volirm

When Natasha walks into your restaurant for the first time, you don’t think much of it. She’s just another customer for you to serve… albeit a beautiful one.

“Hi! Welcome in! How’s your night treating you?” you ask cheerily, giving her your best smile.

She offers you a huff through her nose and brushes off your question.

Okay, well, you can try and work with that. You persevere despite her lack of receptive response. “Here’s our menu. I’ll be back shortly to take your order,” you tell her, flashing her another smile.

Natasha grabs the menu from you without another word, so you take the hint and give her some space and time to peruse her options.

When you return to her table, she orders one of the simplest things on the menu—a burger, fries, and a water.

She doesn’t address or speak to you any further, ignoring your continued polite attempts at a small, pleasant conversation.

She leaves without a “thank you” or a “have a good night”, exiting the restaurant without a backward glance.

And she doesn’t tip.

Oh, so she’s not just another customer. She’s the fucking worst.

One week has passed since you last saw Natasha, and yet, you’re still ranting about the minimal interaction. You can’t stop; anger and irritation have been present every moment of your shifts since that day no matter what you do.

“She was just so rude,” you say hotly for what is probably the umpteenth time, “Literally, infuriating.”

“Uh huh,” your coworker responds, bored, having heard this basically on repeat.

“I just- I can’t fucking believe the nerve of her.”

“I hear you.”

“The absolute audacity to walk in here, barely say a word to me, and then not leave a tip.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, I’m a great server, a fucking delight… and, not to mention, I’m downright adorable. No one doesn’t tip me.”

Your coworker has finally had enough of your tirades. “Dude, just let it go,” she sighs exasperatedly, “You’re, like, obsessed with her.”

“The fuck? I am not obsessed with her,” you deny immediately, spitting out the words as if just the thought disgusts you.

“You haven’t shut up about her since you saw her. Just admit you thought she had that super hot aloof and mysterious thing going on and you liked it.”

“I didn’t find her hot!” you argue, taking genuine offense at the fact that your coworker could think something like that about you.

“Sure, you didn’t.”

“No, seriously, I didn’t. I don’t,” you declare vehemently before muttering under your breath, “I swear, if she shows her face again, I’m going to-”

“Well, you’ve got your chance.”

“What?”

“She’s here.” Your coworker nods her head in the direction of where Natasha is, seated at the same table as the last time she was here. “She’s been here. Eavesdropping probably. You haven’t been quiet.”

Your gaze snaps over to Natasha, finding her already staring. One of her eyebrows quirks up as you make eye contact. “You didn’t think to warn me?” you hiss, alarmed, voice finally dropping to a lower volume as you look back at your coworker.

Your coworker just shrugs, unbothered, and then she walks away from you, heading to the back, leaving you alone behind the counter.

Natasha’s still watching you, eyes intense and unmeetable. You’re fleeing to the back after your coworker in just seconds.

You don’t emerge until you’re sure the redhead has left the restaurant, too sheepish and embarrassed to face her. You make your way over to her booth to clean up her dishes, and there, left on the table, is several crumpled bills. It’s the biggest tip you’ve ever received—the biggest tip you’ve ever seen—and, written on the merchant copy of the receipt in sloppy scrawl underneath her signature… ‘Fair enough’.

You don’t know how or why; the whole situation doesn’t make sense to you. You insulted Natasha, and yet she left that huge tip and agreeing note… and she continues to show up, over and over, arriving at the same time every week. She becomes a regular, always coming in during your shifts, always seating herself in your section, and always alone.

Your coworker teases you relentlessly. “She likes you,” she singsongs.

You have to frantically shush her every time, her loudness way too much for the small restaurant, the redhead surely able to overhear. “There’s no way she does,” you reject her statement, “I insulted her. A lot. Multiple times. And she made it clear that she heard me.”

“Yeah, and she also told you that you were right.”

“That doesn’t mean she likes me.”

“Don’t play dumb, and don’t pretend you don’t like her too.”

“How many times do we have to do this. I don’t like her.”

Despite the less-than-respectful-on-her-part first interaction, despite the less-than-respectful-on-your-part second interaction, you two do develop a sort of routine. Natasha sits in the same booth every visit; you memorize her order and put it in with the kitchen before she has to ask. She begins to smile and talk a bit more; you learn that her silences, when present, aren’t impolite.

