#stud reader

She takes you shopping for a suit. She tells you hers is navy and nothing else wanting you to not be influenced by her. When you come out in the suit you really like you find yourself out of it very quickly and nearly getting caught by the attendant. Thankfully Baran's mind was a bit more clear and able to produce some excuse as to why it was taking so long. When you get home she puts on her dress and she finds herself out of it rather quickly as well but with no interruption thank god.

When you were getting ready the night of the Gala Baran and about to leave Baran surprised you with cufflinks in the shape of a cursive B. She smirked at you with an air of possession simmering under her gaze. "So there's no confusion about how you belong to." She said before dragging your dumbfounded body out to the Uber. In the car she fixes your hair and tells you how absurdly handsome you looked. You tried desperately not to completely crumble under her attention.

At the Gala you two entered together, Baran arm wrapped around yours in a way that left no room to question what you were to each other. Eyes immediately landed on you which then did a double take when you reached the bottom and she leaned in kissing your cheek smiling like no other. "I'm so happy Azizam that I get to let our coworkers know how lucky I am." She whispered.

You drank, ate, and danced for part of the night. But most of it was talking to everyone who knew you and Baran. Her residents (the Pittlings as she lovingly called them) were the most enamored trying to get the whole story. But Baran had told them that was more a story for a bar than a Gala. Your coworkers took a different approach and asked Baran if she had to remind you as much as they did to drink water and eat your lunch as they did. She didn't have to but promised them she'd work on that with you at home. Your coworkers were passing money around after that and you didn't bother asking what that was about. You'd know come tomorrow.

The both of you wrapped up the evening taking shots when the Pittlings so by the time you got home you were both teetering between tipsy and drunk. But one thing was very true. You were both extremely horny.

None of your clothes made it to the bedroom. You made an immediate pitstop at the front door. Then the kitchen counter. Then the couch. Then the hallway wall. When you finally made it to the bedroom you pulled an unknown amount of rounds before collapsing into each other at 3am knowing that tomorrow would be the longest day of work for multiple reasons. But neither of you found the will to care.

You stood outside the shop and swallowed to steel your nerves. Metal blared from inside, and though you didn’t mind, it didn’t help the rabbit-fast beating of your heart. Pushing out a shaky breath, you pulled open the door and were greeted by the sound of chimes. The interior was dark with warm spot lighting over the stalls and reception desk. The little wait area had short leather sofas and a cooler of iced chai. The whole place smelled lovely, sandalwood and myrrh curled pleasantly in your nostrils. It was rather relaxing. In a specially built alcove, a white reclining Ganesh statue faced the entrance, its sandstone trunk tilted left. A little bowl of star apple and cut jackfruit sat in front of it. A Jamaican flag adorned one of the walls.

“You gonna keep lookin’ around like you lost, or what?”

The deep, rich voice startled you. You whipped your head around to find a rather large butch giving you an unimpressed stare from behind the counter. Her dark hair was a tousled bob with an undercut, and she had a silver labret between her strong chin and full, dark lips. Her nose was adorned with a silver hoop in one nostril and a jeweled stud in the other. Her tattooed, hairy, brown, muscled arm rested on the mahogany of the table. A sleek prosthetic one rested on her hip. She looked completely in her element, eyes covered in dark eyeshadow, tight ass ripped black jeans, and a muscle tank with no bra that barely left anything to the imagination. 

“Yeah,” you coughed. “I’m here for the 3:00 pm with Sevika?”

The mysterious woman grabbed a clipboard and scrutinized it before scratching off a name.

“Back’s set up for you. Move it or lose it.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, then followed as her heavy boots thudded in the empty space. The back was decorated similarly to the front: warm overhead lights, incense burners wafting through the space, and a sterile chair with paper draped over it.

You weren’t afraid of piercings; in fact, you’d spent a rather concerning amount of your paycheck on body mods. Eyebrows, lips, ears, and even nipples. With how used to them you’d gotten, you let your stupid lil’ friends convince you this one would be no different. 

“Pants off whenever you’re ready. Don’t take too long, though. Got a 3:45 right after you.”

“‘Scuse me?”

“Thought you’d get a VCH with ‘em on?” she quipped, turning around and crossing her flesh arm over her prosthetic. 

Your breath caught in your throat. Yeah, that’s what you were here for, but you didn’t think this woman was your piercer.

“You Sevika?” you asked, somewhat incredulously. The piercer raised a perfect brow, answering your question wordlessly.

Your stud bro said it would make topping ten times better, and your fem bestie constantly raved about how great head felt with hers. Their recommendations rang in your ears as Sevika got set up, her back turned to you. Ouu, y’all were gonna have a talk later for sure.

“You alright?” That same deep and heavenly voice brought you out of your head. “Cancellation fee for this one’s pretty low. There’s no pressure, kid.”

You shook your head. You were doing this, dammit. You weren’t scary.

“You mind?” you started, fiddling with the button of your pants. Sevika gave you a crooked smirk, one that made butterflies crash around your gut, before turning around.

Relieved, you eased down your pants, then your ethikas, the cool air of the shop hitting your bush like a shock. You’d trimmed just enough to keep any hair from around the piercing site. You folded them and placed them on a spare bench. Sighing shakily, you climbed up onto the chair, legs spread wide with the mindset of “fuck it, I’m here now”. 

“You can turn around now,” you said, face hot as you pointedly looked away from your fine ass piercer. Sevika, to her credit, said nothing as she sat on the stool next to the medical chair and rolled her side table closer.

“You definitely got the anatomy for it, I’ll give you that,” she praised, her gloved fingers gently checking the hood above your clit by tugging on it and sliding a sanitized Q-tip between the flesh. 

“Thanks, man,” you shuddered, trying to keep from bucking into her touch. You couldn’t ignore how nice the latex felt, nor the pleasant tickle of the cotton. The good lord wasn’t taking this easy on you at all. “This not gon’ hurt too bad… right?”

Sevika laughed as she removed the q-tip and placed it in the bio-waste bin. It didn’t sound mean, just sounded like someone who’d heard that question countless times before. It sounded real pretty, rough with age and probably smoke, but sweet and a little feminine.

