#lesbean

deb was on her knees, a supplicant at the altar of your pleasure, every ounce of her focus honed on the heat radiating between your thighs. nothing else existed—no world, no time—just the slick, intoxicating taste of you on her tongue, the sinful melody of breathless moans tumbling from your lips like a prayer to some deviant deity.

her fingers clutched at your trembling thighs, nails biting into soft flesh as if she could anchor herself in the storm of desire threatening to consume you both. she held you wide open, exposed and vulnerable, a feast laid bare for her insatiable hunger. and, oh, how she feasted—slow, deliberate licks that morphed into something feral, something primal. she was possessed, utterly consumed by the need to devour you, like a woman who hadn't eaten in days, weeks, years. every taste of you was ambrosia, every gasp from your lips fuel to her fire.

her grin against your fevered skin was wicked, sinful—a flash of teeth and sin before her sharp tongue found your clit, circling it with maddening precision. the pressure built until your breath hitched, and she could feel the tension coiling deep inside you, a taut line ready to snap. (she loved it—fuck, she lived for it—this power, this control, this sacred, filthy ritual of breaking you down and building you back up with nothing but her mouth.)

her movements grew sloppier, more desperate, as she descended lower, plunging her tongue inside you with reckless abandon. her name ripped from your throat in shattered fragments, a ragged hymn to the goddess between your legs. your nails dug into her shoulders, a desperate plea, a grounding force, as you bucked against her, lost in the throes of ecstasy she wrought with every frenzied flick of her tongue.

“fuck, deb,” you gasped, your voice a trembling whisper, shattered by pleasure, each word dripping with raw, unfiltered want. she growled against you, that guttural, primal sound vibrating through your core, and she knew she had you—utterly, completely. her girl was starved, ravenous, devouring you like it was her last meal, and nothing could stop her from savoring every second, every drop, every moan you gifted her.

(oh, she’d worship you like this for hours, days, if she could—until your legs were trembling and your voice was hoarse, until you were nothing but a quivering, spent mess beneath her.)

debra’s tongue never faltered, every wicked flick and swirl sending shockwaves through your trembling body. but she wasn’t done—oh, no, not even close. her fingers, slick with your wetness, slid down, teasing the sensitive, swollen folds as her tongue continued its relentless assault on your clit. (she loved the way your body responded, the way you writhed beneath her touch, desperate, needy, hers.)

with a groan that vibrated against your core, she pushed one finger inside you, slow at first, savoring the way you clenched around her, hot and tight. (fuck, she could stay like this forever, buried inside you, feeling every pulse, every desperate contraction.) but one finger was merely the beginning. it was never enough—not for her, not for the insatiable need clawing at her insides. she slid in another, stretching you, filling you, claiming you. her thumb pressed against your throbbing clit, slick and swollen, the pressure sending shockwaves through your nerves.

she curled her fingers, searching, teasing until she found that perfect spot that had you arching off the bed, your back a taut bow of ecstasy. “that’s it,” she murmured against your skin, her voice a low, sinful growl, dripping with lust and power. “my good girl’s gonna cum for me, isn’t she? gonna fall apart on my tongue, my fingers, just like this.”

her mouth descended again, tongue swirling, teeth grazing, driving you higher, closer to that edge. (the way you moaned her name, half-sobbing, half-begging—it was everything. she could drown in it, in you, in the filthy, beautiful symphony of your pleasure.)

her pace quickened, fingers thrusting deeper, harder, while her mouth worked in tandem, tongue relentless against your clit. every sound you made spurred her on, a symphony of gasps, whimpers, and cries that echoed in her ears like a twisted, erotic prayer. (she lived for this, for you—broken and beautiful, unraveling beneath her hands, her mouth, her everything.)

“fuck, deb, i’m—” the words caught in your throat as your body tensed, every muscle locking tight before the wave of your orgasm crashed over you, violent and consuming. you came with a shattered scream, your body convulsing around her fingers, wet and hot, soaking her hand as she worked you through it, relentless and merciless. (she didn’t stop, couldn’t stop—not until you were trembling, sobbing her name, begging her for mercy, for anything, for more.)

And I like to think I'm getting better!

Adapting. Learning how to do things and help around the castle. I even helped start a fire for the fireplace the other day! Before THAT? I learned how to set hunting traps... rather badly. I have yet to catch anything. But still! Progress, is it not?

Where was I? Ah, yes.

Calysta. Her rank is something between a Warlord and a King, as far as I can tell? It holds the respected sovereignty of a ruling monarch yet? Can be seized. Should she grow "weak". Is not NECESSARILY passed too one's children. They, presumably, have an ADVANTAGE... but? It goes too "the Chosen child of..." that word I'm still having some difficulty getting a good translation off.

And if I remember correctly, Calysta's brother's did NOT appreciate that. As they had been favored by her father. Showered with praise most of their lives. One of them ASSUMED to be the next leader.

They challenged her.

Did not back down.

