—✧ pandora

GOOD LITTLE THING

Your intended position within the Medarda household was no more and no less than servantry: a mundane yet well-paid routine, full of disinfecting, dusting, washing, drying, scrubbing, serving, and other tedious chores. It was through a list of skillful connections that you managed to acquire this job in the first place—nervous as you were, you were as prepared to face the intimidating master of the household as you possibly could be, considering that you wouldn't be seeing much of her supposing your job was done right.

Which, it was. So impressively well, in fact, had you exceeded your peers in the position, that—moving upward the unspoken yet mutually understood hierarchy of the household—Ambessa herself had recognized you, praised you. . .

And fucked you.

It was a brief, passionate matter. For weeks had you felt it: her eyes burning into you, her hands grazing yours, her quiet, yet ceaseless proximity to you, eager to watch you move, almost like she was entranced. You felt it, and it burned you alive with both shame and invigorance—Ambessa Medarda was an attractive woman, of course, and it was for that reason you hoped you wouldn't much cross paths with her.

Then, on one particularly taskless evening, you'd been called into her quarters. Bemused and anxious, you rushed to oblige, ignorant to the murmurs of the other nursemaids as you were escorted personally into the General’s bedroom. She made quick work of it—beckoning you into the steamy room of which she bathed, assessing whether or not you felt the same as she, and then folding you over the gold-rimmed edge of her elongated tub as she thrust her fingers into you with senseless pleasure.

She tidied you carefully, respectfully afterwards, and sent you on your merry way. You were expected to continue about your chores as though she hadn't wrung two orgasms out of you in one sitting—albeit, you were excused from anything that may arouse curiosity regarding your sudden limp.

She made no effort to even speak to you in the days following. If she was even aware of the overwhelming and irresistible hunger she had awoken in you, she was careless to it—the woman left you in a daze, questioning and wanting, and you roamed the halls of the house for a weeks-worth of days, silently craving more.

You grunted in effort, scrubbing a particularly stubborn-stained piece of cloth against the wet washboard. Your knees ached against the hard floor of the washroom, your knitted brow beginning to twinkle with sweat, your fingers reddened and pruny. Flustered with frustration, you sighed, and briefly dropped the sodden cloth into the soapy basin to stare up at the ceiling, contemplating what life events had led you to such a moment.

Yet, being left alone with your own thoughts proved itself to be a dangerous expenditure, as visions of the General’s naked, muscular body flashed before your eyes hungrily. You clenched your jaw, recalling the vivid sensation of her pressing her fingertips against you, gauging your wetness, then murmuring so huskily in your ear, praising how ready you were—

You jolted at the sound of the door opening, nearly spilling the soiled basin of water your hands rested on as you snapped to the direction of the noise, your face flushed.

In peered a familiar, youthful face—that of a scrawny messenger boy who delivered calls to-and-fro. He pretended not to notice your pitiful state, clearing his throat instead,

“Ms. Medarda has requested you to her chambers,” he said simply.

You gazed once between him, your hands, and your dampened clothes, before swiftly nodding and rising to your feet, attempting to dry off your palms on the linen of your pants. “I’ll be there at once.”

Entering her room, you noticed almost immediately that the air was devoid of the poignant soapy smells of jasmine and eucalyptus, replaced now by something more subtle, more leathery than sweet. The doors fall shut behind you and you hesitate to tread any closer, looking around for any sight of her.

When your observations came up fruitless, you swallowed, clutched your hands, and waited. The decor of her room was no less fearsome as her, painted in stark shades of red and black, only accompanied with the aurelian accents of the Medarda crest and the sharp silver of her weaponry and hung armor. It was also, noticeably, cold—the fireplace sat idle in the corner of her room, unlit and useless.

Conflicted between waiting any longer and returning swiftly, safely to the drab quarters of your own, a commanding voice answered your dilemma for you:

“Start the hearth, would you?” a figure emerged from an offset pair of doors connected to the master bedroom, introducing a waft of sweet scents and oils into the air. “I’ve hardly a chance to do it myself since arriving here.”

Your eyes locked on her immediately—most notably the portion of which she was undressed, clothed only in a silk bathrobe that exposed just enough of her scarred, dark skin to make you clench your fists pale. You bowed your head and scurried to the mount, quick to comply.

While you knelt and stacked logs of drywood into the fireplace, Ambessa glided across the floor to take her seat in the velvet lounge just behind you, much appraising the sight of you on your knees. The all-too-familiar feeling made you clench your thighs and work only with increased haste, bumbling to finish.

“Slowly,” you heard her say, be it warning or guidance you were unsure. Swallowing hard, you carefully arranged the remainder of necessary logs into the firebox before sparking alight a small, dwindling flame. You fanned it gently, continuing until a hum of approval beckoned you to stop.

Placing the iron grate before it, you rose to your feet and spun to look nervously at her, awaiting your next task. To your relief, it came simply, softly: “Come here.”

The thick muscles that were her legs spread, a quiet, yet mutually understood signal of exactly what she wanted, without her having to do so much as blink. When you hesitated just before her, she placed a large, warm hand on the small of your back, guiding you into her lap with another whisper of praise, the scent of her enveloping you.

“What a shy thing you are,” her eyes roamed your face with such a rapt intensity you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand. She caressed you, with a sort of fragile care that you would have expected to be below her. ”What is it you're afraid of, girl? It isn't me, is it?”

You quickly intercepted, “No! Er- no—no, ma’am. It's not you…” you chewed your bottom lip, a hot flush warming your skin. You bowed your head, embarrassed, only for her to lift your chin to meet her square gaze.

“Please,” you were so close to her that you could feel her breath on your lips as she spoke, the sensation shamefully entrancing, making you long to lean in closer and press your lips to hers and let yourself be devoured in that warmth. “Call me Ambessa, child. You're more than a mere servant now, aren't you?”

Your question sputtered from your lips before your sense did to your mind, “I am?”

She peered at you for a moment before a soft, smooth chuckle erupted from her throat, and she slanted closer to you with a smile. “So oblivious…” she crooned. Her eyes flickered to your lips and, in an instant, they were on hers: she kissed you tenderly to start, her lips searching against yours, her head cocking to find the perfect angle in which they aligned. Once your arms slid around her shoulders, she perceived it as an invitation to press further, her tongue entering your mouth.

You moaned quietly, so quietly she would not have heard it if not for the vibrations of your mouth against hers. She responded by tightening her grasp on you, nipping at your plush lower lip.

The air between you two, or lack thereof, thickened in the heat, filled with an endless string of murmured, sinful sound. You made out for an indefinite amount of time, the hearth blazing captively behind you. It surprised you how Ambessa withheld herself—almost as if she was waiting for you to make a move, to prove that you felt as carnally about this as she did.

It was a near hour of tongue-and-tongue, of muttered praise and dryhumping before you realized that you were precisely right. The General was waiting for you, and this discovery dawned on you with an entirely new wave of desire for her.

