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Harrowhark was at her limit. Spider thin cracks were branching across her normally diamond hard self control, and she felt she might explode. She caught one traitorous hand sneaking down to rest at the apex of her thighs and chided herself, slamming it back onto the table and picking up her pen again. She just needed to finish her notes on this one paper, and then she could—she could what?? She wasn’t allowed to do anything. Harrow heaved out a frustrated sigh then got back to work.
Well, she tried to get back to work. The urgency between her thighs was a constant distraction, and she tapped her pen on the table, lip bitten so hard she could almost taste blood. A noise rose to the forefront of her attention, a consistent yet quiet thump, thump, thump from the washing machine as it carried on with its job, cleaning the clothes that Gideon had quickly thrown into it just before she left. Harrow shook her head and stared back at the paper, but her brain refused to concentrate. She looked back up at the washing machine.
Technically, leaning against something wasn’t touching herself, right? It was just that all the teasing from this morning had really riled Harrow up, and Gideon had looked so good as she chopped up the firewood this afternoon. Harrow was trying so hard to be obedient, to follow orders, but she was this close to cracking or maybe just spontaneously combusting. Maybe this would take the edge off a little, and she would still technically be following the rules.
Harrow took one, two shaky steps forward and pressed herself against the washer. She gasped as the vibrating machine rocked into her clit. “Fuck!” she muttered, and braced herself against the appliance, needy cunt already throbbing.
Coming like this was going to be easy as anything, and God, she knew it would feel heavenly. She could just get off, go upstairs to change her panties, and her sadistic wife would be none the wiser. To help herself along, Harrow closed her eyes, allowing memories of this afternoon to flood her mind. Harrow standing on the front porch, taking a break from studying, a light breeze ruffling her dress as she stood transfixed. Gideon in the front yard, wiping the sweat from her brow before she picked up the ax again. As she split the logs again and again, a rhythmic thwack-ing filled the air, and Harrow shivered as she watched her wife’s biceps flex, as she thought about a different scenario in which Gideon’s consistency and strength were well-appreciated.
Now, Harrow shuddered over the washer. She was so close, she just needed a little more, just maybe—
Heavy hands settled on Harrow’s hips. “What exactly are we doing here, darling?” Her wife’s breath was warm in her ear, and Harrow let out an involuntary whine.
“I—I’m not touching myself,” she said, attempting to imbue her words with some dignity.
“I can see that,” Gideon chuckled, rolling her hips into Harrow’s, pressing her harder against the washer. Harrow cried out, a broken sound, and Gideon kept going, nibbling at Harrow’s ear as she did so.
The heat building in Harrow’s core was so overwhelming that she forgot to wonder why Gideon would allow this when Harrow had disobeyed the rules, why she would be getting a reward instead of a punishment right now. Instead, she just let herself be pushed against the washer, let the tension in her body build to the point of breaking.
Harrow’s thighs started shaking, and maybe this is what it was to ascend to heaven, achieved in a small laundry room with her wife at her back, and oh, oh God—
Gideon yanked Harrow away right before her pleasure could spill over, and Harrow’s clit pulsed in agony. Harrow could only gasp out, “What? Why?” as she unsuccessfully attempted to buck against the grip on her hips.
Gideon licked up her neck, and Harrow swore she could feel her smile, the smile that meant bad things for Harrow, the smile Gideon wore when she knew she was about to have entirely too much fun. “Oh, baby.” Gideon’s voice was sweet as a peach at the height of summer, and her right hand was making little circles on Harrow’s hip. “You broke the rules. Did you really think I’d let you get away with it?”
Harrow could have cried. It was only years of practice and pride that limited her reaction to a pathetic whine, joined by the further humiliation of her reflexively grinding back into Gideon. Her wife chuckled, adjusting her grip so Harrow’s hips were well and truly immobilized.
“Come with me to the bedroom,” Gideon growled into her ear, releasing her. She led a confused and hopeful Harrow down the hall, but then promptly wrecked all of Harrow’s fantasies when she reached the doorway of their room. As Harrow went to follow her, Gideon pressed a hand to her chest. “No, baby, you stay here,” she said, continuing into the room.
“You said,” Harrow’s voice sounded shaky and weak to her own ears. “You said, when you got home, that we could… that you would…” At the very idea of what they might have been able to do, Harrow’s cunt contracted so violently that she was forced into silence.