That definitely didn’t help.

“Okay, I’m gonna mark it up for you. You got enough length to fit a curved fourteen-gauge here.”

Sevika explained the general procedure to you, her voice reassuring as she sanitized her tools with alcohol wipes and your pussy with surgical wash. You tried not to jump at how the cold air of the studio chilled against you, making you incredibly sensitive. The soft press of the body-safe felt marker against your damp hood was magnified, the tiny fibers sending jolts up your spine. You were so focused on not getting horny that you didn’t notice the question Sevika had asked. You blinked when she called your name again.

“Gold or silver? Price is the same here.”

“Oh, uh, white gold.”

“Good choice,” she chuckled, receiving tube in one gloved hand and fourteen-gauge needle in the other. You couldn’t believe your ears, and your face burned as you lost the battle against the warmth in your hips.

Sevika, to her credit, remained completely professional, not commenting on how your clit twitched. You chanced a glance down and realized what a mistake that was the minute you saw Sevika’s face mere inches away from your lower lips, her strong brows knit in concentration. Mortified, but helpless against your thing for older and alternative women, you felt a small bead of arousal drip along your folds. Humiliation had you short of breath, clutching the armrest for dear life with one hand and biting into your other fist.

“Loosen up, kid, it’s completely normal,” chuckled your piercer, a kind smile curling her lips. You nodded and relaxed a bit, shuddering as you did. “Good job.”

It was so over. You whimpered at the praise and prayed to God she didn’t hear it, or at least mistook it for nerves instead of lust.

“You can be brave for me, right? Deep breaths.”

You sucked in air as the tip of the needle pricked the underside of your hood, your heart rate outpacing the thrashing drums of the metal song in the speakers. In a split second, blinding pain flooded your body.

“Oh, fuck!” you scream, leg kicking out. Sevika dodged it and rubbed at your thigh soothingly as tears ran down your cheek.

“Shh, you did so good. You’re much stronger than you think, kid.”

The immediate praise shot straight to your clit, which twitched proudly against the receiving tube and needle. Sevika worked fast, sliding in your chosen curved barbell immediately and screwing the bottom ball shut. She ran a body-safe wipe over the fresh wound, stopping the blood flow, and you finally slipped up. A moan that couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than lust left your lips. It was short, but there was no way Sevika hadn’t heard it.

“Oh?”

You could die.

“I- fuck, man, I ain’t mean it like that.”

“Like what?” Sevika grinned, gap teeth and smiley on display, and this time it was definitely mean. She continued to wipe away the beading blood, but her steely gray eyes never left yours. Her tone practically cornered you as you squirmed, breathless from the pain and how much wetter it made you. “Go on.”

“I didn’t,” you sniffle, eyes still wobbly as more tears came, and your jaw clenched in humiliation. God, your friends were gonna roast your ass for weeks. “Didn’t mean it sexually. Oh my god.”

Sevika stood up, disposing of her gloves and pushing the chair down. Smirking, she bracketed you in with her insanely strong right arm and metal left. Had you not been on the verge of tears (or busting a nut), you would’ve asked for her routine. Your breath caught, and you stared up at her, eyes wide and wet. Here you were, pants-less, panting, and vulnerable, all while your evilly hot piercer leered above you like you were a piece of meat. You liked to believe you had top energy, but right now? You felt like her bitch.

“You sure about that?” the older woman chuckled, shifting her weight onto her prosthetic as she grabbed your face with her flesh hand. “‘Cus that’s perfectly normal too.”

Of course, Sevika knew she was fine. And of course, she just had to make it your problem too. Then, just as suddenly as Sevika had invaded your space (not at all unwelcomingly), she pulled back and grabbed a pamphlet from the cabinets along a wall. She handed it to you as you moved to sit up, dazed.

“Aftercare instructions,” she grunted, that same professional and gruff tone returning. 

You blinked, then laughed a little, tears drying as you accepted the folded paper and finally moved off the chair. You definitely didn’t look at the tiny wet spot you left on the paper. Luckily, Sevika left you to dress in private, and when you finished wincing and hissing your way through pulling up your boxers and buttoning your pants, you waddled awkwardly to the front and slipped out your phone for the tap-to-pay.

“Thanks,” you muttered, too ashamed to meet the grey eyes that pinned you to that chair. You felt yourself yearning to say more, but what? “We straight?”

“Sure thing. Come see me again in 4-8 weeks to check on it, and call if you run into any issues, y’hear?”

“Yeah, jus’ lemme write down the shop number,” you affirmed, and moved to open your phone to type it in your notes when Sevika stopped you with a snort.

“Not that one, kid,” she smirked, jerking her head to the pamphlet in your other hand. You unfolded it and found a different number scrawled inside in Sharpie, and a stupid-ass smile spread across your face.

“Will do.”

You left that shop with pain in your pussy, but your head in the clouds.

Those four weeks passed by slow. Week one hurt like a bitch. You had to be ginger with it; the drag of the washcloth in your shower was your number one enemy. Sometimes, sitting down too hard had you shooting up like someone kicked you right between the legs. Week two was considerably better. You could walk without looking goofy, and patting it dry was a less horrible ordeal. You texted Sevika the less icky details, somehow still embarrassed despite this woman clearly having seen (and touched) your entire business. That, of course, didn’t fly, and she made sure you told her about every detail, only to confirm you were in fact healing properly.

By week three, you barely remembered it was there, and by week four, the site was clear of all crusting or soreness. Being able to touch yourself again felt like an accomplishment worth celebrating. So you ordered yourself some DoorDash, hunkered down over the food with a movie, and washed your hands thoroughly before retiring to your bedroom.

Tucked under the covers, you grabbed your favorite vibe and turned it on before you kicked off your boxers and spread your legs, breath hitching at how wet you already were. You shut your eyes and immediately thought up your favorite scenarios. But unfortunately for you, disembodied faces and voices blended into one person you couldn’t get out of your mind the entire time you healed.