You pulled away, panting against her spit-shiny lips. “Ambessa,” you rasped, abruptly overwhelmed by just how much you wanted her, and how unbearable the heat between your legs had grown since you first arrived. “I—I need you.”

The other woman gazed upon you with expectant, keen eyes. Her hand smoothed along your cheek, letting your words sit in the air. “You need me?” She repeated, low and velvety, her silk robe already parting against its binding around her waist to expose her collarbone, chest, and some length below. “Tell me what you want, sweet thing.”

The way she pulled back her robe made you bite your lip, suppressing the urge to whimper feebly. She had hardly touched you and you felt utterly ruined already, with her spit still tasteful on your tongue, the sweetness of her engrained in you. “I…” you opened your lips, but hardly anything but a pathetic stammer escaped.

She cocked an eyebrow, looking at you intensely. When you shut your mouth, burning with embarrassment, she took you by the jaw again and caressed your bottom lip with her thumb. “Say it,” she urged you. “I know you can.”

Her other hand slid over your thigh, the heat of her palm registering with a burning passion on your skin, even through the ironed fabric of your pants. Her fingers rested idle just on the cusp of your inner thigh, causing you to shudder, aching with need; you mustered the courage from your core-upwards, your breathing unsteady.

“I.. I want you on me—again,” you panted. Then, remembering her strong preference for proper manners, you added: “Please, Ambessa. Please, touch me…”

You rocked your arms weakly into her still hand, still chewing your lip, your eyes half-lidded and puppyish. A prideful smirk took hold of her lips.

She slanted closer, combing your hair back as to murmur in your ear, her breath warm and tickling your flushed skin. “Good girl,” she crooned, and you could hardly stifle a gasp. She rewarded your good behavior by sliding her large hand completely between your thighs, cupping your clothed cunt, making you grab onto her hurriedly.

She stroked you with two fingers, torturous and teasing. “How polite you are,” she praised. “All well-behaved things deserve a gracious reward…”

You moaned softly against her neck, your hips moving synonymously with her slow strokes, the friction succeeding only in making you wetter. Just as your lips had parted to plead for more, you felt her hands anchor upon your hips to abruptly twist you, laying you supine on the large, cushioned lounge; Ambessa was poised above you, your legs parted to accommodate her.

She ran her hands along the sides of your crumpled shirt before latching onto the buttons, swiftly undoing them. You could only squirm in aid, your chest rising and falling with haste, your heartbeat thumping loudly in your ears. She peeled your shirt off of your body, just as she had all those days ago, and came at your belt next—she stripped you down bare, until you were shivering beneath her, both at the newfound exposure to hair and her eyes devouring you from above. Your skin prickled where she lay her hands, caressing you, massaging your breasts tenderly.

Her hands drifted up your neck, cupping your jaw. “Do you trust me, child?”

You nodded quickly, then added, ”Yes—yes, I do.”

Ambessa hummed in thought, her fingers suddenly gracing the length of your arms before she gathered your wrists and pinned them above your head. You flushed deeply in realization, watching her eyes rove over the sight with great pleasure.

She retrieved your wrinkled shirt to bind your hands above your hand, knotting your long-sleeves together. The bond was hardly restrictive, but it hardly mattered—you had no intent on removing them, anyway. You were more than pliable beneath her.

“So patient,” she grasped the silky fabric of her robe and, at last, slid the thing over the bulk of her shoulders, letting it drape from her naked body. You felt yourself salivate. “I won't keep you waiting much longer.”

Robe aside, she asserted her naked body between yours: your legs intermingled in such a way that your cunts were against one another, equally dripping, equally wanting. One hand bared your thigh up and the other was planted on your lower stomach, maintaining the balance as she slowly, steadily, began to grind her wetness against yours, making your back arch off of the couch.

You wiggled helplessly to meet her pace, gasping quietly, unable to resist the sight of her chest moving with her. She caught your eye as you stared—“Not to worry, you'll have plenty of time with them later, if you so wish.”

When her pace started to quicken, overpowering you in needy, noisy thrusts, you could no longer resist the noises that came from your mouth. You whimpered and groaned, voice trembling in the air as you whispered her name, whispered please and more, more, so blissfully greedy.

She knelt her body over yours, chests touching, her swollen clit brushing against yours in a way that made your toes curl. You threw your leg over her hip, helplessly swaying as she fucked against you. Your stomach coiled intensely, stinging you with need. “Ambessa…” you whimpered.

“That’s it, girl,” she grunted in your ear. “Tell me how good it feels, mm?”

When you felt yourself nearing the edge—squirming and moaning helplessly into your mouth—her hips suddenly slowed, a jarring loss of pace, evoking a pained cry out of you at your waning orgasm. Ambessa merely clicked her tongue and hushed you in low, soothing tones, listening to you whimper.

“Hush,” her arms slid around your waist, enveloping you in her entirely. “I’ll let you come this time, for being so good. Stay still.”

She squeezed you gently, reassuringly, building you up all over again while her lips suckled bruises and other marks akin upon you. You began to mutter incessantly, begging as your climax came again, despite her promises to let you finish. With a gentle huff, she diverted a hand from your back to place her thumb in your mouth, watching you suck on it compliantly with a fire alit in her eyes.

She tested you carefully, prodding her thumb deeper into the bounds of your mouth, feeling your tongue swirling around her skin. You were almost gagging, tears beginning to sting your eyes, but so devout to her pleasure were you that you continued to suckle, your noises muffled against her.

She waited until the first tear dripped down your cheek to remove her hand, wiping it away with a soft brush of her lips. She kissed you then, carding her fingers into your sweat-sodden hair, the feel of it notably tender.

Her orgasm leered just as yours did, and your combined grinding grew sloppier, wetter, desperate for it. Her hand tightened in your hair and your leg clung to her hip, hands balled above your head. She caught your lips fiercely just as you both came, your hips stuttering, her hips incessant despite the flow of slick slippery between both of your thighs. You threw your head back and shut your watery eyes.

At last, she slowed, your body prickling with overstimulation—hot and cold at the same time, your head clouded and spinning, unable to register a single thought besides that of the look on her panting face, of which was something you were yet to see, even during your first time you fucked. Her hand stroked your back gently, your intertwined legs finally still.

”There you are,” her eyes met yours, and you blinked away the dwindling remainder of tears. A calloused hand came and caressed your cheek. “I was hoping I hadn't run you dry already… what a mess you've made.”

Your face burned as Ambessa readjusted, giving you space to peer at the wet mix of cum and arousal, both yours and hers, dripping down your thighs. You opened your mouth, but she intercepted you, reading you easily: “No need to apologize.”

Instead, she heaved both of your legs up, bending you nearly in half. You let your head loll back against the arm of the lounge, closing your eyes, allowing yourself a moment of rest while she rustled below you.

