Work Text:
"i want you to show me what you mean
then help me with crossword in the morning
you are gonna make me tea
gonna ask me how did i sleep"
-lucy dacus, "ankles"
*
“So what is it about me being mean, do you think, that does it for you?” Deborah asks, swirling a glass of wine in her hand.
Apparently, conversations about sexual boundaries have rules, and one of the rules is that both parties remain relatively in their right minds. So they’re limiting themselves to one glass of wine each -- to take the edge off and lower inhibitions, but to keep their wits about them. Deborah is striving to make her glass last.
It’s not that she’s nervous, or at least, not in the way she might have expected. She’s not afraid to share what she wants with Ava -- she’s already let Ava see so much of her that nobody else ever has. It’s more about Deborah’s insecurity about living up to whatever fantasies Ava’s had in her head. It doesn’t matter how many times Ava tells her that what she wants is Deborah. Deborah still struggles to believe that there isn’t someone better out there for Ava than a much older, closeted woman who has never done most of this stuff before.
“I don’t know,” Ava says, taking a sip from her own glass. “I think part of it is just sexualizing our dynamic, especially the way we interacted when we first met, when I first developed a crush on you. But it’s also something that was always there. It’s not like you just irrevocably warped my sexuality by making fun of my boots. Growing up I had a major crush on, like, every female villain I ever encountered in movies and TV.”
“Is that how you think of me? As a villain?” Deborah raises an eyebrow.
“No. Not once I got to know you. But you play one really well.”
“Hmm.”
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, D. The safeword thing goes both ways. Just because you’d be in charge in this particular scenario doesn’t mean you don’t get to have boundaries too, and if you don’t want to —”
“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Deborah interjects. “I have… enjoyed playing that role before, as you well know from your little blackmail escapade,” Deborah rolls her eyes, and Ava rolls her own eyes back. “But I didn’t care about Bob’s feelings. I do care about yours, and I worry about hurting you. I still feel guilty about embarrassing you on that Vegas tour bus. What if, in the moment, you don’t actually like it? Or you do like it but then it feels bad later?”
Ava smiles gently. “If I don’t like it, that’s what the word is for. And that’s why we’re talking now, so I could warn you about anything I think I wouldn’t like and you can avoid it. But… we’ve played around the edges here and there, and I feel pretty confident I’ll like it.”
It’s true, Deborah concedes. Ava has liked it when Deborah has made her beg, or slapped her ass, or made it hurt a little, or taken charge and been stern with her in bed. She had recently worked her way up to calling Ava a slut, and she’d never felt Ava come so hard. And Deborah had certainly gotten off on these things, too – on having that power over Ava, making her melt, feeling irresistible.
But it’s still scary for her to turn their power differential into something sexy when, deep down, Deborah feels kind of guilty about it. It’s not just a game -- she does have a lot of power over Ava. Sometimes, she can’t help but feel that she must be abusing that power in some way.
“You didn’t like it when the oil heiress did it,” Deborah says, because it’s easier than saying everything else she’s thinking.
“That’s true,” Ava acknowledges. “But that’s because she only wanted it when she thought it was real. It was only fun for her if I was actually a caddy, if I was actually someone she thought was beneath her. It wouldn’t be like that with you, because I would know that you care about me and respect me. I can trust you. Plus, that’s part of what makes it hot, you know? The juxtaposition of what I mean to you, of who I really am, and how you would treat me.”
Deborah considers this. The truth is, she’s been considering it – daydreaming about it, maybe – since Ava first mentioned it the night this all started.
“Tell me more about how you want me to treat you,” she says, finally. “And be specific.”
*
Deborah doesn’t try anything new too quickly after their conversation. She wants it to feel a little spontaneous, even after all the planning and boundary-discussing and negotiating.
The day she decides to really go for it, Ava has been getting on her nerves all day. Not in any serious way -- nothing that merits an actual conversation rather than sex — she’s just been… annoying her. Arguing for the sake of arguing. She might have been baiting Deborah, and if she had been, well, it worked.
It is a Saturday. There is nobody else around in what Ava had so charmingly dubbed the “side mansion” — the staff had the day off.
Deborah had been planning to cook a nice -- dare she say romantic -- dinner for Ava, which she thinks would still be a lovely thing to do for her… after absolutely fucking her brains out while calling her names and bossing her around. Life is about balance, after all.
They are arguing in the kitchen about something totally inconsequential — the wording of a joke for a sketch that probably won’t ever air.