Short dark hair with an undercut. Warm brown skin with a spidery scar crawling up the left side of her body. Beautifully curved nose. Full lips that took no nonsense, praised generously, and teased so well. Powerful corded muscle built over many, many years. And finally… steely grey eyes that saw right through you. 

Sevika had made a permanent home behind your eyelids, rent-free, and invaded your fantasies. And as you brought the vibe to your clit you thought you heard her call your name. Instantly, your hips shot off the bed, and you whined, actually whined, into the dark of your room. You imagined her running long, thick, skilled fingers over your body, praising the muscles you maintained for yourself. You imagined her smiley pressed against your neck as she grinned against it before biting down. You didn’t see it when you visited, but you were sure that if she licked you, a silver ball would graze your flesh. You imagined her powerful form forcing your legs apart and bullying her way between them. Would she be ravenous, eating you until she had her fill and then some? Or would she be slow and methodical, having you on the verge of tears as she denied you the finish line?

You imagined her slutting you out countless ways until you came with a cry, slick running down your thighs. This orgasm felt different than what you were used to, sneaking up on you in half the usual time and forcing actual noises out of you. You lay under your cover boneless for a while before you slapped around on your nightstand for your phone. 

Clicking open Instagram, you shot off a few DMs to your friends telling them how right they were and how eager you were to try it out on some fine shit at the next party you went to. They were up at this hour, of course (gays never sleep), sending you some congratulations and flirting back. You exited the app and almost curled up to mindlessly browse your other socials for hours before you had a change of heart, sighed, and opened your notes app instead. At the top sat a number.

Her number.

You totally weren’t gonna call. Not at this time of night. Didn’t older women typically pass out by nine PM or something? 

But she did say to call once you were healed up. And as your piercer, she should know of any changes immediately… right?

Your thumb hit the number for you anyway, and you swore as it dialed before a rough, sleep-laden voice answered you.

“Ahu di pussyclaat ah call at dis hour?”

Well, that explained the flag in the waiting room. You cleared your throat and offered your name. Her tone changed. She was still a little pissed, but she sounded more awake and asked how you were healing up.

“I think it’s done?” you offer. “There’s no pain, and it’s been clean of anything for like a week. I know you said you wanted me to come by the shop to get it checked, just in case?”

“Swing by tomorrow,” she grunts.

“Great, see you then.”

“But not by the shop.”

“‘Scuse me?”

“You heard me, kid. I’ll send the address, but the choice is yours.”

And with that, Sevika hung up and left you sitting in bed, clutching your phone like she hadn’t just given you the in you were waiting for.

You had some errands the next day, but it was a weekend, and by the afternoon, you sat in your car, in the parking lot of the complex she’d sent you. It looked similar to others in the area, same old faux wood siding, identical balconies, and brown concrete stairs. You shot her a text announcing your arrival, and she sent you the actual apartment number. Sighing, you looked at your backpack, which sat mockingly in the back seat. You reached back and shrugged it onto your shoulders before leaving the car and making your way up the stairs. It didn’t take long to find her door; it was the only one blasting Hot Wuk at full volume.

It only took one knock before that towering woman answered the door and her grey eyes locked onto yours, shimmering with playfulness. Words failed you because if you thought Sevika was hot in the shop, she was fine as fuck here. Her hair fell in her unmade-up eyes, less styled than the last time you’d seen it and damp. Her lips weren’t covered in dark lipstick, her natural, darker brown tint adorning her smirk. She wore a cutoff Slipknot tee that was probably an extra large but still clung to her built frame, and grey sweats that slung low on her hips, giving you a look at her happy trail and the peak of her bush. Her prosthetic was absent, and her flesh hand rested on the door frame, coated in beautifully swirling henna patterns.

Sevika noticed your eyes climbing all over her, drifting to glance at her hand, and smirked. You tried not to squeeze your thighs together at her visible crow’s feet.

“Niece’s mehendi was last week,” she offered, and you nodded dumbly. She chuckled. Raspy, sinful, and dangerous. “Come on in. Let’s get a look at that thing.”

She stepped aside and gestured to her living room, and you crossed the threshold. Instantly, the scent of sandalwood hit your nose, calming and warm. You sighed audibly and removed your shoes before proceeding further inside. In one of the hallways stood a shelf, this time with a brass Sri Ganesha with a small bowl of flowers at its feet and three lit sticks of incense. Sevika led you to what would’ve been the guest room, except it was converted to a small studio, tattoo sketches pinned to the walls, and body mod equipment in organized drawers. A smaller chair, still sterile, sat in the middle, and Sevika jerked her chin towards it before turning around to pull out some gloves and surgical wash.

“Still need me to turn around, shy guy?” she teased.

“Oh, you think you’re funny,” you laughed, setting down your backpack and hooking your thumbs into the pockets of your basketball shorts. Self-consciousness paralyzed you for a but a moment, and you pulled them down, followed by your boxers. Sevika hummed in approval, raising an eyebrow at your newfound confidence.

Sevika’s home wasn’t as cold as the shop, and you thank god as you eased up onto the plastic chair. Your bush stayed neatly trimmed away from your clit, both to show it off and to make healing easier. You weren’t as sensitive as you were in week one, but you still twitched at the smallest stimuli.

“How’s the pain?” Sevika asked, dragging a stool under her and snapping on the glove. “Any additional swelling, pinching, or signs of rejection?”

“Nah,” you answered honestly, inhaling sharply while her long fingers curled around your thigh, pushing for a better look. “Been pain-free for like a week.”

“Any leaking or smells?” she prodded, coating her glove in wash, before dragging one thick index finger up your inner lips and stroking the underside of your clit.

“A-all good in that department,” you grunted, eyes fluttering at the sensation. You silently screamed at yourself to get a grip because that woman barely touched you. “Quit crusting over by week three.”

“Impressive,” she hummed, eyes practically glued to every inch of your pussy. With her thumb and index, she rolled the bud between them. “Have you been intimate since?”

You simultaneously wanted to hump her hand and get swallowed up by a hole in the earth. Why on earth did she have to ask you that?