That was, until, you felt her hot tongue against the surface of your abused cunt, lapping up the very fruits of her labor.

REST IN ME

It had been a long day. A long few, really, in which you had sat in the Medarda estate—moving to one room or another only by the gracious aid of your servants—restless, frustrated, and most importantly, utterly useless.

Only a short time ago had Ambessa received the letter, a call of higher powers, who beckoned her on a pressing and imperious mission—the concept of which was one you were not unfamiliar, as you were her righthand-woman, and had been for decades even prior to your marriage.

This calling had initially arrived in the form of a pristine, wax-sealed letter, and at that point in time, there was no doubt you would go. Ambessa hadn't even bothered to ask, she discussed it with you over dinner and your lack of argument proved an abundance of consent. You wouldn't have had it any other way.

It was especially inconvenient, however, when two days before the ships were set to sail that you unexpectedly fractured your leg during training, impairing it so tragically that even the care of a mage would not be enough to seal the wound time. It was of no help at all that Ambessa was unable to look you in the eye for the day following your initial injury, as she had been the unintentional and unwilling cause of it.

You were incessant that you should go, no matter your state—the two of you had trudged through wars in much worse conditions, relying only on eachother and the dwindling remainder of the Wolf’s Reapers to survive—yet it had all fallen short of success.

Tonight, the matter was especially urgent—that being because it was the last night before Ambessa was scheduled to depart from Bel’zhun with a select few of her warband, leaving you behind. It was your last night to raise your case, to prove that, despite your injuries, you were still the fighting woman you had been before; you were more than capable of sailing alongside her, just as you had always been.

“To go out with an injury such as yours would serve as a great risk to both you and the purpose of this campaign,” Ambessa stood before the burning hearth, her hands placed on her broad hips. She stared, not at you, but into the pit of flames, watching them spur wildly against the withering wood. “A broken hand, a lost finger—all things I could make do with, yet this impairs your ability to travel entirely. You can't expect me to—”

“I’m not expecting you to do anything, Ambessa.” you intercepted, bristling in your spot on the couch. You had been at it for what felt like hours already, and all you'd been generously rewarded with was an unending series of ‘no’s.’

If there was anything you hated in the world, it was inferiority. While most of the world already viewed you as Ambessa’s counterpart, you could always rely on her to treat you otherwise—you were capable, she said, you were her equal.

Yet now, you felt diminished. Unserviceable. Your chest still thrummed with the unpredictable music of war, just as you were sure hers did, but despite the scars, despite the ring, despite the living spark in your eyes and bark in your voice, it all amounted to nothing. She was an unmovable, unquestionable force, but you bit anyway, because being the only person to ever stand up to the General and survive was what made you so much of a Medarda anyway. “There is nothing in this world that we have not done together. As General and Commander, as political partners, as wives; one thing goes astray and suddenly you abandon that?”

“I’m not abandoning anything!” she snapped around then, her eyes flared wide, her voice thin and exasperated. There was an edge to her voice that you regarded with great caution, the invisible and ever-dangerous line you towed becoming more and more evident. “I am making a decision—a necessary decision—to ensure our success, and yet you question me. You question me as if I have not led us into victory time and time again, as if I'm not the reason you sit here now, only marked by kindred, rather than your soul in her clutches entirely!”

She approached you where you sat, towering over you in all of her predatory glory, a clear disdain in the way she pursued her saturnine-colored lips. Unwilling to feel small, you pushed yourself as upright as you could go, digging your nails into the plush of the couch.

Where you reared your head like an intimidated animal poised to fight, she extended her hand to cradle the strong outline of your jaw, her palm warm and calloused. The fight in your eyes flickered, but it did not disappear.

“You always fight,” her voice had lowered, the steadiness returning to it. The disdain in her eyes morphed into something ineffable, buried beneath layers of honed stoicism. “When do you ever rest, child?” She thumbed your bottom lip.

”That’s not…” Despite the way you longed to cave into the affection, you turned away, unable to give up your pride—but she pulled you right back in.

Ambessa leaned in, enough so that you could feel the gentle waft of warm air from her mouth, taunting your own lips. You glanced down, unable to resist instinct, and you realized then how badly you wanted to kiss her, how much you wanted to feel her against you after so many nights of absence and arguing.

“Entertain me, would you?” She beckoned you, pressing her lips to the corner of your mouth, making you shudder. She took your balled hands, pulling you closer, closer, pushing past your walls with ease and watching them crumble with a subtle spark of knowingness in her eyes. “You’re my wife, after all. If I cannot appease you, then why not do the one thing we can both agree on, mm?”

You were resistant—not to her, never to her—but to give in so easily. You clenched your jaw, torn between clashing your lips together with the passionate fervor and choosing to never, ever forget the taste of it, or keeping your head cocked to prove your strength.

She forced your eyes on her, lifting her chin to assess you squarely, the way her eyes picked you apart with such aimless effort serving to spark a simmering flame, flickering low between your thighs. “So resilient,” Ambessa lifted your head to begin kissing your jaw, one of her knees settling onto the couch cushion beside you, causing it to sag under this newfound weight.

“You know what you're doing,” you uttered through gritted teeth.

“Then stop me.”

She eased onto the couch entirely, on you, settling atop your body—the very one designed to hold her, worship her, make her feel good. Your hands settled on her hips out of instinct, and the soft pressure of her on top of you was familiar, grounding, and all the more enticing to your growing wetness. She moved slowly, tauntingly—each kiss and suckle of her lips placed purposefully, drifting over soft spots and scars, overwhelming you in her warmth.

Most, if not all people, did not deign the fearsome General Medarda to be a gentle lover. A woman with as much brute strength as her must, surely, be a force to be reckoned with in the bedroom—and to that, these oblivious guessers would be both right and wrong.

Ambessa could be ferocious. She could be indefatigable, restless, hungry; thirsty for every last drop of you that she could squeeze out before you were wrenched dry and near soulless. She could fuck the everliving sense out of you and keep you bedridden from your duties, all with a low, sweet tone, and quiet whispers of ‘sweet thing’ and ‘filthy girl.’

Yet, she could be gentle—rare as it was, she knew when it was needed, even when you could never speak it aloud. She could smooth her large, deft hands over the muscular expanse of your back, digging into your tenseness, making you come without having ever touched your dripping pussy. She could move by candlelight and fuck you slowly, murmuring in your ear, listening to you softly sob with overstimulation all the while pleading for more until you dropped.

Be it one or the other, something she never failed to do right was guess which one you needed, and just how much of it you quietly desired. It was like a minor glance into your eyes was a complete enrapture of your soul, its contents, and everything you buried inside. She was always happy to give, so as long as you asked and took.

You were gasping quietly against her now, her hands undoing the clasps of your shirt and massaging the sore flesh of your bound chest beneath. You squirmed when she slipped her fingers beneath the compressive material, eager to assist her.