“I said,” responded Gideon, and her tone was playful, but with enough menace that Harrow knew she had no intention of giving in to her wife. “I said that if you were a good little slut, and you waited patiently for me to come home, then I would fuck you until you couldn’t breathe, and you’d be all relaxed for Pal’s dinner tonight.” Gideon pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it aside, revealing the soft, supple skin Harrow loved so much. She walked slowly to where Harrow stood paralyzed in the doorway. Her hand drifted upwards, and she did not need to touch her wife for Harrow to instinctually raise her chin to meet those amber eyes. Gideon smirked approvingly, but Harrow knew she was far from home safe. The redhead stepped so close to Harrow that she could feel her warm breath across her face. Gideon tilted her head, and, in a mockery of curiosity, asked, “Do you think you were a good little slut, Harrow?”
Harrow cringed but didn’t lower her gaze. “No.”
Gideon raised her brows just slightly. “No who?”
“No, Gideon,” Harrow breathed. They had long ago realized that they had no need for honorifics—what was the use of ‘daddy’ or ‘sir’ when Harrow could imbue Gideon’s name with such prayer-like reverence?
Gideon’s hand touched Harrow now, holding her jaw gently, and she pressed a gentle kiss to Harrow’s forehead, a rebuke and a comfort all in one. “That’s what I thought.” She turned away. “I’m gonna hop in the shower, and you can go finish your studying.”
Harrow was stuck to the spot, trembling as she stared at the spread of Gideon’s fingers against the door jamb. Gideon caught her gaze and smiled wide. “Better luck next time, baby. Your studies await.” She disappeared into the bathroom.
Harrow made her way downstairs in shame, glancing ruefully at the washing machine before she sat at the table and refocused herself. The ache between her legs was wildly distracting, but Harrow had studied through worse. She applied herself as best she could, swatting images of her wife out of her head every few seconds and squirming uncomfortably at the wetness of her panties (she would have changed, but she knew that Gideon would not have allowed it). By the time she heard Gideon’s footsteps coming towards her, Harrow had finished taking notes on the chapter (and if she had spent five minutes thinking about the way Gideon’s breath had felt in her ear as she grabbed onto her hips, that was just a momentary lapse).
Harrow felt two forearms rest on her shoulders and a kiss on the top of her head. Even as tense as she was, the familiar vanilla and shea butter scent of her wife’s shampoo relaxed her. “How’s it going, babe?”
“I’m done for now.”
“Very good, darling.” Harrow managed to suppress her shiver at the praise. Gideon pressed another kiss to her crown and stepped away. “Hey, why don’t you get dressed while I wrap whatever nerd book you got for Pal? I know he’ll love it.”
“Okay,” Harrow said, bracing herself against the table to disguise her shaking legs. She may have been begging for Gideon less than an hour ago, but Harrow’s pride was always quick to return. She saw the corner of Gideon’s mouth twitch up as she took in the way Harrow’s hands were pressed to the tabletop. If Harrow’s thing was pride, Gideon’s thing was breaking Harrow’s pride. As Harrow made her way to the bedroom, she tried her best to ready herself. The moment she had heard Gideon’s casual tone after she exited the shower, she knew it was going to be one of those nights, one of the nights that Harrow loved and hated in equal measure. As much as Gideon enjoyed physically teasing Harrow, playing just around her clit or pumping her fingers in at not quite the right angle, she adored emotionally teasing her. She loved to act like nothing at all was going on while she tortured Harrow in the most subtle of ways.
In a deeply futile attempt to claim a shred of power, Harrow slipped into a dress she knew was one of Gideon’s favorites. It was fairly unremarkable, a tight black dress that Gideon only really liked for its fairly high hemline. There were many evenings when she had put it on that had ended with her bent over any flat surface with Gideon’s strap or fingers buried deep in her cunt.
When Harrow came into the living room in the dress, she was disappointed when Gideon’s pleased eyebrow raise was quickly replaced with a warm smile. “You look lovely, darling,” she said blandly, and Harrow sighed internally. If the dress couldn’t break Gideon’s will, then Harrow was in for a long night.