“Ava, I’m done having this conversation. I need basil for dinner. Go outside and pick a bunch and put it in a glass of water on the counter. Then freshen up and meet me in my office.”
“I’m not your gardener,” Ava rolls her eyes, like a petulant fucking teenager — and all the hesitation Deborah had felt about doing this evaporates because there is nothing she would like more at this moment than to put Ava in her place.
“You’re whatever I say you are, Ava,” Deborah says, and watches Ava’s sharp inhale of breath. “And I think you’re going to do exactly as I tell you.”
Deborah walks away without looking back, confident that she’s right.
*
The basil-picking was not necessarily part of her plan, but it gives Deborah time to prepare. She slips on a pair of stilettos to allow herself to loom even taller over Ava. She reapplies her lipstick. She brings a pitcher of water and two glasses into her office, in case they get thirsty. Then, Deborah sits at the desk, puts on her reading glasses, and waits, pretending to busy herself with some paperwork.
When Ava saunters in, she’s still wearing her Doc Martens. Good. A place to start.
“Shoes off,” Deborah says in the same chipper tone she’s used a million times before, though she has not demanded Ava remove her shoes at the door since they started sleeping together.
Ava’s eyes flicker to Deborah’s stiletto-clad feet beneath her desk.
“You’ve got your shoes on.”
“Yes, I do,” she flashes a predatory smile. “And the sooner you learn that some rules don’t apply to me, the easier this is going to be for you.”
Ava waits a beat. Deborah wonders if it’s possible Ava hasn’t realized she’s playing.
“What color is the light?” Deborah asks.
They’d landed on the stop light system for safewords, mainly because neither of them could come up with an alternative they’d found adequately funny.
“Green,” Ava says with a smile. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to make it easy.”
“Oh, I disagree, honey. I think easy is exactly what you are. Now take those hideous boots off before I lose my patience.”
And Ava starts unlacing her boots.
“Christ, if I’d known making it into a sex thing would get you to follow instructions, I’d have started fucking you a long time ago,” Deborah says. Then she looks down at some papers at her desk, making notes in the margins. Without looking back up at Ava, she adds: “Don’t stop with your shoes, by the way. Take everything off and put your folded clothes over on the chaise.”
It’s hard to ignore Ava as she undresses, but Deborah is more than capable of fully committing to a bit, and she does — pretending to be utterly uninterested in the young woman stripping a few feet away from her.
She looks up and sees Ava standing there in just her bra and panties.
“I said to take off everything. Can’t you do anything right? I mean, are you trying to piss me off?”
It feels so mean. But she knows Ava is goading her, especially when she shrugs dismissively in response to Deborah’s rhetorical question.
Deborah removes her reading glasses, stands up and stalks toward her.
“I think you are — you’re trying to make me angry, aren’t you?”
“No,” Ava says, her chest rising and falling a little faster as Deborah approaches.
Ava looks away from the intensity of Deborah’s gaze, and that won’t do. Deborah grips the redhead’s chin in her fingers and forces her to look up and make eye contact.
“Then do as I say, Ava. I won’t tell you again.”
She stalks back to her desk and by the time she’s seated there, Ava is nude. She smiles.
“Good girl. See, that’s not so hard, is it? To do as I say? Isn’t this better than arguing?”
Ava doesn’t answer. Deborah offers a small, haughty laugh. She puts her reading glasses back on and looks back down at her paperwork.
“Still not ready to admit it, hm?”
“Admit what?” Ava asks, her voice hoarse.
“That this is what you really want — how you want to be treated,” Deborah says, looking at Ava from above where her glasses have slid down her nose. “You’ve wanted this for a long time. For me to see you for what you really are: a dirty little slut, just for me.”
Deborah’s heart is pounding. It’s funny – God knows she feels no real qualms about insulting Ava outside of sex. But here, it feels so dangerous. She wants to touch Ava, to reassure her. Still, she can see that the other woman’s pupils are dark. She can see the way Ava blushes across her chest.
Finally, Ava nods affirmatively. The first thing Deborah feels is relief, but arousal is close behind it.
“Say it, honey. Tell me.”
“Yes,” Ava says. “Yes. This is what I want.”
“What are you going to be for me today?” Deborah asks.
“A slut,” Ava says. “Your slut.”
And this, this is working for Deborah. She grins at Ava benevolently, the first hint she’s given the younger woman of the approval she is so often chasing.