“No,” you admit, exhaling through your nose. At that, Sevika looked back up, finally remembering you had eyes to make contact with. And she smiled, not like the almost threatening grin she gave you back in the shop, or her lazy smirks, but a real goofy, and seriously endearing smile.

“Good job,” she affirmed, and you shiver. What was it with you and positive feedback from older women? Sevika noticed, of course, because not much got past her, and she barked out a laugh. “You like that? What, you want me to pull you into my lap next and tell you how good you’ve been for me for four weeks?”

You squirmed at the thought, but you weren’t in a rush to leave, so you didn’t deny it. Instead, you rolled your hips against her touch experimentally, biting your lip to suppress the weak-ass whimper that caused.

“What a slut,” the older butch chortled, delighted at how fast you unraveled for her. “Unfortunately for you, closed mouths don’t get fed.”

She pulled her hand away, and you wanted to cuss her stupid in that moment. Sevika guessed as much from the dirty-ass look you shot her, and her countenance changed in a split second, the mean edge back on her face and in her voice.

“You wanna be a brat, go ahead. But that shit won’t get you nowhere with me. I asked you a question. So answer me, do you want me to tell you you’ve been good?”

She didn’t even sound pissed, just firm. She wasn’t spewing venom at you, just a quiet and plain threat that she was almost daring you to let her make good on. The same feeling you experienced in Sevika’s chair nearly a month ago washed over you. Vulnerable and cowed, the humiliation made your face hot and your gut twist. It was almost perverse how easily the condescending order made you wet.

“I do!” you blurted out. “Fuck, I do, I really do, Sevika, I promise.”

“Good job,” she smirked. “Now get up here.”

Sevika patted her lap, and you threw your pride in the trash, practically scrambling onto her thick-ass right thigh and wrapping your arms around her, crashing your lips onto hers. You pushed your tongue past her lips and were met with not one, but two surprises. She gripped you by the back of your neck and laughed into the kiss at how easy you became as her split tongue wrapped around yours. Way better than the silver piercing you imagined last night. You groaned as she sucked your tongue with hers, crushing you against her large titties while you tangled both hands in her hair.

Sevika tasted just like you imagined, but better. Coffee, smoke, and a hint of spice danced on your tongue as it tangled with hers. You couldn’t help yourself, and you rutted your hips against the soft fabric of her sweats and the hard muscle of her thigh, whining into the kiss. The piercing almost had you doubled over in pleasure, causing you to cry louder as it pressed against your fattening clit. Mindlessly, you dragged your hips faster, chasing that sensation over and over. Her grip on your neck tightened, and she pulled you away, lips separating with a wet pop.

“Really?” she groused, feigning disgust. “Humping my leg and leaking on me like some kind of mutt?”

You froze, mortified. You opened your mouth to stammer out an excuse, face hot with shame when Sevika brought her hand to collect your wetness, then pulled it back between the two of you.

“Since you can’t help yourself, get off.”

You felt tears well up at that, but stood up, legs shaky as you awaited your next command from the grey-eyed menace in front of you. She sized you up, eyes roaming all over your body. 

“Shirt. Off.”

Immediately, you whipped that shit over your head and tossed it in some forgotten corner of the “studio”. You only had your sports bra now.

“You comfortable without the bra?” Sevika asked, her mean eyes softening in concern. It reminded you what this was: a game to be enjoyed by the two of you. No matter the stern tone of Sevika’s orders, if you didn’t want it, she wouldn’t push. It also meant she saw you and knew better than to assume what women like you and her wanted in sex.

“No,” you admitted, and she nodded in understanding. “Appreciate the check-in, though.”

Sevika smiled in affirmation, regarding you with some tenderness for just a moment before resuming the act. “Down.”

You obliged without delay, sinking to your knees. Sevika stood up, enjoying the way your eyes fluttered at how she loomed over you. Her hand wrapped around your entire face, and you whimpered softly as she squeezed your cheeks. Then Sevika relinquished her hold on you and slid down her sweats to her ankles. 

Her own bush, though impressive, remained on her outer lips, mound, and thighs, neatly trimmed to frame the beauty of her own pussy. Her clit was massive, the same size as some of your other flings on T. It strained against a horizontal bar spearing through her hood, with cone ends rather than spheres. Drifting down, you noticed her inner lips were longer than the outer ones, and were pierced through with several rings on either side. And she was dripping. Not as wet as you, but just soaked enough that you were surprised it didn’t show up on the grey fabric at all.

Your mouth fell open in awe, drool already pooling at the corners. But you didn’t dare move. Not yet.

“Come.”

You shuffled on your knees until you were between her thighs, her musk wafting down to your face. She smelled so good here, unadulterated sandalwood, and her natural arousal, flooding your senses. You were this close to going stupid in the pussy, and glanced up at Sevika, eyes pleading for a taste.

“Beg.”

“Please, let me eat you out, man. I’m begging you. I need this.”

“Good job,” Sevika praised, and you felt yourself throb, the barbell nudging your jerking clit delightfully. “Knock yourself out.”

Instantly, you brought your hands up her thighs and around her ass. You noticed it walking behind her in the shop, but you finally got to squeeze the pillow soft flesh between your fingers. Confirmation that it was, indeed, fat. You pulled her onto your waiting tongue, licking from hole to clit in one smooth motion. You barely noticed how she bucked in your grasp as you continued to lap at her pussy, parting her lips on your way back up to the fat, nearly three-inch bud crowning it.

Making eye contact, you wrapped your plush lips around it and sucked like it was a Jolly Rancher. Sevika groaned at that, letting out a light laugh at your enthusiasm. She gripped the back of your head, pushing you further into her. Any brain function that didn’t contribute to the sole goal of getting this woman to bust all over your face went out the window. You moved on autopilot, tongue swirling around her clit and dipping into her hole that squeezed around you every time. A mix of her own arousal and your spit drenched her bush and your face. You grunted greedily, as if you tried hard enough, you could suck Sevika dry. Your own hips rocked uselessly onto nothing, and Sevika, bless her heart, took pity on you.