You don’t want to admit it—because how could your heart possibly betray you like this by fluttering every time you see her stroll through the restaurant doors?—but you can’t keep lying to yourself about how you aren’tbeginning to like her. She’s not totally unpleasant anymore, you guess.

“Your usual,” you say as you deliver the burger, fries, and water glass to Natasha’s table.

She flashes you a small grin, and, like what’s typical for her now, thanks you, her voice soft when she talks. “You always know just what I need.”

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress your own smile. “You ‘need’ the same thing every time. It’s not hard.”

Unconsciously, you find yourself happy that she’s always unaccompanied, with no one in tow, and although you don’t think you’ll ever stop ignoring your coworker’s claims—“Just accept that she has a crush on you”—you’re secretly pleased at being told that perhaps Natasha likes you. Your coworker was right. She really does have a super hot aloof and mysterious thing going on.

It’s a Thursday when Natasha next comes in, which is… weird. She’s a Wednesday patron, a 6:30pm Wednesday patron, to be exact. She’s always on time. So, when she arrives at the restaurant on a different day than normal, at a different time than normal—right before you’re off, actually—and sits at a different table than normal, it’s beyond unexpected.

Your coworker shoots you a confused look when she watches the redhead make her way into her section instead of yours, and although you’re puzzled and perhaps ever so slightly jealous, you technically are supposed to be clocking out in a few minutes, so it’s not like you could serve her anyway.

Maybe she just really wanted another burger earlier than normal, and maybe she just didn’t want to sit by the window tonight.

You can’t help but eavesdrop on Natasha’s order. Will she be switching that up too?

“Can I get you your usual?” your coworker asks her.

Natasha shakes her head. “Not yet,” she answers, “I’m actually waiting for someone this time.”

You falter, heart sinking in your chest in a funny way that you don’t want to acknowledge. She’s on a date. Your eyes flick to the front doors, wondering just when the person meeting with her will be walking through them. You don’t want to be here for that.

You remove your apron and fold it over your forearm with maybe a little too much force, you grab your bag from the back possibly somewhat too roughly, and you make your way out of the back room, heading toward the exit with purpose. You happen to have to pass Natasha’s booth on your way. You don’t make eye contact.

You’re stopped by a hand reaching out to grab your wrist, and you whip around, confused and surprised at being stopped by her.

“Where are you going?” she asks, voice gentle as she tries to soothe your clear agitation.

“I’m off,” you reply, and you can’t help but throw something a bit more bitter her way as well. “But you know that already.” It’s a definitive statement. She’s familiar with your schedule by now; she’s been here enough times to have learned it.

“I do know,” she confirms.

It makes you even angrier, and your annoyance, stemming from jealousy, flares. You open your mouth to shoot back some retort, but she beats you to it.

“Well? Are you just going to stand there? Aren’t you going to sit?”

You freeze, brows furrowing. “What?”

“Table for two today,” she informs you even though you’re well aware, grinning in amusement at how obvious it is that you’re trying to connect the dots.

And then it clicks… and you slowly slip your bag off your shoulder… and you slowly take a seat across from her… and you slowly find yourself smiling instead of frowning in hurt.

Your coworker returns to the table, smirking knowingly, an ‘I so told you so’ expression on her face as she gives you a pointed look. “Your date finallyshow? Ready to order now?” she addresses Natasha.

Natasha nods, turning to face your coworker. “Yeah, I’ll take my usual, and…” She then looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to relay what you want to eat. “Get whatever you’d like. It’s on me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I work here. I get all my meals for free.”

Since you started dating, Agatha's constantly pestered you for a change to read your writing. You were too embarrassed by it to do anything but fluster at the idea and make up an excuse. After months of "nothing's finished yet," Agatha revealed that she had in fact, snooped around and found some of the fanfiction you've posted.

You were mortified when she was laying in bed next to you and just started reading your own words back to you. So much so that you knocked her phone from her hand, and it almost nailed Señor Scratchy in the face. Agatha had cackled like a proper witch, rolling you onto your back and insisting that you let her read more out loud while you grinded against her. Which was obviously a deal you couldn't refuse, no matter how embarrassing.

It did feel like Agatha's pestering was her way of being supportive of your writing endeavors. No matter how much she teased you about it, she does always tell you what she likes. She's become a sounding board for some ideas, and her brutal honesty is much appreciated when you've been staring at the same words for far too long.