“What a good girl. Come here.”
Ava begins to walk toward her.
“No,” Deborah says. “Crawl.”
Ava sucks in a surprised breath, and Deborah is proud of herself. Old dog, new tricks, all that. Maybe Ava was right — maybe she is good at playing the villain.
And if she is, Ava is also quite good at playing the wide-eyed innocent. She stands still, waiting too long for Deborah’s liking. She fidgets her fingers.
“What color’s the light?” Deborah asks again, gently.
“Green,” Ava replies.
“Then stop overthinking and start listening to me,” Deborah says, like Ava is one more annoyance on a long list of problems to be dealt with for the day. “You don’t need to think, and you don’t need to worry, because whatever happens here today isn’t your decision anyway. It’s mine. I’m in control, and I’m going to do whatever I want to you. Treat you however I want. Isn’t that what you want?”
“Yes,” Ava says, her voice a whisper. “That’s what I want.”
“Then get on your hands and knees and crawl over here so I can use you like the whore I know you want to be for me.”
“Oh my god,” Ava whines, grinning at her, looking a little incredulous, before sinking to her knees in her typical, not-exactly-graceful, way.
Deborah smiles reassuringly at her and removes her reading glasses, giving Ava her full attention.
Ava, apparently feeling emboldened by the attention, looks her right in the eyes and starts crawling.
“I knew you could be a good girl for me,” Deborah says. “You are so beautiful like this, sweetheart.”
Deborah wants to mix praise in with the degrading names she’s called Ava — all chosen from a list of insults Ava had sheepishly scrawled on a piece of paper she’d asked Deborah to toss in the fireplace after reading. But not before Deborah had committed every filthy noun and adjective to memory.
Ava crawls toward the desk, and Deborah signals for her to come around it, to settle beside her chair. This is Ava’s fantasy, but it’s already gotten Deborah pretty worked up. She’d like to get her own orgasm out of the way to focus on Ava — and she also knows that being used for Deborah’s pleasure, and being made to wait for her own, is part of Ava’s fantasy.
When she reaches Deborah, Ava settles into a kneel beside her without having to be told.
And having Ava willingly kneel naked beside her desk, while she’s still fully clothed, makes Deborah feel dizzy with power and desire. There’s also an urge to protect her – she looks so vulnerable, so open.
She cups Ava’s face, strokes her thumb along the younger woman’s cheek. Ava beams at her.
“There’s my sweet girl,” Deborah says, and Ava preens.
She is almost ashamed of the little thrill she gets from being so soft with Ava now, knowing how hard she’s planning to be on her later. But it’s what Ava wants, and now, it’s what Deborah wants, too.
“I’m not going to be able to concentrate on work with you here distracting me with that pretty body,” Deborah sighs, trailing her hand down Ava’s jaw, her neck, to her chest, to pinch her nipple and hear her whimper. “You’re a troublemaker, Ava.”
She pouts and says, “You’re the one who made me strip.”
Deborah sighs.
“Oh, and do you always do anything a beautiful older woman tells you?” she asks, enjoying the way Ava blushes. “That’s the problem with your generation, no personal responsibility.”
“We don’t have enough time for me to list all the problems with your generation,” Ava shoots back.
Deborah pinches her nipple again, getting a yelp from her.
“As much as I enjoy all of your self-righteous lectures, I can think of a much better use for your pretty mouth right now,” Deborah says.
She pushes her chair back far enough to give them room for what will come next, and stands.
“Undress me from the waist down,” she orders, stepping out of her heels.
Ava shuffles on her knees to the space between Deborah and her desk, and brings her trembling hands to the clasp of Deborah’s slacks. She does as she’s told, her fingernails scraping pleasantly down Deborah’s long legs as she first removes her pants, then her underwear, midnight blue lace.
Ava tears her eyes away from Deborah’s pussy to look up at her eyes. Deborah smiles down at her, and runs her fingers through the redhead’s hair. Ava moves in towards Deborah, and Deborah closes her fist in Ava’s hair, holding her back. Ava moans.
“Ah ah ah,” Deborah scolds. “You were doing so well listening to me, baby. Don’t get greedy now.”
Ava nods. Deborah sighs indulgently.
“I suppose you can’t really help it though, can you? You’ve always been such a needy little thing. No self control. But that’s why I’m here — to keep you in line,” Deborah says. “I know what you need.”