Keeping your head pressed to her pussy, she sat down on the stool again. You followed obediently, not wanting to be separated from your meal for a second. 

And then you felt it. Her calf. Nudging into your clit.

Stars exploded behind your eyes, and you weren’t about to look a gift butch in the mouth. Your hips moved on their own, while you continued to eat, grinding against the unshaven expanse of leg and pressing into the barbell with reckless abandon.

“God, you’re pathetic,” Sevika laughed, as you whined into her pussy, eyes heavily lidded. “You lucky you eat me out so well. Probably the only thing you’re good for, huh?”

You meweled at that, hands now braced on Sevika’s thighs as you continued to make a mess between them. You sucked each ring piercing her lips and watched carefully as she swore into the air. You groaned into her pussy, observing how she shook above you, the grip on your head tightening. And finally, to top it off, you sucked that big old clit right back in your mouth, tongue lolling around it and lips sealing it in.

That broke Sevika, and she came against your face with a shout, humping it as her clit popped from your mouth and bumped your nose. Her lips dragged against yours, smearing your jaw further with her cum. And when she finally settled, having marked your mouth, throat, and nose, she looked down at you, her expression something close to positively impressed. When she stopped shuddering and pulled your face away, she noticed you hadn’t stopped rubbing your pussy on her leg. The wet patch on it only grew and began to puddle on the floor.

“Good job,” Sevika sighed, leaning down to kiss your face. She licked up the mess she’d made of you, independently moving both ends of her tongue, and you moaned back into her mouth, whining as your hips sped up. You were getting close. “Heel.”

You groaned in protest but cut it out, hips stilling. Your clit throbbed with denial, and you tried to give Sevika the most begging eyes you could manage.

It didn’t work.

“Quit whining like a damn dog and I’ll give you something even better, alright?”

You nodded. You could do that much.

“Up. Follow me,” Sevika ordered, rising on wobbly legs and stretching as she strode down the hall to her bedroom and opened the door for you. You followed close behind, eyes on the way her ass moved, unencumbered. Inside the room, a normal bed with a headboard and a single nightstand waited for you. Band and artist posters as well as pin-ups decorated the walls, and a dresser with a record player sat beneath a mirror. There were a couple of towels on top of a table at the foot of the bed, water, and rags with a pitcher of warm water next to it.

“Damn, girl,” you chuckled. “You pullin’ out all stops for me?”

Sevika shook her head and smiled. “I don’t play about aftercare, kid. When I take you apart, I put you back together.”

You were touched. Sure, you expected your partners to have a general level of care for you, but you weren’t as strict as you could be with the last few. 

“Thanks,” you whispered. And Sevika grunted in acknowledgement before pointing to the center of the bed with her thumb. You crawled onto the duvet and looked up at her for direction. She climbed on after you and pushed you on your back. The larger woman straddled you, her pussy just a few rolls of her hip away from yours. You looked back at her face, a fanged grin on display as she grabbed the hem of her tee and pulled it over her head in one smooth motion.

Once again, you found yourself struck for words, and you just nodded, mouth agape, because her breasts were all you could focus on. It was a pretty pair, hanging in your face teasingly. Her areolas were large and dark, and her nipples stood proud against the air. A pair of spike piercings ran through them, purple steel rather than silver. You could see stretch marks stripe the top curves, like tiger patterns. On her left tit, the tissue near what would’ve been her armpit was thick with the same scars that ran down her ribs and up her neck. Aside from the network of scarring, they looked soft, and you yearned to touch them. They looked heavy, and you were tempted to offer to hold them for her. In your mouth.

“Can I?” you asked, mouth already falling open as you struggled to maintain eye contact. Sevika laughed and practically shoved her tits in your face. Geekin’, you reached up and grabbed them, gently at first. They were soft. You gave them a squeeze, not too rough, but still firm. Sevika moaned, the same raspy, guttural ones she’d let out all afternoon, while you tweaked both nipples with your thumbs.

“Fuck, you’re good at this, kid,” the older butch sighed, pushing her chest into more of your touch. She groaned when you wrapped your lips around one dusky bud, teasing it between your teeth and laving over it with your tongue. “God, you really are a slut, I was right.”

You whimpered around a mouthful of tit, migrating to the left side. You experimentally laved over the scars and smiled as she whined at that. Your hips twitched underneath her, and Sevika groaned, remembering you still hadn’t gotten your nut, and regretfully pushed at your head. You popped off, drooling as you stared up at her, eyes blown. She suddenly rolled you on top of her. You yelped as Sevika then wrapped her forearm around your waist and dragged you up to sit on her collarbones.

“Oh, shit!” you exclaimed, arms shooting out to keep from smacking face-first into the headboard. “You can’t warn me next time?”

“Nope,” she grinned, popping the p, and brought you to her mouth before dragging her bifurcated tongue along your pussy.

You whined at the contact, left leg twitching uselessly in her grip as Sevika showed you how a real eater got down. She was equal parts measured and ravenous, insistently pressing the flats of her tongue into your most sensitive spots while drooling uncontrollably into you. When your eyes rolled back down, you noticed how gone she was, eyes closed and mouth basically vacuum-sealed to you while you rut against her face in her grip. She grunted into your pussy rhythmically, almost like she was possessed, but still somehow controlled. It wasn’t until her greedy mouth made its way up to your clit, both tips wrapped around it like a vice, and jerking up and down, that you realized how wild she really could get. One loud, keening cry from you was all it took as the old butch moaned around your clit, vibrating not just the flesh, but the barbell as well. She practically snarled, digging her fingers into the fat at your hips and ate you out like a woman starved.

“Ouu- fuck, right there,” you sobbed, wiggling your hips down onto her face sloppily, as this woman made out with your lower half. Like last time, your high snuck up on you and you let out a strangled cry before you seized up, teeth clenching and body convulsing as you growled your way through the aftershocks. You thought you’d get some peace after that, body drained from the strength of an orgasm like that, but she just… kept. Fucking. Going. “Sevika, wait!”