—
It was only Harrow’s long standing ability to multitask that had her coherent throughout the dinner. She managed to make conversation with Palamedes and Abigail, and to minimize the little jumps at her Gideon’s touch. She only squirmed a little at the weight of her wife’s hand on her thigh, fingers innocently skimming under her skirt without brushing her soaked panties. She choked down her food while ignoring the way her wife would playfully tug on her hair just a little bit too hard, a bit too reminiscent of something else. By the time they had gotten to dessert, even a small pinch of Harrow’s hip through the fabric of her skirt made Harrow drop her fork in the chocolate souffle. She mumbled something about needing to excuse herself and then fled to the restroom. She knew she couldn’t get off, but she needed to get out. It was only when she stumbled, felt a strong hand on her hip, and met Camilla’s calm gray-brown gaze that she realized her state had not escaped everyone’s notice. It was just Cam, she reasoned, as she hurried away, because Cam—well—she would know, would recognize Harrow’s features when they were twisted by desire. Quickly-surfacing memories sent another pulse of arousal through Harrow, and she quickly rid herself of the thoughts—she could only deal with one situation at a time.
Harrow finally reached the bathroom, slammed her way through the door, and braced herself against the sink. She could feel her cunt pulsing with each breath she took. Every touch from Gideon was tracing lines of fire down her skin, all making their way to her center, and she could barely handle it. But she had to, she reminded herself. That was what Gideon expected of her, and she did not want to disappoint. Harrow stared herself down in the mirror for a good few seconds, then dabbed some cold water on the back of her neck. It didn’t do too much to dull the sensation, but Harrow would take any help at that point. She was smoothing down her hair and preparing herself for reentry into the restaurant when the door opened, revealing a redhead with poorly-concealed smugness plastered all over her face.
“Everything okay, baby?” Gideon asked, shutting the door behind her.
“Yes,” Harrow ground out as her wife strode forward.
“You sure?” Gideon stood directly in front of Harrow, effectively pinning her to the sink without touching her. “You don’t need anything? Because I’d be happy to give you what you need.” She smiled sweetly.
Harrow ignored the voice in her head screaming, “Trap! Trap! Trap!” and she crumbled. It bruised her pride to break so quickly, but she had been teased all evening and could barely think over the blood rushing in her ears. “You,” she mumbled.
Gideon stepped closer, her smile growing menacing. “What did you say, Harrow?”
“You,” Harrow spat out, shame coloring her cheeks all while it flooded her body with relief.
“Me?” Gideon rested her hand on Harrow’s neck, her thumb tracing Harrow’s clavicle. “What about me?”
Harrow involuntarily rubbed her thighs together, and grimaced as she felt the dampness of her underwear. Pride be damned. “I need you, Gideon,” she said, looking directly into her wife’s golden eyes and feeling a fresh wave of wetness escape her.
“Oh? And you think you deserve me?” Gideon used her thigh to nudge Harrow’s apart, her dress riding up until she could feel the chill of the ceramic sink on her ass.
“I—I don’t know,” Harrow stuttered out. “But, I, Gideon, please, I—” Gideon cut her off with a chuckle.
“Alright, baby, I hear you.” Her thumbs nudged at the hem of Harrow’s dress, and her teeth scraped Harrow’s ear. Harrow could have cried with relief—actually, she was, just barely, a tear streaking down her cheek. “You want to be taken apart like the whore you are. You know, anyone could walk in here.” Once Harrow’s dress reached the top of her hips, Gideon’s fingers slipped under the waistband of Harrow’s underwear and started tugging it downwards at an equally molasses-like pace. She kept talking. “Anyone could walk in and see how desperate you are for me, see what a little slut you are.”
Harrow nodded uncontrollably. Gideon’s larger body was blocking her from the view of anyone who might come through the door and it probably wouldn’t be too difficult to flip Harrow’s dress down and disguise what they’d been doing as an overzealous make out session, but that didn’t make Harrow feel any less exposed, any less out of control. When Harrow’s panties slipped down her legs, Gideon looked at the dark curls between Harrow’s legs and cursed. “Damn, baby, you’re dripping for me.”
Harrow could only whine in response and half-wiggle in a pathetic entreaty for her wife to fucking touch her godammit. One of Gideon’s hands came up to Harrow’s hip and the one holding the panties dragged its way up Harrow’s thigh. Harrow’s heart was pounding in her head, a steady beat of please, please, please that she could almost believe Gideon could hear. When the hand with the panties reached the apex of Harrow’s legs, a breathless, “Gideon,” escaped her. When it passed by her cunt without stopping, Harrow truly believed she might die, and not in the way she wanted.