Deborah sits, then, on the edge of her chair, naked from the waist down, which really ought to disgust her, but it doesn’t. Ava has a way of allowing her to revel in the kinds of things she used to find distasteful.
Which makes her think about something else. She leans further toward Ava from the edge of her seat.
“Open your mouth,” Deborah says. “Show me your tongue.”
Ava’s pupils get even darker, and she does as Deborah asks. Deborah’s heart is racing. As delicately, as femininely as possible, Deborah gathers some saliva in her mouth. Then she leans in closer to Ava’s mouth, and, well, there’s no dainty way to say or do it: Deborah spits.
As soon as her saliva makes contact with Ava’s mouth, Ava’s eyes close, her chest rising and falling faster, and she makes a strangled little noise of pleasure that goes straight to Deborah’s clit.
“Look at me,” Deborah orders gently. “And swallow.”
Ava does, and then, she smiles — looking pleased as punch. They had talked about this in advance, and Deborah had not been sure she could bring herself to do it.
(“It’s so…” she had trailed off.
“Disgusting?” Ava asked.
“I don’t want to call something you want me to do to you disgusting. But… yeah, it’s disgusting. I mean, remember the lozenge?”
“That’s different. And anyway, there’s a fine line between disgust and desire.”
“Well, I know *that.* I’ve seen you in those disgusting boots and yet, I desire you.”
“And you thought you’d have a hard time being mean to me!”)
She allows herself to enjoy Ava’s proud smile for a moment.
“You’re really getting off on this, huh? On being treated like a toy.”
Ava nods. “Yeah,” she practically pants. “I am. On you treating me that way.”
“Good, because that’s all you are today, honey — a toy that I can use however I like.”
“Please,” Ava says. “Please let me make you come.”
Deborah sighs, like allowing it would be doing an inconvenient favor.
“Well, I suppose,” she says, before leaning back, spreading her legs as widely as the chair allows, and pulling Ava’s head towards her center.
None of Deborah’s barbs about Ava’s Gen Z work ethic apply to this. She’s Deborah’s perfect partner: the Nelson Rockefeller of eating pussy, going at her like James Gandolfini devouring gabagool straight from the refrigerator. Ava puts a hand on each thigh, keeping Deborah’s legs spread wide, and she works .
With Ava buried between her legs, and her own head thrown back in pleasure, it’s easier for Deborah to say some of the things she knows Ava wants to hear.
“God, Ava, you were made for this,” Deborah mutters. “To be on your knees for me. I haven’t even touched you, but I know you’re going to be dripping for me when I do. I can’t wait to feel how wet you are, just from getting me off. Just from me treating you like a whore, spitting in your mouth. That’s so fucking dirty, Ava.”
Ava moans against her.
“I love being dirty for you,” she pulls away just long enough to say, before diving back in.
She fucks Deborah with her tongue, then concentrates on her clit and brings one hand away from Deborah’s thigh to slide a finger inside her, then another.
Deborah debates chastising her for not asking permission to use her fingers, but decides it’s all a package deal and allows her to continue. Then she realizes Ava’s other hand has also left her thigh. She looks down to keep track and realizes Ava is touching herself, looking up at her mischievously.
“Did I tell you to touch yourself, slut?” Deborah growls, surprising even herself with how harsh it sounds coming out of her mouth. Ava moans indignantly at being chastised, but stops playing with herself.
Deborah pulls Ava’s face away from her cunt.
“You’re going to pay for that,” Deborah promises, and Ava looks like that was just what she was hoping to hear. “But first you’re going to do your fucking job and make me come.”
And then Ava’s right back between her legs. Deborah stops holding anything back — she grinds herself against Ava, she pulls her hair, she uses her. She can just barely tell that Ava’s hips are thrusting, ever so slightly, against nothing. Poor thing.
“That’s right,” Deborah babbles as she gets close. “Let me use you, Ava.”
Deborah comes soon after, not bothering to hold back the deep moan the orgasm wrenches from her. She knows Ava will keep going if she doesn’t stop her, and she can’t take another round right now, so she pulls Ava back by her hair.
Then she looks down at her and, fuck . Ava looks — Deborah doesn’t even know how to describe it. Her face is wet. Her mouth is shining, open. Her pupils are blown wide. She’s leaning back on her heels, her nipples erect, breasts heaving as she tries to catch her breath. She rests her hands on her thighs, but her fingers are fidgeting again. Deborah can tell how badly Ava wants to touch herself.