She pulled the tight thing off of your body and pushed back the unbuttoned contents of your shirt, drinking in the sight she had seen so many times before. You moaned softly when she cupped your supple breasts, rolling her thumbs over your sensitive nipples, making you grab the bulk of her arm and squeeze.

“Do you want this?” her breath was hot against your ear, face already flushed, eyes half-lidded with your teeth sunken into the plushness of your bottom lip. Both of you already knew the answer.

“I…” you panted, brushing the excess of your short hair from your perspiring face. “I just.. I want you to—”

Her hand traveled upwards to the base of your neck, encompassing it in the expanse of her palm. You couldn't help but utter a groan at the gentle pressure, a weakness of yours she knew very well, and one she never failed to use to her advantage. You lifted your chin, struggling for words and drowning in your own conflicted desire.

“You want me to what?” She parroted, squeezing your throat to force your attention directly on her again. ”Say it, child. Say you want me to fuck you senseless, to help you remember your place.”

You rasped, “Ambessa—”

“You just want to be full of me—is that it? Such a filthy little thing…” her eyes narrowed, scrutinizing you, making you feel shamefully hotter and hotter until it was unbearable.

She squeezed again, and you lurched for her wrists—not with any desire to remove them, but to have something to hold while you squirmed beneath her. “Please,” you mustered, your resolve wavering if not washing away entirely. “Please fuck me.”

Her brow raised, the pressure on your throat easing, giving you enough leeway to regain some of your bearings and take in the sadistically content look on her face.

Ambessa moved forwards to kiss the side of your mouth, reeling away just when you turned to capture her lips, her hands descending to the underside of your thighs to effortlessly raise you off the couch.

The rest came and went in a haze of colors and heat. You were so desperate to have her hands on you, in you, that you seemed to drift from your consciousness entirely until your back hit the mattress of your bed, the two of you enclosed in the grand, master bedroom of the house. You blinked yourself awake, acutely aware of her abrupt absence on top of you, and glanced around to find her hoisting up a silicone strap-on to her hips—the sight of which made you clench your thighs, the space between them longing to be filled.

You made haste of your nakedness, stripping yourself bare and straining against the urge to relieve yourself as she kept you waiting. Impatient as you were when she got you riled up, you remained untouched when she appeared at the edge of the bed, a familiar, smug expression plastered upon her face.

She seized you by the ankle to tug you from your spot on the bed, pulling your supine body to the edge of it so that her hips rested in-between your sculpted legs. She ran her hands over your thighs, savoring the markings, scars, and curves of them. “I’ll never get tired of seeing you like this,” she smiled, grasping your hips.

Then, she flipped you over. She planted a hand on your lower back, just above the curve of your ass, and shoved two fingers inside your wetness. You groaned, pressing your face into the already-crumpled sheets, subconsciously clenching around her. Although the two of you weren't no different in stature, Ambessa remained taller, bigger than you; her hands encompassed yours by no challenge and her just two of her thick, deft fingers was enough to fill you, if not bring you to orgasm.

You bucked your hips against her hand, revoking a single, stinging slap on your ass, forcing you to muffle a particularly crude noise of both pain and pleasure.

“Patience,” she warned you. “You’ll get what you want if you behave.”

You whined against the sheets, sputtering. She had to admit—the sight of you deigned to gasps and lewd noises under her hands alone. ”That’s it,” she crooned, feeling your pliability under her, stretching you slowly. “Good girl.”

Her fingers left you, but there was hardly a chance for you to noise your protest before she was sliding her thick, silicone shaft inside of you, your back arching, head thrown back. Her hand lifted from your back to your neck, pushing you back down by the throat, fucking you against the bed.

”Aaah…” you might've been drooling, face-down in your large, king-sized bed, which shook with the immense force she used to thrust rhythmically into you. Your hands were useless for all but grasping fistfuls of the crumpled bedsheets, feeling your limbs devolve into lax underneath your wife’s powerful frame. The truth was, there was nowhere else you'd rather be.

“Filthy thing, just can't get enough,” she squeezed your neck, nearly enough to bruise. The conflicting mix of pain and pleasure drove you mad with need.

She bent over, her chest to your back, swallowing you in her frame. Her arms enveloped your waist and, suddenly, she was fucking you at such a depth you were unsure you'd ever be able to walk again, your body uselessly wriggling underneath her. ”Do you feel good, mm?”

”Fuck—” you muster, voice but a hoarse whisper in the air. ”’mbessa- ‘mbesa please, oh, god—fuck, I'm gonna cum—”

She mocked you sweetly, “Oh, are you now? You're gonna cum on this cock?”

”Yes, yes—fuck, yes…” you buried your face in the mattress again, spawning a pool of spit where you gnawed on the sheets. The knot forming in your lower stomach was so unbearably sweltering, having evolved from a carnal need between your legs to something that engulfed your entire person, making you crave more of her, all of her.

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded, your eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck me, fuck me… shit—”

Your orgasm swallowed you up in an overwhelmingly icy wave. Your thighs dripped with your exposed arousal, trembling, numb; you gasped and panted beneath her, completely spent, your hair a ruffled and damp mess of sweat and tangled. Her thrusting continues for a while after your climax, until you were whimpering feebly beneath her, subdued and exhausted.

You were too fatigued to speak, or even move as she pulled her slicked strap out of you, peering at its completely coated surface in amusement. You treaded on the cusp of consciousness all the while she pulled the attachment from her hips and discarded the very last of her clothes, before sweeping you up into her arms and settling with you in a less-soiled spot on the bed.

While you mumbled inaudibly against her, she spread your legs (wary of your injury) to carefully clean the mess between them with a handkerchief. She combed her fingers through your tousled curls, pressing her lips against your temple.

“You always take me so well,” she praised you quietly, smoothing her other hand over your hip, memorizing the already-familiar curves of your body. You leaned against her.

“Your injuries do not render you useless, girl. What you can do with your body is far from half of what makes you a Medarda.” she looked into your eyes, stroking you. “And it is certainly not why I married you.”

You inhaled deeply, then exhaled. An invisible weight seemed to lift from your shoulders at her words, easing the tender bruise they had caused. “I just.. didn't want you to think I wasn't capable anymore,” you said weakly.

She peered at you for a moment, then smiled proudly. “You are more than capable,” she kissed you again, this time on the lips. “You have just proven yourself so.”

BEHIND IRON BARS

Sevika sat idle in her manmade prison, ignorant to the sound of jingling keys in the narrow keyhole of her cell door. The metal jostled amongst each other, overcome by the shadow of one particularly powerful woman, whom Sevika herself had seen more than enough of.

She sighed, low and gruff, leaning the sweaty, sticky skin of her forehead against the cool concrete of the walls. She pursued her lips, listening to the woman enter, clenching and unclenched her bruised fists until her knuckles paled.