Now? Now she has neither Father nor brothers. Not that it seems she had much of either to begin with. Frankly? I am GLAD she won. She is good for the North. Strong, steady, highly tactical. A wry wit. And a FEIRCE love for her people and culture. NO ONE will take it from her. Destroy these beautiful peoples.

I'm tugged back lightly, away from my desk to sit up properly against the back of my chair. The hand on my neck shifting softly, ever so slightly up, to cup the underside of my jaw. Tilting my head up so I can not see my work but must instead meet the eyes of my dear friend.

"Enough, little mouse." There is a fondness to the edge of her mouth, she is not one for great grins and wild expressions. It has taken me months to learn how to read her so well. "Your papers will still be there AFTER you warm up. Should be easier to right, don't you think, when you can actually feel your fingers again?"

I huff a laugh.

Honestly... where would I be with out her? Frozen to death, probably. I get entirely to fixated on my work. Food, drink, keeping the fire running. I notice none of it. Probably shrivel up and die. The fact she even takes the time to check on me? Dispite being as important as she is? Let NO ONE say Calysta does not CARE. She is a good person.

My legs feel numb and prickly, stiff, in that distinctly asleep and too cold sort of way, as I try to stand. Calysta has to wrap her arm around my waste and let me lean against her. She feels almost too hot against me. Another sure sign I have, indeed, allowed myself to get too cold. Oh dear.

With an exasperated snort, once it becomes clear my legs will probably not be recovering fast enough for her liking, Calysta decides she will speed things along. My legs are swept out from under me effortlessly. I don't even squeek anymore, this has happened so often. But I USED too.

It is how I became "mouse".

Now I just allow Calysta her way. She'll put me down when she wants to put me down. And honestly? It's kinda fun to be carried like a child. I feel tall. Weightless and somewhat decadent, it makes my heart beat a faster. And on somedays? All I want to do is go boneless. Allow myself to be HELD. Not that I'll ever tell. So Shhhhh, a secret to our graves, okay? It would make things awkward for her.

She strolls down the hall with me, too her office. No one so much as blinking an eye. We've become so common in our shenanigans, I imagine, it's become mundane. And... ah~ Calysta was RIGHT. I WAS cold. The fireplace in her office is full with logs burning away merrily. The windows we passed in the hall showed snow. It seems the storm's finally hit..

Instead of putting me down, Calysta heads for the couch. Turning and with a huff, flopping down, making both of us bounce a bit. Leaning back with me less in her arms now, so much as in her lap. The room is quiet. Hushed almost. The crackle of fire, the distant howl of wind, far away chatter of life, elsewhere in the castle.

Calysta has leaned back against the back of her office's couch. Head rested against the fur blanket draped against the back of it. The fur mixes with her riotous man of hair to create almost a halo, lit in golds by the fire's light. Her eyes are closed as she takes her moment. The fire light makes her face softer.

But never soft.

No force in all the world could make Calysta anything but the Queen she is. Dangerous and powerful. First into battle and last to leave. She is breath taking in the way all deadly things are, I think. Like blades and poison held up to the light. Predators and fires that burn.

"You're staring, little mouse." She says, voice nearly a whisper in the softness of the room. It is a rumble like mountains and the sweet call of dangerous things. She's always had such a commanding voice. I envy it. "Is my face so entrancing?"

She's smirking. Teasing me. I laugh and rest my head against her shoulder. Let myself drift as the chill in my bones fades away. The arm loosely around my waist to keep me from falling off, has taken to lightly stroking my back. Almost absent-mindedly. Occasionally, fingers playing with the ends of my hair.

A servant has come-by. Removed our shoes for us. Brought Calysta missives and responses. General updates. She shifts us. Tucking me against her as she lays down, tucking me between her body and the couch. Fuzzy blanket over me, arm wrapped around me. I... I feel boneless.

Safe.

Everything warm and quiet and far away.

Trusting, I doze off. Cuddling close and utterly content.

Calysta presses a kiss to the crown of my sleeping head. Let's her hand roam, just a bit, simply to feel the perfect way her little mouse fits right up against her. She was MADE for her. Born to be here. Still... she has to be... be GENTLE. Soft.

It's hard. She hasn't had much practice in that.

But good things are worth the struggle for them. True love is WORTH the time, the effort, to learn how the South romance. Figuring out how to woo her lil mouse as she deserves. Making sure she never leaves.

Speaking off...

She diges out the ridiculous fancy paper envelope at the bottom of the stack. Hidden, as per her instructions, so her little Mouse wouldn't see it. Another one, it seems, from that damn "House" of hers. Southern Clans were pretty damn presumptuous, weren't they? Had some fucking gall.

What did THIS one say?

Let's she... "come back at once" blah blah blah "how dare you ignore all our letters" blah blah "you WILL honor the engagement we've found for you, or ELSE" oh? Threats now, huh? Ah~? "Keep ignoring our letters and you'll be cast from House-" well, well~!

That's convenient.

One flick of the wrist, and the letter is in the fireplace. Burning away. Just like all before it. Oops. How difficult it is, to get news from the South. Her little mouse really SHOULD just forget about them. THIS is her home now. THEY are her people.

Her girl doesn't need anyone else.