It was no use, and that destructive tongue bullied you into a second orgasm, your pussy leaking uncontrollably from the onslaught. You dug your left hand into her hair, unsure whether to drag her off or keep her there. Then she got a third out of you, only needing to push one thick finger in before you came around it, shaking like a leaf. When you squeezed down on her head with your thighs, begging her to finally give you some mercy, she eased you onto your back and continued to ruin you. You were pretty sure you could hear colors at this point, overstimulation buzzing in each of your limbs. You’d cum back to back before, your previous record being five in one night. But you couldn’t tell if it was the new piercing or Sevika’s unique tongue that had you feeling like jelly and your brain buzzing with static, because either way, just cumming once had you completely spent. You couldn’t remember how you’d ever gotten off before this.

It wasn’t much longer before her tongue slowed, more soothing than hungry, and she eventually came up for air, face soaked in her own drool and you. Through blurry eyes, you gazed down as she came back up, dipping her face down to yours. You closed your eyes, expecting a kiss, then opened them in shock as she growled:

“Tongue. Out.”

You obeyed without delay and flinched as she spat a glob of your own cum and her spit into your waiting mouth. Your face burned with more than exertion, that curdle of humiliation stinging the corners of your eyes again as you held it in your mouth.

“Swallow.”

You didn’t hesitate to follow the heady command and whined as it made its way down your throat, a thin whimper leaving your lips once it did. You stuck your tongue back out to show her how you followed her order, the need for praise burning in your blood.

“Good job.”

You groaned before hiding your face in your hands and rolling on your side. You were practically numb between the legs, soaked in sweat, and your mind so fogged with satisfaction you couldn’t speak. Sevika eased her weight on top of you, comforting and grounding as she wrapped her right arm around you. You didn’t know how long it was before you returned to yourself, but when you did, you huffed out a laugh.

“That was ode,” you chuckled, scrubbing your hands down your face. The older butch furrowed her eyebrows as she looked down at you. You rolled your eyes. “Insane. It was insane, Sevika.”

She smiled and lay down next to you, wrapping her arm around you. You couldn’t deny this had panned out much better than you thought. And though you were genuinely content to let your eyes close for a good night’s rest, you didn’t know how long or short this would continue. So you sat up, voice hoarse, legs stiff, and pussy still leaky.

“So is this like, a regular thing?” you asked, propping your elbow on your knee and wrapping the other around your calf. “‘Cuz I’m cool if it is or not, no hard feelings or ‘nun.”

“I don’t do riddles, kid,” she scoffed, unfazed by your backhanded question. “I like the way you scream for me, and you’re hot. If you wanna come back and get your guts rearranged, call me.”

You smiled. One thing about older women, they definitely didn’t play games. “I will.”

“But if you call at one in the fucking morning again, I’ll make it so you can’t sit right for a month.”

“Noted.”

When you felt like you could move a little more, she rubbed out your aches and cleaned off your face and thighs. Then she spooned you from behind and let you fall asleep for an hour before it got too dark. Sevika sent you out with a thermos of masala chai, more care instructions for the piercing, a container of dal bhat, and the command to call her when you got back safe.

When you got home to your own apartment around seven, you shot off a text to Sevika along with a selfie of you tucking into the rice and laughed when she reminded you to bring the tupper back on your next visit. You, of course, made a beeline for your group chat and divulged all the juicy details, much to your friends’ mortification and delight. And when you finally hit your own mattress for the night, you found yourself planning out your next mod. Maybe this time, it would be a tattoo.

Seattle was cold and unforgiving in the later months of the year, but as long as they could afford to keep the heater on and the showers cramped, you were content. There was an expectation that everyone in this stadium be prepared all the time. Gun strapped to your leg or hair tied up in case a hoard of clickers burst through those doors. Can't afford to get dragged, even if it's by the school children these days.

You had traded your para-military uniform for something suitable. If the date night goes as you expect it will, you don't want to be wearing something you'll have to shimmy around in. That and your hair needs a refresh.

A blue durag for your blue-eyed girlfriend, and basketball shorts that had been well-worn twenty years before you'd stepped into them. The hem of your wife beater stains with the chocolate your girlfriend had given you a few days prior. "Sweets for my sweetheart." She had declared in a voice that very quickly revealed her embarrassment. It was sweet. She was sweet.

Now, as Abby steps inside your clipped half-apartment, she's sucking in her bottom lip. Flushed and Embarrassed once again. She presses the flowers to your chest, curving your hug on accident.

“Abby?” You venture, raising a brow. She’s wearing a band shirt with strained, cropped sleeves and the coziest sweatpants she most likely stole from Manny. It’s cute, though. You still want your hug.

She says your name back, head tilted towards the overarching windows bleeding moonlight into the room. She missed watching the sunset with you, but if she can get her eyes away from your body, she’ll tell you all about the stars.

“Flowers for–uh.” Abby trails off, shifting her feet as her footing fails. You fear she might be having a stroke before she does a glance over. She isn’t dying, she’s just attracted to you. You bite back your smirk, slinking closer to your girlfriend.

“Thanks, Abby.” She doesn’t flinch. Before you had started dating, she was incredibly touchy. A hand on your shoulder, a thumb digging into your thigh as she drove, blowing air kisses when you left her immediate proximity. But now it’s romantic, and the touch, once so familiar, is foreign with an underbelly of tension. Her fingers twitch at your waist, feeling the skin beneath your tank.

“Let’s—let’s get this started, yeah?” The DVD’s clank in her heavy hands, and you take them to lighten the load. All 0.5 grams of them had poor Abby flailing her hands. She isn’t used to this.

You walk her over to the makeshift sofa and ancient television, and out from the apocalypse you are. Abby’s first pick was the first season of television show.

Your leg brushes against hers, bare there where hers is covered. This is nothing new for your girlfriend, not generally speaking. She had touched you many times, but the prolonged period has her stuffy. You make the first move, and fifteen minutes into the first episode, she’s curled against your side.

Five episodes in, and she’s all over you. She pokes inaccuracies in the script, nose against your neck, hand splayed under your wife beater to lay on your belly.