”Another fight?” Came her voice, pulling the door shut behind her. Her broad figure enveloped Sevika—at least, as she sat—the rattling ring of keys returning to her belt, yet another acute reminder of who had the power in this little back-and-forth dynamic. Sevika scoffed.

“The guards are considering moving you into an isolation unit,” Ambessa said, disapproval marking her voice. The slopes of her strong face were illuminated faintly in a wash of background light—not that Sevika needed any light to know those features at all; she had memorized them, time and time again, with Ambessa having undeniably done the same. Whatever connotations that had for their illicit ‘relationship’, she chose not to mind.

A hand seized Sevika’s face, Ambessa’s hand warm against her already perspiring face, the skin of her palm calloused in a way not-so different than her own. “Do you think silence will do you any good? That mouth of yours was what got you into this mess, girl.”

Ambessa forced Sevika’s back against the wall, leaving the younger woman scowling as she cornered her. “And you and I both know very well about how much you like to use that mouth,” her thumb prodded subtly at Sevika’s bottom lip, brushing over the silver ball attached to the bottom of her pursed lip. “So now would be a good time to speak.”

Sevika slapped her hand away, her thick, smoke-stained lips curling into a snarl. “I don't have to explain anythin’ to you,” she bit. Ambessa clenched her jaw. “Don’t act like you care.”

“If I'm expected to rot in here until some damn hero comes along to save us all, then I can do whatever the hell I want.” She thrust her face into hers, growling, her broad nose nearly brushing that of the other woman, who stood quite still before her. It looked, almost, like Ambessa might strike her; the stillness of her composed expression betrayed only by the wrinkle in her scarred brow, making the silence between them thicken with unease.

“Is that how you view it?” Ambessa scoffed, tipping up her chin as she narrowed down her greenish eyes at the other woman, whose twisted expression remained all the same. She continued, “That everything I've done for you, all of the burden I've had to bear cleaning up your messes was for my personal satisfaction? That I gained some sort of— heart, out of aiding you?”

The mechanical-armed woman chuckled wryly. “A heart, you?”

The General lunged for Sevika’s throat, slamming her back against the concrete with considerably more force than she had prior. Her nostrils flared, one thick, warm hand sprawled across the base of her neck, squeezing—not enough to suffocate her—but enough to send a message.

“Don’t make me laugh,” she muttered coldly.

Sevika grunted at the impact of the push, a groan of pain trembling past her lips as a dull ache split through the hard flesh of her back (in what little parts feeling still remained). Her eyes flared wide and she flexed the weak joints of her hips to spring her leg directly into Ambessa’s stomach, making the other woman lurch unexpectedly.

Her grip on Sevika’s neck consequentially loosened, giving her the upper-hand to seize Ambessa’s arm completely and yank her closer to strike her across the face. The General sputtered, her nose trickling with blood, but for all of Sevika’s strength she hardly flinched; her jaw wound tight, she turned to stare at the other woman, a fire before-unseen now burning dangerously in her eyes.

Ambessa snapped herself straight and dodged Sevika’s next lunge to grab her, condemning the woman by the wrist and seizing the rest of her body with it, shoving her to the ground without so much more than a grunt of effort. The other woman wriggled under her, gritting her teeth so tight that they might shatter in her mouth, straining against the throbbing waves of pain that conspired from her chest and ribs. Ambessa pinned Sevika’s arm to her own back, digging her nails into her dark skin.

The General slanted towards her face, moving to speak against her ear again, her voice low and steady:

“Is that really the best you can do?” The blood leaking from her nose dripped onto the floor besides Sevika’s face, smearing on Ambessa’s top lip. She sniffled, and moved to grasp the bulk of tense muscle that was Sevika’s shoulder to flip her over—leaving them face to face, with Ambessa on top, smiling sadistically.

“I should spit in your fuckin’ face,” Sevika wriggled uselessly under her again, to no avail with her one-armed disadvantage. “Come here.”

It was unlike Ambessa to listen—to obey to anyone at all—but to this request, she complied without missing a beat. Her lips connected with Sevika’s instantaneously, and the already-simmering spark it lit between them exploded in effect. The woman beneath her slid her tongue into Ambessa’s mouth at once, with the gesture fervently returned in a squirming mess of hair-pulling and low, soft groaning.

Sevika’s hips twitched upwards, in the direction of Ambessa’s own, seeking friction against her increasingly wet core. The General nipped harshly at her dark lips, absorbing the sinful sound that came—the pleasure Sevika found in pain, and the pleasure Ambessa got in giving it.

She slotted her thick, muscular thigh between Sevika’s, rubbing up against her cunt purposefully, one hand woven deep into her hair while the other remained restraining her wrist.

“Ooh, fuck— yeah,” Sevika muttered, hot against Ambessa’s mouth. The woman captured her in another brief and dizzying kiss before pulling away, beginning to bite and suck her way down the slope of Sevika’s neck.

She rocked her hips incessantly against the woman’s thigh, their legs intertwined as Sevika positioned herself beneath her, squirming for a pose to best press against both her clit and the rest of her dripping pussy from within the pounds of her prison-pants. “So fuckin’ slow,” her pinned hand spasmed and twitched, but Ambessa’s grip remained firm. She was in control, and Sevika knew it—loved it, unfortunately.

“Really?” The General hummed from below, pulling down the collar of her shirt to evince more flesh for her to paint with her teeth. She thrust her knee closer to Sevika, earning herself a strained moan.

She hissed through her teeth, the warm skin of her face flushing with unseen shades. “Janna’s sake,” Sevika scowled, tugging and tugging until she managed to break her arm free of Ambessa’s grasp, using her brief upper-hand to push the older woman over, landing on top of her in a mesh of legs.

“Can’t even fuck me like you mean it,” Sevika huffed, perspiring viciously, locking her strong legs around Ambessa’s middle to keep her from moving to the best of her ability. The General, half-impressed, half-frustrated with the woman’s disorderly impatience, laid below her with a raised brow and wolfish smirk.

“Are you that desperate for it?” She nearly cooed. “For my fingers inside of you? For my mouth in that sopping cunt of yours? Filthy girl. Always insatiable, aren't you?”

She forced Sevika closer by the collar of her shirt, breathing in the scent of her musk, now mixed with the prevalent tones of Ambessa’s leathery perfume. “You know I'll give it to you,” Ambessa murmured, low and almost sweet, her eyes undressing Sevika in a single glance-over her stiff body. “If you ask, and ask right. Don't make me waste my time.”

Her fingers smoothed along the stitched edge of her collar, a strange, subtle threat in it as Sevika panted above her, her brow knitted firmly, a visible confliction unraveling in her dark-eyed gaze. She snarled, exposing teeth, but Ambessa was unafflicted—going as far as to twitch herself up, pushing the solid muscle of her abs against Sevika’s clothed cunt, making sure she felt it.