“You are so pretty like this, sweetheart,” Deborah says when she’s caught her breath. “So desperate for me to touch you, aren’t you?”
Ava nods. “Please,” she begs. “Please, Deborah.”
“I have to tell you, it feels incredible to have that kind of power over you, Ava,” she says, gently cupping her chin, stroking her jaw with her thumb. “To see how badly you want me. To know you’ll do anything I tell you.”
She trails her thumb over Ava’s lips and the younger woman’s tongue darts out to lick at her digit until Deborah slips her thumb inside Ava’s mouth.
“I was going to let you come right away,” Deborah says, a half-truth, maybe. “But now I’ll have to punish you.”
They’d talked about this, too, of course. Deborah has slapped Ava’s ass before, but it’s typically been a one-off kind of thing. She was a little hesitant about doing anything more — the memory of slapping Ava’s face still fills her with shame and regret, the same way her tourist bus tirade does. In fact, basically all of Deborah’s own hard limits during their little negotiation were related to ways she’d hurt Ava in the past.
Ava had confessed to fantasizing about the slap a few times, and she clearly gets off on Deborah insulting her. But Deborah made it very clear: she will not ever strike Ava’s face, and she will never insult her body while they’re having sex. Spanking her ass, with Ava’s encouragement, she is willing to do. Insulting her clothes or shoes, her behavior, her insatiable sex drive, that’s all fine. And the hand jokes are grandfathered in, obviously. That’s her love language.
Deborah’s not about to do this dressed like Winnie the Pooh, naked only from the waist down. She doesn’t really want to do it fully naked, either. Grimacing a little about how wet she still is, she slips back into her trousers and puts her heels back on. She knows Ava will get off on being the only one who is naked.
“Stand up,” Deborah tells her, moving the chair out of their way. She extends her hands to help Ava up from her knees, and Ava rises shakily. Even with the (very expensive) rug beneath her, even with the benefit of youth, she’s probably feeling it after being on her knees this long.
Deborah looks her in the eyes, wanting to check in before what comes next. “How do you feel, baby?” she asks tenderly, tucking some of Ava’s hair behind her ear.
“Like if you don’t touch me soon I’m going to fucking die,” Ava says with a little laugh.
“Mmm, my poor Ava,” Deborah coos. “Let me see how ready for me you are.”
Deborah slowly drags her fingers down Ava’s body, along her neck, between her breasts, watching her stomach muscles tighten as Deborah draws closer and closer to the place where Ava so desperately wants her.
She was expecting Ava to be wet, but what she finds genuinely shocks her.
“My god, Ava,” she says, the awe in her voice not part of the act. “I’ve never felt you this wet.”
“Told you I’d like it,” Ava says, canting her hips into Deborah’s touch.
Deborah gives her the low laugh that, these days, seems reserved for jokes that are just between them.
“I promise I’ll never again doubt what a little pervert you are,” she says, pushing two fingers inside Ava quickly, forcefully, just to watch her gasp. She thrusts a few times, and then, she takes them away.
“Ugh, Deborah, no, please, touch me,” Ava’s hips chase her hand.
“Did you forget what you have coming to you, hm?” Deborah asks.
Deborah brings her wet fingers to Ava’s mouth.
“Open,” she says, watching Ava’s mouth, transfixed, as the younger woman parts her lips and sucks at Deborah’s fingers.
Deborah brings her other hand to Ava’s ass, caressing, and then, squeezing, hard. “Such a shame I have to punish you. But I think that’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” she asks, removing her fingers so Ava can answer.
“No. I want you to make me come,” Ava insists. “Please.”
Deborah smirks at her. Seeing — feeling — Ava’s arousal has emboldened her. If Ava really likes it when she is mean, she can deliver. She slides her fingers through Ava's wet folds one more time before she sticks her fingers back in Ava’s mouth.
“Oh, honey, you look so pathetic right now,” she says, keeping her voice sweet. “Begging for me. Dripping down your thighs. Licking yourself off my fingers.”
She removes her fingers from Ava’s mouth and puts her hand in the hair at the nape of Ava’s neck. She pulls, angling Ava’s head back. Deborah moves in as if to kiss her on the mouth, but diverts to her jaw, kissing her way up to Ava’s ear.
Then, she whispers: “Bend over that desk so I can hurt you and get you even wetter.”
“Fuck, Deborah, please,” Ava begs as she turns around, doing as Deborah asked her.