Her heart sank as she watched Gideon raise the panties to her own face, and inhale deeply. For the first time that night, her control broke and she groaned. “Fuck, babe. God, you smell so good.”
A stronger Harrow might have said, “Then fuck me dammit!” but all this Harrow could do was whimper and press herself towards Gideon who stepped back abruptly, control of herself regained.
To what must have been a truly heartbroken look on Harrow’s face, Gideon clicked her tongue. “Oh now baby, I can’t have you making a mess of my slacks.”
Harrow was beyond any dignity now. She spread her legs slightly and begged, “Are you just going to leave me like this?”
“Oh darling, did you think wearing your little whore dress would earn you special treatment? I have a little more self control than that.” She stared at Harrow’s pussy, considering. “Only because you’re being so good,” she decided, and, quick as anything, swiped one finger through the folds, skillfully avoiding the clit. Harrow’s soul melted to a pile of goo on the floor, though somehow her physical body remained standing. She watched Gideon pop the finger in her mouth, her eyes sliding closed as her features relaxed. When she opened her eyes, Harrow could see a reflection of her own desire written in them but it was gone just as quickly.
Gideon slipped Harrow’s panties in her pocket, then reached down to tug Harrow’s hemline to a more appropriate place. She leaned in to kiss Harrow’s cheek, whispering, “Try not to make a mess of the restaurant chair, alright, honey?” Gideon sauntered out of the bathroom, leaving Harrow more wet and frustrated than ever.
Luckily, Harrow’s normal demeanor wasn’t particularly cheerful, so she got away with bland smiles and one-word answers for the rest of the dinner. She took small bites of her dessert and tried and failed not to think about how Gideon’s finger had felt as it slipped against her. Gideon herself was, of course, wildly unhelpful, with her hand on Harrow’s thigh and her just-a-bit-too-satisfied eating noises. When everyone got up from the table and hugged goodbye, Harrow had to stop herself from sprinting out the door.
Gideon walked with her to the car, one arm slung casually around her waist, and Harrow leaned into her, her closeness a solace just as much as a torture. She waved goodbye to their friends and then opened the passenger door for Harrow, patting her lightly on the ass to scoot her onto the seat. Harrow sat in exhausted silence, practically too turned on to think, as Gideon turned up the radio and pulled out of the parking lot. Right when Harrow was considering saying something, Gideon rested her hand on Harrow’s thigh again, but higher, her fingers just a hair's breadth away from Harrow's aching clit. Was this some new ridiculous method of persecution? Harrow wondered. God, would it never end?
Her question was answered when the car went over a bump, forcing Harrow forward in the seat just the slightest bit. Even this small movement was enough to press Gideon’s knuckles against Harrow’s clit, and Harrow gasped sharply. Gideon didn’t react, continuing to sing along with the music. However, when they came across a speed bump a few miles later, she didn’t slow at all, and the movement of the car caused Harrow to let out a choked sob. Desperate for it to continue, she started to subtly move her hips, but Gideon’s fingers withdrew. Harrow stared at the wetness that coated them on their new place on her lower thigh and wanted to scream.
By the time Gideon pulled into the driveway of their house, Harrow wasn’t certain her soul was fully connected to her body anymore. When, assisted by Gideon, Harrow slid off of the passenger seat, she quickly looked away from the glistening wet spot left by all of her wiggling—it was Gideon’s fault anyway. Gideon graciously and silently led her wife to their front door, and Harrow prayed to every god she’d ever come close to believing in that her torture would be over soon.
Gideon released Harrow’s hand to remove her suit jacket, and Harrow watched her wife’s muscles move under her button shirt, as graceful and as powerful as she’d ever been. As the redhead started to roll up her sleeves with a recognizably deliberate slowness, overwhelming fondness cut through the fog of Harrow’s lust for just a second. The ridiculous woman was putting on a show. Harrow would have teased her if she felt capable of speech at the moment. As it was, she couldn’t stop staring at the defined cords of Gideon’s forearms, at her talented fingers as they carefully folded the crisp white sleeves. Those arms, those hands—Harrow could feel wetness creep down her thighs.
“Gideon,” she managed with Herculean effort, but the name came out barely audible.