“Is your favorite color blue?” That question comes out of nowhere. She’s reached the babbling stage. She really loves you. You snort, cocking your head to see her pressed close enough you can count her lashes. She half-smiles back at you.

“Why do you ask?” Your favorite color would be whatever Abby decided it was, right about now. She points at your durag, smug.

“You’re wearing blue, doofus.” You’re wearing blue because the woman facing you has eyes as big as puppy’s, and she’s curious as one too. “Blue like the sky, blue like the ocean,” She pauses, then the real grin comes.

“Blue like my eyes.”

You laugh in her face, but the pout doesn’t come. Your hands come to steady her, and she takes to your lap before she can see the characters making the same mistakes they did mere episodes ago. You don’t dignify her with a response, but the proximity says enough.

"My fault," you muttered, sucking in a shaky breath. The paper against the tattoo bench brushed against your nipples uncomfortably as Sevika laid out the purple outline of your design on your sanitized ribs and back. You somewhat regretted getting such a widespread design, not because you feared the needle (although it did scare the shit out of you). But because you couldn't be normal about the way her thick fingers ghosted over your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Even in a glove, slippery with sanitation, you could still feel her warmth, and it had you dampening in your boxers as you braced for her touch again.

How else were you supposed to feel in the same chair she'd inspected you in before sucking your soul out of your pussy months ago?

"Relax," she ordered, in that smoke-tinged, husky voice of hers. You'd asked her once if she liked jazz, for no other reason than it sounded like she had a voice for the genre. She rolled her eyes back then and had shoved your head back between her legs. That voice curled in your ears, and you were helpless against it, your body going lax immediately.

Sevika let the paper sit on your back long enough for the stencil to transfer. Then, when it grew a little tacky, she peeled it off.

You lay there as you waited for it to dry, and she excused herself briefly to take a call, peeling off her gloves as she did so. You let your mind wander to the last three months that were your situationship with Sevika. You were still learning tricks about how to feel good with your new piercing, and you couldn't ask for a better teacher than her. Coming over to hers was the highlight of your week, and you soon found yourself not eager to add any new names to your roster. Her touch was unlike any other, and though you obsessed over every part of her body, her hand stole the show for you every time.

You closed your eyes as you traced its form in your mind. Broad, long-fingered, and nails that were always clean and cut short. Her palm was calloused but always moisturized and fragrant with the lotion she liked. Your thoughts drifted further to how it felt on your thigh, heavy and reassuring as it held you open for her. You could almost imagine it inching its way up your inner thigh, her thumb rubbing circles into the flesh before her middle and index fingers parted your—

"Sorry for the wait, kid. Stencil should be dry."

"Huh? Oh yeah, yeah. I think it is."

Your cheeks burned as Sevika took up her seat again, like you hadn't just been shamelessly fantasizing about her, and snapped on a fresh latex glove. Then she tested the surface ink with a firm press of her knuckle into a soft spot beneath your shoulder blade. You bit your lower lip hard and closed your eyes at the contact before you heard the click and subsequent whir of the tattoo gun starting up. You held your breath as the sharp point made contact, piercing into your dermis. Sevika's flesh hand held your skin taut as she focused on her task. The pain soon began to subside, and you found yourself exhaling slowly.

"How's that new job you started?"

Small talk wasn't like her, but she knew how much it got you out of your head. "It's alright, hours not too bad."

"That's good."

You hid your face in your arms, trying not to whimper as the needle of the gun pierced your flesh yet again. Her hand, unlike your quivering flesh, never once faltered, controlled and steady as she brought the design to life under the canvas that was your skin. You kept breathing controlled until it stopped buzzing, and fresh lines of ink smarted under your flesh. When she brought the gun to your ribs, though, that strategy met its limits, and you clenched your fists from where they were curled under your head, choking back a sob. Sevika clicked the gun off, setting it to the side.

"Hey," she cooed, brushing her gloved fingers over your ribs. "Deep breaths for me."

You did as she asked, sucking in a gasp and holding it. Then you felt it: her capable and sure hand migrating the side of your back not yet inked, and insistently pressing on the tense nerves there. You sighed raggedly as those fingers you'd been lewdly ruminating over, not even minutes ago, rubbed away your anxieties and pain, deftly kneading into you.

"Loosen up for me a bit, okay? You're doing great."

"Mm-hm," you whined, your mind sinking further and further into the gutter while Sevika was just trying to help you relax.

"In," she coaxed, rubbing her thumb in circles on your neck. "And out."

The motion and choice of words made white spots bloom across your vision and twisted your hips while you tried to stay conscious. You lost against your better judgment and stifled a whine. Sevika froze in concern before noticing how your thighs squeezed together. She shook her head, a smile curling her lips, because knowing you, that wasn't a cry of pain.

"Good boy." You froze, and that didn't escape her watchful eye. "Why don't we take a break?"

"Don't do that," You groaned, trying to play off how flustered you'd gotten.

"Thought you liked being good for me," Sevika chuckled, her hand now coming to rest firmly on your neck before sitting in a squat by your head. "And it ain't like being professional was your main concern. You wouldn't have come here if it was."

You knew any pretense at a professional boundary was foolhardy by now, but you still paid her, and you received great work. That left a lot more room for everything the two of you had done since. And for what you wanted her to do to you now.

"Please."

"We been over this kid," Sevika murmured, eyes flicking to your lip then back up to your own. "Ask for what you want."

"I want two of your fingers inside me and one playing with my clit, while you call me a good boy." You rushed over your words, your face aflame as you tried to get them out as fast as possible.

"Who you talkin' to?"

"Please, Sir? Can you please fuck me on your fingers?"

"That's my good boy."

You moaned, burying your head back in your arms as your hips jerked against the tattoo bench. By now, Sevika had trained you into a sub that asked for exactly what they wanted, something you struggled with outside of performing dominance. But here, pliable clay in her artful hand, you voiced every dirty desire in your mind the second she compelled you to. How could you not, when the reward always left you breathless and satiated?

