painted your nails the same shade a few weeks ago.

“Hell of a surprise.” you weakly laugh as you glance up at Mel’s face. She looks wrecked, her cheeks and ears blushing pink.

She brings the vibe to her mouth and sucks your arousal off the silicone, keeping eye contact with you the entire time.

You press your thighs together as you watch. The wet gusset of your panties digs into your clit and you swallow.

“I wanted to try something new. Did you like it?” Mel asks earnestly after popping the vibe out of her mouth. She stares at you like she’s asking you about breakfast and not how she just made you cum twice in a few minutes.

“God, yes. That was insane.” you groan.

You bend over to grab some toilet paper and start cleaning yourself up.

“Oh, here -“ Mel reaches in her pocket again and pulls out a pair of your cotton underwear.

You blink at her before shaking your head with a smile. “Thank you.”

Mel helps you step out of your bottoms to change. She takes your old panties and shoves them in her pocket without a word. You raise an eyebrow at the action but don’t say anything either.

You two step out of the stall to fix yourselves up. Mel washes the vibe with cold water and wraps it up in a paper towel before putting it back in her pocket. She washes her hands as you retie your hair back into a ponytail.

Your knees still feel weak as you follow Mel to the lockers. You nervously glance around the hallway as she puts your underwear and the vibe into her bag with an unbothered expression.