“Like I’d ever beg for you,” too focused on conserving her pride (despite their previous escapades, which had been sporadic yet unforgettable over the past few months), Sevika wrinkled her nose at her, despite the way her lower stomach burned with need.

Ambessa clicked her tongue disapprovingly, though the lack of offense on her face portrayed that she knew Sevika wouldn't yield so easily. She reached and curled her fingers around the nape of the woman’s neck, forcing her in until their faces nearly touched. “You always hold yourself so high,” Ambessa said. “Even nobody is around to watch. Who is it that you insist on impressing?”

Her other hand slid over the bulk of Sevika’s chest, slithering down, down, until her hand cupped the cloth covering Sevika’s core. She felt the warmth against her calloused palm, relishing in the minor, restrained twitch of the woman’s face as the touch fanned the flames of an already ravenous fire, yet she held steady to her resolve. “Yourself?” She continued, brushing her fingers over the spot of sensitivity, which she seemed to know like the back of her hand. “Or the ghost of an audience, which you are so used to having?”

She pushed Sevika down so that they were chest-to-chest, and Ambessa could ease her hand below the waistband of her bands. She was met with a staggering grunt of surprise, but not discomfort or denial, and Sevika chewed her lip so hard that she nearly bled, withholding her sound.

She plunged two fingers into her wetness, “Well, they're not here, child.” She watched Sevika strain against her, swearing under her breath, yet thrusting her hips instinctively into the source of her pleasure. Ambessa did not move. “In this prison, in this cell, it is just you and me. So tell me, what are you so afraid of?”

Sevika’s hand grasped a fistful of Ambessa’s shirt, breathing heavily in her ear, her face shrouded in astray clusters of short, black strands. Ambessa slapped a hand to her hip to constrict her movement, leaving the woman’s fingers idle in her, something torturous of its own—white-hot shame coursed through her, half-fueled by pleasure, and in her humiliation, she failed to keep the feeble little whimper which trembled from her lips.

Ambessa chuckled coolly. “Oh, poor thing,” she nipped at her ear. “Do you need me to help you, mm?”

“Say it, mutt. Say you want me to make you cum,” she dared.

“Fuck,” Sevika swore, her voice unsteady in her own throat. “Fuck, fuck you—yes, I want it,” she panted, exhausted by the effort of all she had done, of everything she'd tried to keep secret, of having to force herself to be strong all day, every day; retaining her stoicism in the name of Piltover’s brute treatment of prisoners, in the way her inmates treated her, in denying herself salvation because she did not believe she deserved it. “Jus’ want to cum, so- so badly… I can't—”

Ambessa watched, and listened. she watched Sevika’s walls tremble and cave in under the pressure, and—with all of the leeway she needed now available to her—permitted herself right in with a quiet, soothing hum. She retracted her fingers swiftly, securing both of her hands on the woman’s hips instead, meeting her frustratedly bemused gaze with ease.

“How beautiful it is when you beg, my sweet,” her smile was wolfish, the underlying pride in her low voice not lost on Sevika. She grasped her jaw once more, observing the exhausted and needy face of the broken woman before her.

Oh, she could work with this.

“But I am a woman of my word,” she declared, moving her hand to rest the warmth of her palm against Sevika’s chest, pushing her upright on-top of her. “You want pleasure? Then sit on my face, and use my mouth til you fill it.”

Sevika’s brow twitched in disbelief, and she searched Ambessa’s expression thoroughly to search for any trace of deceit, only to find herself empty-handed. “You can't be serious,” she said, disgruntled. “I’ll—”

“Suffocate me? Please,” If she didn't know any better, Sevika might believe that The General had just rolled her eyes. “I have not simply dealt, but survived war, girl. I have been wounded and beaten so terribly that I feared Kindred might believe my soul hers for the taking—yet you think I cannot handle you?”

The mechanical-armed woman pursued her dark lips, finding her argument difficult to refute. It wasn't simply a matter of believing Ambessa incapable of handling her weight on her face, simply that, well, nobody had offered her that sort of position before—not unless she paid a good coin at the brothel.

Ambessa beckoned her, “Come now. The guards can only stay away for so long.”

She grumbled but moved in compliance, fumbling one-handed with the buttons of her pants, which Ambessa aided her in removing. She wrestled them off, only to be intercepted by the other woman toying with the fabric of her boxers, admiring the visible wet spot all of her teasing had created.

Ambessa pressed her lips—which Sevika found to be surprisingly soft—against the woman’s naval, slipping down the dark happy-trail adorning the hard muscle of her lower abdomen. Sevika buried her hand in her hair, biting her swollen lower lip while Ambessa toyed with the elastic waistband of her boxers, kissing lower and lower until they came off, too.

It was with a guidance that was almost kind that Ambessa guided Sevika’s hips over her mouth, who now disregarded her uncertainty in favor of tending to the intense flame burning between her legs. She settled her large hand in her hair again, lowering herself until her cunt was met with the length of Ambessa’s warm, wet tongue eagerly.

She groaned, letting her head fall back, exposing her flushed cheeks to the crisp and cool sterile cell air. Ambessa used her mouth with as much diligence as she promised, handling Sevika’s weight with ease; her tongue moving in broad, teasing strokes, which increased in pace slowly, earning an especially crude noise when her nose brushed against Sevika’s swollen clit.

“What a fuckin’ mouth,” she panted. “Shit—”

Ambessa anchored her hips with large, steady hands, a hum of pleasure thrumming from her as Sevika tugged at her hair. The woman spasmed above her, her orgasm leering over her shoulder, making her body hot with urgency.

Her hips rocked quickly, sloppily, and Ambessa drank her up nonetheless. When she finally came with a long, strangled moan, her pace stuttered against her merciless mouth. Her heart thrashed in her chest, everything she knew, worried about, or burdened herself with briefly forgotten in the thrush of the moment; enveloped by an overwhelming sense of relief and pleasure, panting, her grip faltering in the General’s hair.

She twitched, overstimulated by the relentlessness of Ambessa’s mouth against her—drinking up every last drop of her cum, watching her shiver from above at the sensation and sight. She groaned softly, helpless.

When Ambessa finally released her, she was almost content to slump over on the floor of her cell. She attributed her exhaustion—unusual as it was, considering the long lengths of time she'd spent in the brothels among the escorts of her preference—to Stillwater’s lack of adequate food, or nutrition overall, and attempted to blink the exhaustion from her face.

Ambessa could tell Sevika was unwilling to lean on her, but she took her by the shoulder and drew her in anyway. “You fared well, girl. You see now, don't you, how much easier it is when you let yourself cave?”

She drank in the sight of her half-baked body with great pleasure, admiring the muscled sculpt of her abdomen and thighs. She smoothed her hand down the warm skin of them.

“Though, I was expecting.. more,” she brushed the hair from her brow, which glinted with sweat, and attempted to lift her chin before Sevika pulled away.