"Ugh, did you send this as a PDF?" Agatha rolls her eyes. "Why don't you just let me read off your laptop at this rate?"

"Because I'm using it, Agatha."

Agatha makes a face and clicks through to download the doc. You tend to try to keep yourself busy when she's reading so that you don't overanalyze every little facial expression she makes, so you go back to the editing you were doing.

Occasionally, you glance up at her. Agatha's chewing on one nail, but that's normal. What isn't, or at least seems new to you, is the fact that Agatha is squinting harder at her phone than usual.

You've never noticed before, but maybe the font of the document was just a bit too small. You shrug it off and decide not to bring it up.

But now that you've noticed it once, you're hyper-vigilant of the new quirk. Agatha seems to hold her phone a bit closer to her face than normal, which certainly can't be good for her. You wonder if maybe its a screen thing, but you notice it in other places too. When she's reading a magazine or book, her eyes narrow and a little furrow of her brow forms.

Part of you wonders if maybe it's her dyslexia, but then you take note of Agatha's complaints of headaches that always seem to happen after she's been making that face for too long.

One day, you finally decide to bring it up.

"Agatha, do you have trouble reading?"

She rolls her eyes, fingers picking at the cracked plastic edge of the diner menu she's holding. She doesn't even look up at you as she answers sarcastically, "No, dyslexia makes it really easy actually. It's basically a superpower."

"No, I mean like, seeing the words," you clarify. Agatha's lip twitches. "I just noticed that you squint when reading a lot."

"It's not a big deal." Agatha is scowling at the menu rather than looking at you, looking like the breakfast combo deal has personally offended her.

"I only bring it up because you're always complaining about your head hurting," you say, bringing your finger up to pull the menu down away from her face. You figured pointing this out would be unpleasant, that Agatha might be insecure about it even though it's totally normal, but you weren't expecting her to look a little sad. "When was the last time you had your eyes checked?"

"They said I had 20/20 vision."

"And that was how long ago?"

"…middle school."

The waitress comes and takes your orders, grabbing the menus when she's done. Agatha can't fidget with the plastic anymore, so she's started messing with the items on the table.

"There's an optometrist in the Walmart, you know. I think they even take walk-ins."

"I'm not paying for some stupid doctor to blow air in my eyeballs and then tell me I'm blind," Agatha scoffs. "Probably would cost my whole paycheck anyway."

"Fair," you shrug. "What if we just look at some of the readers that they carry? You might be fine with non-prescription."

Agatha ponders this for a moment, tapping her nail against the table.

"Okay, fine. If it helps these fucking headaches maybe it's worth it."

"These are all ugly. Let's just give up."

"They're not ugly, Agatha. You haven't even tried any on," you roll your eyes at her tantrum. "Here, at least see if these lenses help you read the chart. We can decide on the frames after."

Agatha huffs and takes the glasses from your offered hand. They're rectangular, with thin frames and small lenses. You assumed maybe they'd feel less imposing. Agatha turns them over in her hands for a moment, before slipping them on.

She reads the mini vision chart on the side of the stand, and looks a little satisfied that she doesn't have to squint. But when she glances in the mirror, her body visibly tenses. Your brow furrows with concern.

"Are you okay?"

"I…" Agatha swallows, fingers coming up to adjust the glasses perched on her face. "I look like my mother."

Oh.

You fall silent, unsure of what to say. Agatha continues speaking.

"I never thought I really resembled her much aside from some minor things, thank god. But she's worn glasses like these since I was a kid, and now…"

"Is that why you've been avoiding this?" You ask. Agatha's lack of response answers your question. "Here, give them to me."

Agatha's body jerks and she looks over at you like she forgot you were with her. Her hands are a little shaky as she takes the glasses off. You set them back in their spot on the stand.

"Did they help?" You ask, trying to divert Agatha's thoughts away from her mother.

"Uh, yeah, actually," Agatha admits. "They did."

"Good," you smile. "We can find different frames."

Agatha nods, letting you scan the shelf for some more options. You avoid anything that looks too much like the first pair, which unfortunately doesn't seem to leave you too many good options. Near the bottom, there's a shelf of ones with much wider lenses and thicker frames. They certainly don't look like the offending pair.