Ava lays herself over Deborah’s desk, and she knows she’ll never be able to sit here and work again without thinking of this moment. She thinks back, for a moment, to the vanity in her bedroom — of herself in the same position there as she has Ava right now.
Deborah runs a hand possessively down Ava’s back, rounding the curve to her ass.
She considers asking Ava to tell her why she’s being punished, or asking her to apologize. Instead, she opts for the element of surprise, and simply brings her hand down sharply on Ava’s left ass cheek.
Ava moans and arches her back, presenting her ass for Deborah.
Deborah slaps her ass again, and again, and again. One cheek, then the other, then across both, close to the drenched place between Ava’s legs, which is what Ava seems to like best — it sends her arching back each time, chasing friction.
Ava’s hands are gripping the far edge of the desk, her fingers occasionally flexing open and closed as she squirms under Deborah’s hands. Deborah watches Ava’s hips thrust uselessly against the desk and knows that as desperate as the younger woman is, soon she’ll be the one who can’t hold out any longer — Deborah is overwhelmed by the desire to make Ava come, to watch her truly fall apart.
She wonders if Ava felt this powerful when she had Deborah bent over the vanity. She hopes she did. Deborah wants to have given that to Ava — wants to give her anything she’d like.
Deborah stops bringing her hand down on Ava’s ass and instead caresses her there, feeling how hot her skin is, appreciating how pretty she looks like this.
“Please,” Ava begs. “Please Deborah, I need you to touch me. Please. I’m sorry. I’ll be good.”
“Hmm,” Deborah says, as if she is considering it.
Deborah steps against Ava, then, and the younger woman grinds back shamelessly, her naked ass and her drenched cunt pressing against Deborah’s clothed form. She can feel how wet Ava is. She pushes one of her thighs in closer between Ava's legs, and Ava practically ruts against her.
“Look at you, dripping all over my slacks. I ought to take the dry cleaning bill out of your paycheck.”
“Oh my god, Deborah,” Ava hisses, looking back at her.
Deborah didn’t think it would be possible while already looking so wrecked, but Ava manages to blush further at her words.
“Too much?” she asks, concerned she’s gotten a little close to reality with the paycheck barb.
Ava shakes her head, and presses back against Deborah’s leg again.
“Not too much. So fucking hot.”
Deborah gives her that low chuckle again.
“You took your punishment so well, baby,” Deborah says. “As much as I enjoy watching you rut against my leg, I think you deserve a little more than that after being such a good little slut for me. Get up. I wanna look at you.”
Ava shakily scrambles off the desk, then turns to stand before Deborah – who is still fully clothed, though she knows she must be showing some signs of the exertion of toying with Ava for so long. But it’s nothing compared to Ava, who is naked and trembling before her, eyes hazy and unfocused, looking like she would do practically anything Deborah told her.
Deborah waits a beat, just to watch Ava squirm, to watch her chest rise and fall as she tries to regulate her breathing, to take in how desperately Ava wants her.
“Please, Deborah,” Ava begs, meeting her eyes, and how could Deborah argue with that?
Deborah reaches between their bodies and carefully slides three fingers inside Ava – the girl is drenched, but going from nothing to that still makes her cry out and throw back her head. Deborah takes the opportunity to lick and suck at her throat.
“God, Deborah, that feels so good,” Ava whines, pumping her hips mindlessly.
“I’m glad, honey,” Deborah tells her. “You deserve to feel good. You deserve the world, Ava.”
She isn’t sure where that came from, but it’s the truth. Ava doesn’t seem to mind her softening up the mood – she looks at Deborah with the prettiest smile the older woman thinks she’s ever seen.
Ava leans back against the desk to steady herself and Deborah knows she must be close. She brings her thumb to Ava’s clit to rub tight little circles there. Deborah has made an entire career out of finding just the right words, but she’s not sure how to describe the noise Ava makes at finally getting some friction on her clit.
“I want to watch you come, Ava. Be my good girl, and come for me.”
Ava does, and in that moment, Deborah feels more powerful than she ever has on a stage or in a boardroom. So powerful that she needs to do it again.
After she watches the orgasm wrack Ava’s body, after she listens to her wail with relief after waiting so long, after she feels Ava’s cunt grip her fingers, after she feels Ava sag against her chest into an embrace, Deborah makes another request of the woman who has already given her so much.
“I want another one,” Deborah tells her.