“All this shithole does is suck its prisoners dry,” she remarked, her boldness trickling its way back into her system now that her pleasure no longer depended on the woman beside her. “If you were hopin’ for more, then you met me at the wrong time.”

Ambessa’s brow creased. Among the many titles Sevika had earned herself, be it out of fear, honor, or her sheer capability, that dishonesty was not among them, and the General too noticed the sag of exhaustion wearing her face—so unlike what she remembered of their first encounter, when her dark skin still held the flush of battle and life.

“Then perhaps,” she filled the space between them. “Arrangements can be made.”

She wasn't paying attention to you, and you were sure she was doing it on purpose.

From the moment she'd returned home from her meeting with General Medarda, you'd done everything in your power to rile her up—wearing your most evocative, rouge-colored slip; the one that dipped low over your chest and accentuated the soft curves of your plush hips. You leaned over the side of her desk, just enough to display your lack of underwear, but to no avail.

You tried ghosting your lips over her freckled cheeks, and slowly, tantalizing scratching her back with your manicured nails, all to fruitless success. She brushed you aside like a soldier lacking sailence as she read over her paperwork, nibbling on the tip of her ballpoint pen.

You weren't a fool. You knew the importance of these documents, the importance of Maddie's mission; you were acutely aware, in fact, of how one wrong step, one slip in her perfect little charade could be fatal not only for her, but for Ambessa's success entirely.

For her determination, you admired her.

But fuck, did you just want her fingers inside of you now.

”Not now, love.”

Maddie leans closer to her desk, addressing you without so much as a glance, or a flick of emotion in her tone. You let a disheartened whimper tremble pass your lips, hoping to guilt her, but she doesn't even twitch.

You let the feigned innocence on your face fall, pursuing your glossed lips. If this was truly about a lack of interest, about being too tired or too busy for you, then Maddie would decline you to your face, kiss your head, and offer a separate affection instead; you knew that because you knew her.

This workaholism was far from a new concept to you, and one that—as tensions increased in Piltover—become increasingly harder to tear her from.

Which simply meant you had to try harder.

You threw your arms around her shoulders and burrowed your head in the soft flesh of her neck, greedily drinking in the faded tones of her perfume. A small huff escapes her, her shoulders stiffening at the brush of your nose, but she makes no attempt to stop you.

“I missed you so much,” you murmur, low and sweet. You kiss her neck once, twice, then whisper again:

“Was thinkin' about you all day, baby. Your scent, and your touch...” you mouth gently about her neck, but the way her knuckles pale around her pen doesn't miss your keen gaze. Your other hand finds it's way down her uniform shirt, playing along the soft fabric. “Your mouth.. your fingers.”

You press your cheek against her, a quiet, muffled moan leaving you, as if you were imagining it right there—one hand, sprawled spider-like and clutching the sheets whilst your other buried itself in her choppy hair, squeezing, pulling; doing anything to get her somehow closer to you, even with her tongue buried deep inside your cunt. You bite your lip. “Your hands all over me, touching-”

Maddie intercepts you by seizing you by the arm, forcing you over her desk with an impressive ease that never ceased to fluster you. Her grip is immovably firm, but far from bruising. You almost wish it was.

“You think I don' know what you're doin'?” Her lilted voice is stern, yet soft. She presses one warm hand flat to your back, the other pinning your arm down against the assortment of files, documents, and annotated cases. You all but whimper, squeezing your thighs together. This position draws your slip up so high that she can nearly see your wetness.

You hear her huff again, like an exasperated cat, but she's sliding her knee between your legs before you get the chance to comment. The feeling is an all-but-familiar one, but you gasp and mewl anyway, pressing your hips down in an instant as though you had been starved of pleasure for far too long.

You feel her eyes burning into your back as you helplessly grind against her thigh, somehow making your wetter, more desperate to seek the resolve to the hunger she'd refused to acknowledge all day.

A gentle hand tucks an astray strand of hair behind your ear, and Maddie leans in while you squirm.

“You want it so bad?” her voice was disturbingly calm, a command wrapped in that strong accent of hers that made you swoon. “Tell me what you'll do for it, love. Tell me how.. desperate you are, mm?”

Her other hand was working its way to your front, falling dangerously low to the soaked space between your thighs, sending an overwhelming rush of impatience and excitement through you. Her words were momentarily lost in your head—too busy focusing on how good it felt to bent over her desk—before you could even muster up something to say.

“Maddie, I- oh, I'll do anything, please, anything—fuck!” her finger circled your swelling clitoris, making you press your thighs impossibly tight around her moving knee. You were loud, just as you knew she liked. “Maddieee...”

You began to pant, your hands spasming against the wood, desperate for something to steady yourself with. Your nails scrapped against the surface of her desk with enough force to leave marks, the noises she fucked out of you rising in pitch until you were a gushing mess of embarrassing squeals and moans.

She buried two fingers in your warmth, the pad of her thumb slow and torturous on your clit while her fingers pumped you with a knee-buckling haste. You gasped her name—or attempted to—as your vision began to spot, the knot of heat in your stomach clenching unbearably tight. “Oh, oh—”

Maddie's hand wove into your hair and grasped a fistful—not to pull—but to draw your head back to make you louder. “Say my name,”

Too close to your climax to procure anything of coherency, you could only sputter, whining when her pace began to falter as a result. “Please—”

She thrummed with disapproval and, in a jarring instant, everything stopped.

She reeled back from you entirely, stealing the friction between your thighs and the fingers she used to soak you further. You cried as though she had wounded you, the theft of your impending orgasm the most cruel you'd seen of her yet. You glanced teary-eyed over your shoulder to see her standing idle, watching you struggle to collect yourself while she wore your dampness on her pants and sleeves.

She caressed the curve of your ass soothingly, but there was something inexplicably mocking about her soft gaze looking down on you.

“Not good enough, sweetheart.” Maddie patted you. “Though you sounded dead braw.”

Her smirk didn't miss you as she returned to her seat, leaving you to rise shakily besides her, dripping with arousal. The humiliation, embarrassingly, did nothing but worsen it, and you clenched yourself around nothing as you watched her work again like you didn't exist.

The fire within you had risen enough to make you perspirate alone, finding yourself only emboldened by the need eating away at you. She was messing with you on purpose, and you knew it; giving you what you wanted, but only until she had satiated herself rather than you. It was a tactic that, you were sure, had been instilled in her by Ambessa, in all of her meticulous training.

As mean as Maddie could get, you had to confess, you loved it more than when she was nice. She was so fucking evil, and it got you so goddamn horny.

Unable to simply beg for it, unable to wait or contain yourself for even a second longer, you grabbed the armrest of her chair and pounced onto her lap, making yourself comfortable with your thighs around her; your bare pussy pressed against the fabric of her pants, making you moan in relief to have friction once again. You rocked your hips back and forth instantly, the pleasure washing over you in forgiving waves. You thrust your lips against her ear, taunting her.