Whether she’d heard it or sensed it, Gideon turned towards her, eyebrow twitching upward.
Harrow cleared her throat. “Gideon,” she said, louder, and was rewarded with a bright and amused smile from her beloved.
Gideon sauntered (Harrow’s wife was one of the few people in the world who actually lived up to the word) towards her, as slow and inevitable as water carving through the earth. She moved, flowed until she was standing in front of Harrow, lifting her arms to press both of her hands to the wall next to Harrow’s head. Harrow let her brain go completely, blissfully blank as her wife surrounded her. She might whine and complain and beg, but this moment was what she ultimately craved, the moment where her body’s call became so strong that her brain could no longer overpower it. With her wife looming over her, Harrow’s mouth opened in surrender. “I need you, Gideon.”
Her wife smiled, and it was every cliche in the world, a sunrise, a favorite song, a goldstrike. “I know, baby.” She leaned down and pressed her lips to Harrow’s mouth, and Harrow dissolved into her.
Gideon kissed like the ocean, and Harrow let herself drown. Strong hands came up to ground her, one on her neck and one on her hip. Gideon’s lips moved purposefully against her own with moments of teeth that made her press herself even more closely to her wife. They kissed until Harrow could hardly stand it, until her lips ached and every part of her body was liquefied. Just in time, Gideon moved her terrible, terrible mouth down to Harrow’s neck. Her tongue traced down Harrow’s neck, drawing shuddering gasps out of her with each press of her tongue or nip of her teeth. In her hands and under her lips, Harrow became nothing more than a set of urges—no worrying, no second-guessing or policing herself, just a creature in need of a singular thing. And Harrow knew Gideon would give it to her, would pour pleasure into her until she was sated.
Through her haze of want not yet fulfilled, Harrow noted vaguely that someone was whining, “Baby, baby, baby, please,” intermittently. It took several minutes for her to realize that the voice was coming from her, that her hips were grinding desperately into Gideon’s, that her hands were fisted viciously into Gideon’s hair and shirt. “Baby,” Harrow pleaded again, barely aware of her words, and Gideon half-laughed against her purpling neck.
“Okay, baby girl, okay.” A hand started to snake up between Harrow’s slick thighs and Gideon cursed softly. “Fuck, you’re so good for me, so perfect and wet.” Her mouth moved lower as her other hand gently pulled her top down, exposing her aching nipples to the air. When Gideon’s warm mouth descended on her breast, tongue laving over Harrow’s nipple in a delicious combination of suction and wetness, Harrow stopped breathing. She felt her whole body tense, preparing to launch itself off the edge to bliss. Harrow’s nails embedded themselves in Gideon’s neck, and her cunt pulsed and pulsed and—Gideon lifted her mouth off of Harrow’s chest. “Not yet, baby. Soon.” Her lips were shiny, her hair a messy ginger halo. Gideon Nav: Saint of Debauchery.
Gideon took Harrow in her mouth again, and her lower hand shifted Harrow’s skirt upwards until the hemline was sitting on her waist. Even the cold air lightly brushing Harrow’s cunt felt like an assault as she writhed against the wall. Gideon ran her teeth over Harrow’s left nipple while her hand brutally twisted her right. Harrow only wondered briefly at the salty taste that slipped into her mouth as she gasped—she was crying fully, tears sliding down her face as her wife’s mouth brought her closer and closer to the edge.
Harrow was a shaking mess when Gideon lifted her head. All she could do was let her eyes cling to the familiar curves of her wife’s face, to the burnished bronze of her eyes. “Harrow,” Gideon murmured. “You’re such a perfect little slut for me. You’re so, so good.” The tenderness in Gideon’s voice was a balm against all Harrow’s aching places, the pleasure of her body growing vine-like into her soul. “Do you want to come now, baby?”
Harrow nodded tearfully then let her head drop onto her wife’s shoulder. Gideon chuckled. “Yeah, I got you, sweetheart.”
The hand that had been sitting on Harrow’s hip finally, finally slipped between her labia, circling her clit twice, and everything in Harrow bloomed. Her body tensed, and her knees would have buckled if Gideon hadn’t brought her other arm around Harrow’s waist to hold her up. Long sought after satisfaction raced through Harrow’s veins, suffusing her, pouring out of her. Liquid coursed over Gideon’s fingers, dripping down Harrow’s legs. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over Harrow until she could not tell the difference between each peak. Gideon was with her through it all, her voice soft and sweet in Harrow’s ear, her fingers perfect and steady on Harrow’s pulsing clit, her slacks getting thoroughly ruined from where her thigh had snuck its way between Harrow’s.