Deborah sits back in the chair behind the desk, and reaches out to grab Ava’s hips and motion for her to spin around. Ava does, and – clearly exhausted – allows Deborah to pull her naked body into her lap.
A half-startled, half-satisfied “oh” escapes the younger woman’s lips as she lands on Deborah’s lap, where Deborah wedges one of her thighs between Ava’s legs. Ava grinds against the fabric, and Deborah lets her.
“I think these pants may be beyond dry cleaning, honey. I don’t think you can afford to replace them, but I’m sure you can find a way to make it up to me,” she says into Ava’s ear, just to hear the younger woman’s breath hitch in her throat.
She understands what Ava meant, now, when she’d said part of the allure would be that it was Deborah – someone who cares about her – who is treating her this way. It feels delicious to lavish praise on Ava one minute, to tell her she deserves the world, and then to turn around and tell her she couldn’t afford the pants Deborah’s wearing. It’s heady to play with the actual power dynamic that does exist between them. It’s thrilling that Ava is allowing it, encouraging it, trusting Deborah to do it. She can imagine how exhilarating it feels for Ava to know that it's Deborah seeing her like this, Deborah treating her like this. It feels so subversive to treat someone she loves this way, but it requires a level of trust that also makes it feel strangely wholesome.
Deborah reaches one hand up to play with Ava’s tits, tweaking one nipple, then the other, while her other hand goes to Ava’s clit. Between all the foreplay and the friction from her thigh, Ava is already on the edge when she begins drawing light circles there.
“I’m gonna –” Ava trails off, rocking her hips.
“I know,” Deborah says smugly into her ear. “Give it to me, sweetheart.”
She grinds against Deborah’s thigh through her climax, as Deborah holds her tight in her lap, whispering sweet, filthy words into her ear, peppering her with little kisses as she comes down.
Deborah was right about the pants – they’ll be beyond dry cleaning, and she couldn’t be happier.
*
Later – after they’ve gone upstairs and Deborah has softly licked Ava to a third orgasm in the comfort of a king bed – they hop into the shower together.
“So,” Deborah says, almost shyly, which seems silly after all they’ve done. “How did it compare to your fantasies?”
Ava laughs sweetly at her.
“Are you kidding?” she asks. “D, it was so much better. I just – you were really fucking good at that. I knew you would be.”
Deborah smiles, but something eats at her a little.
“I don’t know if I should be proud of being so good at being mean to you,” she admits, even as she knows they’d both enjoyed it.
Ava shakes her head.
“I told you, it’s more than that. I wouldn’t let just anyone treat me that way. I could let go with you because I knew you’d take care of me. I know how you really feel about me,” Ava says, so earnestly that it fills Deborah’s heart.
They’re facing each other, under the shower’s spray, and Deborah can’t help but kiss her. She is always blown away by Ava’s willingness to trust her, even after all the ways they’ve hurt one another.
“Thank you for trusting me like that, Ava, even if I haven’t always deserved it,” she says.
“You deserve the world, too, Deborah,” Ava says, giving her own words from earlier back to her.
Deborah smiles. “Turn around, I’ll rinse out your conditioner.”
Ava does, luxuriating in the way Deborah moves her fingers against her scalp. This — taking care of Ava now — might be Deborah’s favorite part of the evening.
“What else did you like about what we did?” Deborah asks. "For research purposes. Not just to stroke my ego."
“All of it just felt very… freeing, I guess? Like you said, I didn’t have to make any decisions. I could let that go and still feel safe knowing you’d be the one in charge. And it’s just fun to… I don’t know, to play together. You get to play the role of the mean, powerful woman bossing me around and I get to play the role of your slutty little plaything. And then when it’s over I know you’re gonna wash my hair and make me dinner.”
“Hmm. Speaking of dinner, did you pick that basil for me, my little gardener?”
“You’ll find out when you get into the kitchen where you belong, my little chef.”
Deborah cackles at that.
*
When Deborah gets to the kitchen, she finds a bouquet of basil resting in a mason jar, tied with kitchen twine knotted into a pretty little bow. She’s never been so moved by the sight of fresh herbs.
She makes them pasta coated with homemade pesto for dinner, delighting in teaching Ava a little bit about what she’s doing each step of the way, letting her try her hand at the mortar and pestle, sneaking little kisses that taste like the bottle of wine they share. She wants to spoil her, so she does.
When it’s time to eat, she watches with deep satisfaction as Ava savors every bite.