"Here," you take one with a simple black frame and put them on your waiting girlfriend.

Agatha adjusts her hair around the arms of the glasses and looks in the mirror. She pouts.

"I look like a fucking nerd."

You stifle a laugh. Agatha keeps adjusting the way her hair is framing her face. You scoot directly behind her and rest your chin on her shoulder. Your eyes meet hers in the mirror.

"I think you look cute."

"I could wear a fursuit, and you'd think that."

"Depends on the fursuit. What animal would you be?"

"I'm not indulging you with that information."

"You could be a bunny like Scratchy!"

Agatha rolls her eyes, but she seems less frustrated than she was. Your fingers find her stomach as you wrap your arms around her, tracing little patterns.

"Fine, I'll get them," Agatha says at last. You smile and kiss her on the cheek, feeling her skin warm under your lips. "Only because they're five bucks. Any more and I would've just resigned to migraines for the rest of my life."

You were lying when you said Agatha looked cute in the glasses. Okay, wait. Lying isn't quite accurate. You just didn't tell her the complete truth.

Because, truth is, you think she looks so fucking hot in glasses.

It's taken a couple of weeks for Agatha to remember to wear them, but she's finally reached the point where she carries the glasses case you bought her everywhere.

And god, it's so hard to not stare.

Something about the way the frames sit on her face, they draw your focus to her beautiful eyes and her strong nose that you're absolutely obsessed with. It's genuinely unfair how good she looks.

Agatha, for once in her life, seems unaware of how sexy she is. She's written them off as her nerd glasses and thinks your staring is because you think she's just "cute." Like, in a kitten that fell over its own paws kind of way.

Really, you're trying to figure out the least desperate way to say, "The glasses stay on during sex."

Which is stupid. She wouldn't need them.

But still, the next time you initiate a makeout session while she has them on, the second she moves to take them off, you grab her hand.

Agatha raises an eyebrow. "What's your problem?"

"I…" You lick your lips, lowering your hand. "Can you keep them on?"

She pauses for a moment. Then, a grin breaks across her face.

"Oh my god," Agatha laughs.

"Nevermind," you shake your head, pulling away from her. "It's dumb."

"Oh, baby. You're not getting out of this that easy." Agatha hovers further over you, forcing you to lean back until your head hits the pillow on the couch. "You're into the glasses."

"Maybe."

"Maybe," Agatha says in a mocking tone. She sits back a bit, leaving you horizontal under her. She adjusts her glasses. You swallow. "Mhm. Very convincing."

"Shut up."

"Only if you admit it."

"Fine," you sigh, relenting easily. There's no point in fighting it. "I'm really into your glasses."

"And?"

"And I picked them because I thought you'd look hot."

"Aaand?" Agatha singsongs. She has no reason to assume there's more. Just her gut feeling. And, of course, she's right. She knows you far too well.

"And I've fantasized about fucking while you're wearing them."

"There," Agatha smirks. She leans down to press a kiss to your lips. "Was that so hard?"

"Yes."

"Only because you made it hard," she pats your cheek. "You can't hide anything from me."

"Yeah. Stalker."

"Unrelated."

"Whatever. Can you keep kissing me now?"

"Say please."

"Please?"

"Good girl," Agatha purrs. You groan, pulling her down to slot your lips together once more.

In between the greedy noises coming from both of you, Agatha breathes out heavily, "If you ask really nicely, I'll eat you out with my glasses on."

You whine, but before you can even answer, she adds, "Or, I could sit back and read while you're in between my legs instead. Hmm. Decisions, decisions."

"Yes. Either one. Both. Please."

"See?" Agatha chuckles. "Good things happen when you just tell me what goes on in that dirty brain of yours. Me first, though. Get on your knees, baby. Then, I'll make you cum so hard that you have a fucking Pavlovian response to my glasses."

Two orgasms and one broken pair of glasses later, neither of you have any regrets.

💜

bonus little text convo i was going to include but didnt find a place to:

traffic appears ahead. you grumble to yourself, pressing on the brake. the last thing you want is any delays.

as you stop and go amongst all many cars on the road, you find your mind wandering. this time to life’s stresses and responsibilities.

you had homework to do still. shit, wasn’t one assignment due tonight? you also meant to clean your bathroom today. oh - and the laundry.

fuck.

your car registration was expiring soon too. that needs to get renewed asap. that also means that there’s the car emissions test you needed to pass. you’ll have to make an appointment.

the rest of the drive home was a blur as you find yourself lost in thought. by the time you make your way into the house, you feel sufficiently wound up at all the responsibilities you needed to take care of.