Gideon kept going even as Harrow’s gasps became weaker, even as she gave more and more of her weight over to her wife. When she removed her hand from Harrow’s clit, Harrow let out a harsh sob, but she knew it was far from over. Gideon half carried her over to the one of the dining room chairs, sitting, and then arranging Harrow so that she was sitting astride her, legs cast to either side.
Once Harrow was situated, Gideon lifted both of her hands to each side of Harrow’s face, lifting it gently so that their gazes met. She kissed Harrow butterfly-light once, twice, three times, over and over again until Harrow forgot what they were doing, why Gideon had brought her over here, and just lost herself in the sensation of kissing her wife. When one of Gideon’s thick-fingered hands left her face to creep between her legs and trace at her entrance, Harrow was almost surprised. Gideon brought her thumb up to play with Harrow’s clit, soft enough that Harrow barely cringed from overstimulation, and Harrow relaxed as the first two of Gideon’s fingers pushed into her. She moaned wordlessly into Gideon’s mouth as the redhead started to slowly pump her fingers out of her, relishing the feeling of her wife moving inside of her. From the sound of the curses Gideon muttered against Harrow’s lips, she was equally fulfilled.
They continued like that for a while, Gideon slowly fucking Harrow as she switched between kissing her lips and reviewing and revitalizing the bruises dotting her neck and collarbone. The first time Gideon pressed her fingers against Harrow’s g-spot, Harrow shuddered and sighed out, “Gideon.”
“Yeah, baby,” her love responded. “I know.”
Gideon thrust and pressed in a consistent pattern now, and more moans escaped Harrow, forced out by Gideon’s fingers. Gideon added a third finger, stretching Harrow so well it burned, and she brought her thumb back up to press at her clit.
Harrow started to shake, a familiar energy spreading through her, and Gideon held her as she came undone once again. Of course, just one was never enough for either of them, and so Gideon kept her tight hold on Harrow as she stroked her through orgasm after orgasm, until the seat of Gideon’s pants were just as soaked as her thigh, and Harrow’s legs were in danger of abandoning her completely. Finally, Harrow managed to touch a shaky hand to Gideon’s wrist. Her wife paused and lifted her head from where it had fallen to Harrow’s collarbone. “You good, baby? Are you done?”
Harrow’s body was a shaky animal, but it was fully her own. She was entirely vulnerable, completely at Gideon’s mercy and overjoyed to give herself over. “Almost,” she said. It was a request.
Gideon smiled wide. “Of course, my love. Always.”
Gideon stood, helping Harrow wrap koala-like around her as she walked them to their bedroom. Except this was not their bedroom. When Gideon lowered Harrow’s feet to the floor, they met the cool tile of the little hallway that led to their back door, the little hallway that, of course, contained their washer and dryer.
“Gideon,” Harrow sighed, because at this point her wife’s name had become the vast majority of her vocabulary.
Harrow could hear the smirk in her beloved voice even as the larger woman maneuvered herself behind her, two heavy hands resting on her hips. “I thought I’d bring us full circle…or, I should say, full cycle.” The woman who had just fucked Harrow into a new and beautiful universe snickered. If Harrow had been even a tiny bit less tired, she would have rolled her eyes.
Gideon walked Harrow forward until her worn out clit made contact with the corner of the washer again, and she inhaled sharply.
Gideon bumped her gently into the machine again. “Hey babe, remember this?”
Harrow found it in her to curse.
“A little more?” Gideon asked, and Harrow nodded her assent.
Harrow felt a firm hand press her upper body down, down, until her face and her tits were pressed to the cold metal of the machine. Gideon bent over her, her warm body blanketing Harrow’s as she brushed a kiss to her cheek. “I love you darling, so, so much.”
Harrow attempted to respond in kind, but it faded into mush against the washer and her own exhaustion. It didn’t matter—Gideon knew anyway.
Gideon trailed kisses from Harrow’s hair, down her spine, even over the scant parts of her body that were covered by her dress. When she reached Harrow’s ass, she added some bites to the kisses as she traversed her skin, causing Harrow to jump and grasp at the edge of the washing machine.
