Oh don't you dare look back,
Just keep your eyes on me.
I said you're holding back,
She said shut up and dance with me!
“More… God, please… more… harder…”
“Mhmmm…I love it when you beg, Miranda. Don’t hold back now, say it. Say it again!”
She felt suspended in this state between her second and third orgasms, one so far away already, the other just within her reach if only Andrea would roll her hips just a touch faster and give her those blessed last inches. Instead the maddening woman was torturing her, playing with her, prolonging this beyond her capabilities of enduring. God, she wanted to come more than she wanted to breathe and she wanted Andrea to make her come now, right now, damn her. And if she had to beg for it, well, needs must.
“Andrea, please, now, please, I need it, fuck me!”
The thrust of Andrea’s hips did not alter even by an inch, the strap-on penetrating her only halfway and at the wrong angle, by far not even close to hitting her in that sweet spot, where she needed it most. Andrea’s fingers were playing between her nether lips as well, but that only complemented the utterly insufficient thrusts, as the fingertips circled around the clit, not touching it, not providing anything close to the relief she needed. Miranda was ready to sob, or scream from frustration.
“Hmmmm, I feel that wasn’t so much begging as it was ordering, was it Miranda? Do you still feel like you can just snap your fingers and you will get everything you want?”
And God, that voice was doing more things to her than the shaft in her vagina was. Low, husky and entirely too cocky, it was sending chills down her spine. Miranda knew what usually followed that husky tone. She was in for it. She was going to be totally annihilated any second now. And she was going to love every single second of this small death. Indeed, the maddening hips snapped once, twice and the silicone cock was all the way inside her, hitting her exactly where she needed it, stretching her, giving her everything she carved, making her see stars. The blessed voice didn’t stop either, whispering more filth into her ear as Andrea roughly bent her over the desk in their downstairs office.
“You do this on purpose, don’t you, Miranda? Try to order me around so I will inevitably have to punish you, by fucking you right into this desk... “
God, she loved this game they played with each other, where she’d push Andrea to the limit, tease her or test the limits of her control, until that control would snap and Miranda would lose count on the times she’d come and have trouble walking the next day. She also loved being taken just like that, with the absolute illusion that she had no control, and she loved this woman who gave her everything, every dirty filthy fantasy she ever craved.
She loved Andrea, she loved being fucked by her and she was so engrossed in her upcoming climax that it didn’t even occur to her that of all the things to worry about, getting caught should probably have been higher on her list.
And yet, here they were, Andrea bare below the waist with a leather harness around her hips and a red silicone cock that was currently hilt deep in Miranda’s clenching pussy. Miranda herself spread on the desk with the Book lying right beneath her and she might actually need to burn the damn thing since she surely smeared herself all over it. No doubt Andrea would be so damn smug about how wet she got her and how utterly impatient Miranda had become in her arousal that she couldn’t wait even a second to throw the Book on the floor, instead of coming all over it. She could just bet that every time an assistant would show up with the Book, Andrea would give her one of her panty-drenching looks. The power this woman had over her, it should be disturbing, yet since Miranda totally surrendered to it in her office, kneeling in front of a bleeding version of a runaway bride, she felt nothing but exhilaration, because that power usually meant great sex and greater intimacy.
What a picture they must’ve made when the door suddenly opened. Miranda just closed her eyes letting her forehead drop to the surface of the desk with a loud thump. How many times did she obsess about just this scenario? God, why weren’t they more careful? Why didn’t they lock the door?
“Patricia! Girl, not now, baby. I’m a bit too busy to be playing with you right now.” The laughter in Andrea’s voice was downright insulting. The dog snorted as if in indignation and left the room, her claws clacking on the wooden surface.
And then horror of horrors, Andrea dissolved in actual laughter, pulling out and sliding to the floor. The fit of giggles was unstoppable it seemed, and Miranda watched in utter disgust as it continued to escalate until Andrea was all but prostrated on the carpet, clutching her abdomen, the glistening dildo standing proudly at attention from her groin. Miranda wanted to groan. Or growl. Maybe Patricia would understand.
“Are you finished with the hilarity, Andrea?” Miranda couldn’t quite induce her own voice with sufficient strictness. The situation was utterly ridiculous. And somewhat funny. Okay, maybe more than somewhat. If not for the throbbing clit and a ruined orgasm, Miranda might’ve been laughing too.
She tried to straighten her skirt, but Andrea just pulled her down to the floor, still laughing, tears now streaming down her face and Miranda smiled while wiping the smooth cheeks. Sometimes it just hit her how much she loved this woman, how much emotion was evoked in her, simply watching Andrea do anything at all. Was it a blessing or curse to be this vulnerable to another? Miranda didn’t know and frankly didn’t care, and so she sat there, touching Andrea’s face while the younger woman recovered from the fit of hysteria.
“I’m sorry… sorry, love…but you have to admit, it’s funny. Of all the times we could’ve gotten caught? In your office? In the limo? At Nigel’s Spring Collection presentation behind the stage curtains? In your mother’s bathroom? Yet it’s Patty who finally caught us.”
Miranda just looked at the beloved features, so alive now in mirth and happiness, the bright eyes shining with love and tenderness, the wide glistening mouth, most certainly still tasting of Miranda herself, the long skilled fingers that loved her so well. How did she get so lucky? How did she deserve this after everything? She shook her head, dismissing that last thought. She might not have deserved this, but she signed on the dotted line, and so did Andrea - to have and to hold. And Miranda both had and held and she was never letting go. Andrea was hers and she would have what was hers, just as soon as she crated Patricia for the night in her preferred crate downstairs in the basement. With the girls with their father for the weekend and Andrea’s book finished, Miranda planned to have and hold for two days and she didn’t really care who knew about it. After Andrea’s much mediatized three mile dash to Elias-Clark followed by all the leaks from their reconciliation in her glass office, it was, after all, pretty late to close the barn door, since the horse had already bolted.
Even though their wedding was a completely intimate affair with just the twins, both their mothers and Nigel serving as best man for both of them, they still published the announcement in the Post and the Times, and to Miranda’s great surprise the sky didn’t fall down. Granted, by that time it wasn’t really a secret they were a couple and she had worked long and hard with her therapist on her fears and insecurities about coming out, which were greatly diminished anyway by Andrea’s brush with death. Still, New York moved on to the next juicy gossip and Mirandy became yesterday’s news, particularly because a year later they were still going strong and no salacious gossip was tied to either of their names. Runway prospered and Andrea wrote a book about her time in Afghanistan, focusing specifically on the impact of the war on American soldiers as well as the locals’ lives. She was also gearing up to write a sequel on the dysfunctionality of the VA and given her investigative skills and a nose for a story, Miranda was sure it would be a bestseller.
So they lived on 73rd Street and raised the twins who surprisingly were less than shocked and absolutely not upset by their mother’s lesbianism, probably because Andrea was surprisingly good at all sorts of video games and soccer and lacrosse and was one of the cool moms at their school, unlike Miranda herself who did not fit any of the bills above. Miranda counted her blessings.
And she knew that her blessings were about to multiply, just by observing Andrea’s speculative look at Miranda’s naked thighs generously marked by her wife’s earlier attention, with the bites slowly turning red. Andrea licked her lips and pushed Miranda to the carpet, possessively spreading her legs and taking a first long lick. Miranda’s breath caught on a startled moan. Oh yes, blessings indeed.