“hi, baby.” wanda greets you warmly as she meets you in the kitchen.

“hi.” you murmur back with a gentle smile. she folds you into her loving embrace and kisses the top of your head. when she pulls back, her eyes are dancing with knowing mischief.

she stares for several seconds longer—assessing you no doubt when you don’t appear to be matching her energy.

“something the matter?” she presses gently. she holds your body close to hers still, unwilling to let go.

of course she can sense something was wrong. she can read you better than anybody else can.

you exhale, shaking your head as you scrub one hand over your face.

“no, ‘mm fine. just stressing a little bit.” you respond honestly. you knew there was no point in trying to hide your feelings.

“about?” she presses again, her hands sliding tenderly up your sides and then back down your hips.

“just.. stuff. i dunno, there’s a lot going on in my head.” your reply is vague. you didn’t want to risk hashing out everything and pivoting the direction of how this evening was supposed to go.

she hums in acknowledgment. her eyes are still holding yours with warm understanding. you almost melt on the spot as you stare into her green eyes.

wordlessly, she steps around you, taking your hand and guiding you to your shared bedroom. you follow behind silently, trying your hardest to push all the stressful thoughts away.

it doesn’t work too well.

you need to do your homework. if you put it off any longer, it may never get done. also the laundry simply cannot wait. your basket has been overflowing since sunday. did wanda buy more scent beads? you didn’t like doing laundry without them, and—

“hey, are you still with me?” wanda’s fingers lift your chin to look at her. you’re now standing at the end of your bed.

you nod your head, your eyes a bit wide with everything on your mind. “yes, sorry.”

she takes you in, eyes traveling over your face, down your body and then back up again.

“lay down for me.” she instructs gently, turning to head into the walk-in closet. there was a chest in there that had an impressive growing collection of toys.

you obey her almost immediately as if on auto pilot. you lay back half propped against the stacked decorative pillows.

when wanda returns, she holds your favorite pink dildo in one hand and a vibrator in the other.

she crawls up the bed, her body covering yours. she descends slowly, and when her lips press against yours, it’s gentle and sweet. you kiss her back, wanting to be in this moment with her but finding yourself unable to completely focus.

it’s almost as if she can feel your energy.

“tell me what’s on your mind.” she pulls away. it’s not a question. her hands run along your torso again, this time more firmly. you know she’s trying to ground you in this moment. she’s completely undeterred by your apparent distractedness.

you exhale slowly, and then open your mouth.

“i’m just really stressed. i can’t stop thinking about what all i have to do. i’ve been putting things off thinking i’ll remember the next day but then i never do and now i feel like i need to do everything right now. there’s so much laundry in my basket, at least two loads, and i can’t remember if we bought new scent beads. i also need to clean the bathroom. it’s been too long since i’ve cleaned my sink—like two weeks. i know there’s dust build up. and i have this homework assignment i’ve been dreading and now it’s due tonight and…”

wanda lets you get through your whole list. she doesn’t interrupt or rush you. by the end of your explanation, you’re slightly winded and sufficiently wound up again just like you were in the car.

she doesn’t say anything, her expression smooth and unbothered. in this moment, she’s your polar opposite. calm, collected, unhurried and present.

her left thumb strokes the sliver of exposed skin along your stomach.

“my, that’s a lot of things going through your head, hmm?” her tone was smooth—empathetic. her caress travels higher, her hand dipping under your shirt to explore more bare skin.

you nod, a small pout forming on your lips. you can feel yourself slowly melting into this moment.

everything about her was captivating. her calm presence almost demanded your attention—in a quiet way of course. it was like your body had no choice but to mimic her energy as she held you so intently.

she kisses your pout, then sits back on her calves. her gaze is intent on yours as she hooks her fingers into your pants. she’s slow, almost painfully so as she pulls them down your legs along with your panties. she discards them to the side.

all of her movements are slow and steady as she parts your legs, her palms pressed firmly against your thighs.

“stay here with me, baby.” her fingers tease along your inner thighs.