You felt her thick fingertips ghost over the small of your back, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. You shivered, and Sevika chuckled, rough and low, before slipping her palm into your waistband, underneath your boxers, and curved around to meet your soaked need. She brushed her knuckles through the coarse hairs framing your pussy, extending her pointer finger to part your outer folds with ease. You wiggled your hips back and up to her hand, desire brewing at the base of your spine and leaking out onto her hand.

"This wet already?" she mocked, her deft fingers already twisting your barbell in its setting before grinding it into the clit beneath. "Barely teased you, and you're running like a faucet."

"Can't— fuck— can't help it, Sir," you whined into your arms, as your hips jumped. The pads of her fingers caught against your damp and heated skin in a way that had you curling your toes in your shoes. "You fuck me so good!"

"Course you can't. So needy for me, you go dumb the second I touch you, huh?"

You didn't wanna answer that. You didn't trust yourself to answer that. So she pulled her hand back, and you nearly swore.

"What I tell you on day one, huh?"

"Closed mouths don't get fed, sir."

"So speak, boy. Full sentence."

"I go dumb when you touch me!" You whined, cheeks hot and pussy even wetter than before. "I do need you so bad, I can't think!"

There was a small silence before she slid her pointer finger to the knuckle, her middle finger joining it not a beat later. You groaned, jaw falling open as she set a pace that crossed your eyes. Every thought in your head that wasn't "fuck, her hand bigger than I thought" evaporated on the spot. The talented digits stretched you out so well, her fingers splitting in a V motion as they dragged along the wet velvet of your walls. It curled on its way out, pulling a wretched moan from your throat

"Good boy."

The praise punched the air out of your lungs as her hand became your undoing. Her firm thumb rubbed firm circles on your clit, the jewelry amplifying her movements tenfold, and she took in the helpless way you writhed in her grasp. Your whines grew louder in the small studio as you widened your legs to allow Sevika access. Pleasure mounted in your gut, and you bit your lip hard, trying your best to stave it off.

"You like when I make you squirm, huh?" she taunted, hooking her index and middle finger down to press directly behind your clit. You let out a tearless sob, your own fingers tightening on the skin around your elbows hard enough to leave indents. "Can tell by the way you're drippin' on me."

"Yes—," you whimpered, completely helpless against her touch as she goaded you, leaving your pride in tatters.

""Yes," what? Or do you only listen when I make you beg for it?"

"Yes! I love it when you make me squirm, Sir! Love how you fuck me!"

"Attaboy," she growled, keeping your thighs spread apart with her thick forearm.

Throbbing pleasure pulsed at the edges of your mind and between your legs, your breath shallowing as Sevika's hands brought you closer and closer to cumming on that chair. You tightened on her thick, full fingers, and you heard it, heard her gasp. Then Sevika growled, her hand pressing even deeper into you, unrelenting despite the vice grip around it.

"Fuck, you're squeezin' me. You close, huh?"

"Yes! Fuck please, Sir, I'm so so close!"

"Beg for it."

"Please, sir!" You babbled, utterly beside yourself as you tried your damnedest not to let the building heat overtake you without her permission. But she was making it impossible, as usual. "Please let me cum on your hand! I need it so bad!"

"I don't know, kid," Sevika teased, and you began to see red. "Think you've been good enough for me?"

"Yes! The fuck?"

You regretted that as soon as you said it. Immediately, Sevika withdrew her hand, and you felt a rough, heavy palm swat down on your ass over your clothes. You gasped in shock, your head foggy and confused. You half expected her to say something, anything, as she walked around the bench, stopped in front of your face again, squatting to eye-level with her hand completely soaked. You pushed yourself up on your elbows and glanced between her hand and the exasperated look on her face. You'd fucked up, and you both knew it.

"You're gonna clean up your mess," Sevika started, prodding her fingers past your lips. You didn't dare protest or argue, simply taking them into your mouth. "Then you'll get the rest of this tatt done. No squirming, no games—"

You nodded around a stuffed mouth, her hand probing at your tongue, the roof of your mouth, and venturing a little into your throat. Your tongue swirled around them dutifully, lapping up the tang of your denied release off her thick digits. You hung on her every word as she fucked your mouth, mind addled with denial.

"And maybe, I'll let you say sorry."

She pulled her hand out of your mouth, a thin line of drool connecting her spit-soaked fingers to your lips before snapping. She inspected it, a tenuous frown on her features, before she nodded.

"Go wipe yourself off, then get back in here. Don't take more than five minutes. Am I understood?"

And because there was no other answer, you stammered, "Yes, sir," and pushed yourself off the bench and stood on shaky legs to put yourself to rights.

Four hours later, your back and left rib stung with the fresh design etched into it, and your arms felt numb from lying on it too long. You moved to sit up but were quickly stopped by a still-gloved palm between your shoulder blades, forcing you flat against the bench again. Sevika gently wiped off the small beads of blood along the fresh design. She took a picture and showed it to you. The work was magnificent, and you were in awe of how those hands that took you so thoroughly apart, hands that punished and pleasured, created a masterpiece in your flesh.

"Damn, this shit tough," you murmured appreciatively.

"What a glowing review," Sevika chuckled, setting your phone aside before she applied the saniderm. "You remember the care instructions?"

You nodded into your folded arms. "Keep the second skin on for 3-4 days, remove when it's dried out, and use lotion to keep the area hydrated."

"Oh, look at that, you can listen."

You took her sarcasm in good stride as she secured the bandage to your skin, and then finally sat back up, legs swinging off the edge of the bench. Your eyes met hers, slightly red from holding back a few tears during the whole process. Sevika left for a quick moment to wash her hand before coming back and sitting across from you, now cradling the back of your neck and locking her grey eyes with yours. You bit your lip but didn't look away.

"M'sorry, alright? I mean it."

"What are you sorry for?" She prodded, her face less stern and a self-satisfied smirk playing at her lips.

"Sorry for bein' a brat," you mumbled, heat flooding your face. It was humbling, but that's why you liked her.

"Good boy." You held your breath as Sevika stood back up and walked to the door, a little crestfallen. "Move it or lose it, kid. I thought you wanted a second chance."

Your head immediately perked back up, and you scrambled to your feet to follow after her.