Thumbs pushed Harrow’s thighs apart, and warm breath ghosted over her exposed pussy. Despite the Gideon-inflicted deluge of pleasure she’d just endured, Harrow felt herself flush with anticipation. Gideon kissed up her thighs, even pausing to suck a rather cruel hickey just a few inches shy of where Harrow would have liked her to be.
After a seemingly interminable number of minutes, Harrow felt her wife pull back for just a moment before Gideon’s tongue parted her. At the warm, wet heat, Harrow let out a strangled yell. Unthinkingly, she ground herself back into her wife’s waiting mouth. Gideon, who was apparently not done teasing, traced her tongue along Harrow’s labia while ignoring her clit, even occasionally pressing into Harrow’s entrance.
After several minutes of fruitless grinding on Harrow’s part and some very artful not-quite-there stimulation on Gideon’s part, Gideon’s tongue darted out to lick at Harrow’s clit. Harrow snapped her legs as wide open as she could get them while maintaining her position, a silent entreaty to her wife, and Gideon understood perfectly. She buried her face fully in Harrow’s cunt, tongue now circling her clit with expertise. Harrow was utterly defenseless in the face of her wife’s onslaught, hands scrabbling at the washer, hips immobilized in Gideon’s strong grip. All Harrow could do was hold on as her wife drew her to yet another climax. Her body was already spent, depleted, but Gideon had found the small bit of energy left and was drawing it out of her with each swipe of her tongue. Harrow felt herself grow nearer and nearer, her body not able to even tense properly because of her pose on the washer.
As she drew closer and closer to the edge, whimpers spilled from Harrow’s mouth. Gideon’s fingers dug into her hips to still her and her tongue kept its same perfect rhythm. The tightness in Harrow’s core built and built and then suddenly broke, and she came shuddering, her wife’s name on her mouth. The last of all the tension she had been holding in her body untwisted and untangled in a liquid rush spilling out of her, and she screamed. She was boneless, helpless, completely without control as her wife, ever steady, licked her through her final orgasm of the night. Harrow let herself go, let herself be taken fully by pleasure and by Gideon (was there even a difference between the two in this moment?) until she eventually returned to her body, to the feeling of her wife’s gentle kisses on the back of her thighs. After her final few twitches, Harrow slumped, completely and utterly emptied, onto the washer. Gideon stood up behind her and without preamble scooped Harrow into her arms.
As she walked them into the bedroom, Gideon was murmuring to Harrow. “God, my baby, you were so perfect, so wonderful. My perfect girl, my perfect whore. I love you so much.” She dipped her head to bump her nose against Harrow’s, and Harrow looked up at her wife, chin and neck wet with victory, smile soft and indulgent. She bumped Gideon’s nose back, as speech was both impossible and unnecessary.
Gideon stripped Harrow out of her dress, and then undressed herself, peeling clothing off her body that ranged from somewhat to mostly soaked. She turned on the shower, made sure the water was at the proper temperature, and escorted Harrow into the shower, all the while speaking in a steady stream of praise. She didn’t stop in the shower. Harrow was her good slut as she scrubbed the wings of her shoulder blades, her lovely mistress as she massaged her scalp under the water, her darling as she wrapped Harrow in a towel. After the rest of the night routine, she guided Harrow around their pile of soiled clothes (all clean up would be taken care of tomorrow) and into the bed.
Harrow sank into the mattress and allowed herself to be gathered into her wife’s arms. Gideon’s talking had died off, and she was clearly drifting off to sleep, but there was a small thing bothering Harrow, poking at the back of her mind. She had practically no energy left, but she managed to say, “I’m sorry I was bad, earlier, with the washing machine.”
Gideon made a little hmph and lifted her head blearily. She blinked a couple times before speaking, her tone tired yet firm. “Harrow, I need you to understand me. You are always good, baby girl, even when you don’t listen to me. You could not be bad, even if you tried.”
“Okay,” Harrow nodded tiredly, mostly satisfied.
“No, no,” Gideon cradled Harrow’s face in her hands and forced her to look at her. “You are always good, darling. I need to hear you say it.”
“I’m always good,” Harrow responded, too exhausted to deny it and just relaxed enough to believe it might be true.
“Always,” Gideon said. She kissed Harrow’s forehead, and let her wife’s head fall gently onto her chest.