“mommy’s going to tell you what we’re gonna do, hmm?” one hand continues to stroke the soft skin of your thigh as the other pushes your shirt further up your stomach, exposing you to the cool air.

her palm lays flat against your sternum as she glides it down to your pubic bone.

it was becoming more difficult to remember what you were stressing about.

“now—“ she reaches somewhere to the side of you, but you’re too busy getting lost in her eyes to follow what she was doing.

you hear the low buzz of the vibrator.

your body shifts in anticipation.

she moves carefully as she places it so gently against your slit, running it up and down the sensitive folds there.

“here’s what’s going to happen.” she presses the vibrating head firmly against your clit. you gasp, your hips bucking into her hand. she slides it back down your slit.

“first, i’m going to fuck you.” your breath hitches. hearing her say it so nonchalantly makes your tummy curl.

“then we’ll clean up.” she slides the head back up to your clit, lingering there for a couple seconds before sliding back down.

“then we’re going to do your homework—together. you know mommy always wants to help her little girl.” she coos, the vibrator now building a soft rhythm as she glides it up and down your slit. her eyes are still intent on yours.

“after your homework, you can start the laundry and i’ll help you clean the bathroom. it is half mine anyways.” her gaze flicks down to your exposed pussy. she presses the head against your clit again. this time when your hips buck into her, she lets you grind yourself against it.

she pulls it away right when you start to sink into the sensation. you whine softly in protest. your hand slides along your thigh to reach for her free hand.

she grabs it, interlacing your fingers together.

the vibe finds your slit again, resuming its previous pattern.

“when we’re done with that, we can go online and make that appointment for the emissions test…”

she glides the head of the vibrator over your clit again, this time swirling it in small circles.

you moan, feeling yourself become lost in sensation versus coherent thought.

“and once all of that is taken care of, we’ll make a nice, yummy dinner. how’s that sound?” she presses the vibe firmly against your clit again. your hand squeezes hers, your brows knitting together in pleasure. you were surprised at how close you already were.

“um—“ you try to respond—try to think clearly.

fuck, it feels so good.

what did she ask you again?

“…yeah. okay.” you manage to breath out, your hips grinding against the toy.

“okay…what? what’s the plan, baby? i want to hear you say it.” she encourages. it wasn’t to be cruel as much as she wants you to repeat it to yourself so the plan feels more solidified in your mind.

“um… doing h-homework. starting laundry…mm..” she lets go of your hand, her fingers finding your now wet hole. she teases your opening with gentle pressure.

“fuck—um. cleaning the bathroom… booking the appointment.” you gasp as she slides two fingers inside you. paired with the vibrator you could feel you were getting so close.

“making dinner!” you manage to get out, your hands fisting the comforter beneath you.

her fingers are barely moving, just slowly sliding in and out. you can hear how wet you’ve become.

“did you purposely leave out the first part when i said i would fuck you?” she sounds more teasing this time, her fingers curling against your g spot.

“no!” you gasp, your hips rolling into her hand.

“say it.” she commands, her fingers pulling out and then sliding back into your warmth.

“fuck—mmf. fuck me—please, mommy, fuck me!” you beg, now feeling desperate for more.

“good girl.” she purrs.

you didn’t see her grab it, but suddenly when she enters you again, it’s the dildo instead of her fingers. you whine at the stretch.

it feels so good—

she’s not slow or gentle now as she fucks the dildo in and out of your wet cunt.

you squirm on her cock, your eyes watering at the overwhelming pleasure blooming in your body.

all your worries were long forgotten by now. they would be taken care of later. wanda would always take care of you.

“still worried about getting everything done?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

“no mommy!” tears rolls down your cheeks now, your head thrown against the pillows in ecstasy.

“no. that’s right. mommy’s got you, baby. mommy will always take care of her little girl.” she praises you, the brutal pace and rhythm of the faux cock moving in and out of you along with the vibrator on your clit was almost too much.

you sob for her, fucked out in utter bliss.

she encourages you to cum for her, maintaining the perfect pace through your orgasm. she doesn’t stop until you’re whining and pawing at her to stop.

only then does she give you a little break. she turns off the vibe and sets it aside, but she doesn’t take the dildo out of you. she continues pushing it in and out of your pussy—so slowly and so gently now.

she fucks you until she can tell there are no more coherent thoughts running through your mind.