“I'm yours,” your hands fell to clutch her thigh, stabilizing yourself as you fucked yourself on her. “All yours, baby- Officer. Need you so fuckin' bad.”

“Anon-” her jaw clenched, the crude sounds warming her instantly. Her pale eyes widened, gleaming in the subtle lamplight of her workspace, watching you hump her leg like a starved animal with a look between bemusement and desire.

You reared back, batting your eyelashes at her while your hips moved with an urgent rhythm of their own. You took the opportunity of her speechless stare to tear your hands from Maddie to cup your breasts and push them together within your slip, gasping lewdly as you flaunted your chest before her.

You watched the resolve in her eyes flicker until she gave in with an exasperated, needy grunt, one hand springing to guide your hips while her other cupped your face.

“Shit,” she kissed you, hard. You returned the gesture with fevor, moaning against her tongue. It was warm and wet and familiar, and she tasted like something vaguely sweet, something you found you desperately needed more of. It seemed like she shared the thought, tugging on your bottom lip with her teeth and lapping up the sugary gloss on your lips.

Her pink lips began to trail down from yours, peppering along your chin and jaw, making you throw your head back. Her hand slid into the tresses of your thick hair, holding you there while she sucked and licked along the sides of your neck. “Y'er so beautiful,” she muttered. “All of you.”

Your motions grew faster and sloppier as you felt your climax dawn on you again, feeling your heart stammer against the cage of your ribs while she whispered sweet nothings against you, guiding you firmly against her thigh. Subconsciously you feared that she might again tear your orgasm from you, but she was so worshipful in her ministrations now that you let yourself cling to her hopefully.

A string of incomprehensible noises escaped you, throwing your head into her neck as you came, a sweltering thrush of heat racking your body while your hips stuttered uncontrollably against her. Chest-to-chest, she rubbed your back, kissing you soothingly while you recollected yourself as the cooling aftermath flushed over you.

“Good, so good,” her fingers trotted up your slip, following the indentured curve of your spine. You shuddered.

When you lifted your flushed face from the crevice of her shoulder to peer at her, Maddie encircled her arms around your waist and kissed you tenderly. You tilted your head, angling yourself better against the plush softness of her now-swollen lips, when she abruptly pulled away to speak.

“But I'm not done with you yet, love,” she said—a commitment and a promise. You recognized the satiable look in her eyes; the gaze of a woman who had spent far too much of her day under the innocent, bubbly facade of the so-called Junior Officer that Piltover loved. “I'll give 'ya what you've been beggin' for.”

Her arms crept lower and she moved suddenly to sweep you up from the sticky mess you'd made of her thigh, directly onto her clutter-ridden desk. She stationed herself between your legs, peeling her soiled, black gloves off of her hands with her teeth before settling them on the supple flesh of your bare thighs.

When you moved in to kiss her, she dove down instead, dropping to her knees in front of you and spreading your legs without a single strain of effort. Again, you threw your head back, finding yourself crumbling the papers beneath you in an effort to keep yourself steady while she ate.

And Maddie kept her promise, all night long.

I got this request sometime last year, so, anon, if you're still with us.. I hope this was worth the wait !!

“Mmmph...” You reached for Maddie's hands as they crept over your hips, her fingertips gliding over the smooth silk of your nightwear. Despite your protests, you couldn't resist the fond quirk of your lips at her familiar neediness. “Maddie.”

Behind you, she hummed absentmindedly, raining kisses down on your neck as you stilled your hands in her own. You shuddered, the sensation of her lips on your warm, bared flesh a familiar one; she feigned innocence, but she knew the planes and curves of your body like the back of her hand. Numerous nights spent together in the dark ensured that.

Nights of which had become increasingly sparse as the demand of her job increased. With the political strain on Piltover, the workload got heavier, resulting in later and later hours she would come home to you.

And tonight was no different.

As much as the distance saddened you, there was one upside to the routine that you couldn't deny—the more time Maddie spent away from you, the more hungry she returned.

“You smell so good,” she purred, burrowing her face in the crook of your neck. She smiled at your hushed giggles and pursued her lips to begin kissing you there, too, lingering over your pulse point to bruisingly suck. Your hand came up to tangle in her hair, her ginger locks slightly disheveled from a days work.

The bedsheets rustled as you two shifted—Maddie rolling on top of you, her hands sinking down your body towards the hem of your gown, which you helped her to quickly discard—a practiced charade, yet one that never left you flushed and gasping when her head immediately dove to the part of you she craved most.

Her hands took advantage of their freedom and rose to caress your breasts. She squeezed the supple flesh tenderly, eliciting a moan from your pretty lips. Her ministrations continued, now fueled by your sinful string of sound.

She was on you in seconds; burying her face between your thighs, her hands governing your hips to steady you as she stroked the length of your cunt with her warm, wet tongue. Your back arched off of the mattress, grabbing her choppy hair in an attempt to straighten yourself as she lapped at you. The sloppy hunger she sucked your pussylips and mouthed at your clit with left you stuttering.

“Fuck!” you cried, jerking past her grip to push more of yourself into her mouth. A vibration of disapproval came from her but she persisted, unable to tear herself away from you.

Your first orgasm of the night was all soft gasps and moans. Your thighs trembled and she stroked them soothingly, slowing her ministrations but never stopping; she took to licking up your cum now, relishing the little whimpers of overstimulation she earned.

She came down to suck on your clit, not long after inserting a third finger inside of you, leading the simultaneous performance of your cum on her face and her name on your lips.

Her head perked up from between your thighs, meeting your half-lidded gaze. You resisted a groan at the sight of her damp lips and chin, messy with your arousal. “You taste so good.” She praised, kissing your thighs, her accented voice low and affectionate as one of her hands moved to tease your clit.

Your gasp evolved into something much more crude as she eased two fingers inside of you. “So wet,” her eyes were locked on your hole, watching raptly as she pumped her fingers slowly in and out of you, how your fluids dripped down her knuckles.

Her whispered praises made up for the sweltering impact the sight of her sucking the cum off of her fingers had on you. It was almost embarrassing how quickly she could both arouse and undo you, building you up with as much swiftness and skill as she used taking you apart, savoring and commiting your every little response to memory.

She carefully laid you down on your back, the strength she harbored for someone her size a long-gone surprise for you. She stroked your hair, murmuring about how well you did, how beautiful you looked, before she rose from the bed to procure the supplies to clean and hydrate you.

It was after your third orgasm—which consisted of you sitting on and riding her face—that she let you rest.

Not to worry, though, you could repay her later—you often did during her pre-shift showers. . .

— My first request! Which I conveniently, accidentally posted to, panicked, and deleted. . . But anon, if you're reading this, I hope it lives up to the expectation.