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i just want you closer, is that alright

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Their cottage garden is fenced in, but it’s a white picket thing that does little by way of privacy.

Mildred is cross-legged in the loose dirt amidst long-forgotten poppies and Hollyhock, Gwendolyn in her lap with a leg resting at each of her hips. Mildred’s lips ghost across her collarbone and the fingers of her left hand twist sharply in Gwendolyn’s panties.

“My love,” Mildred murmurs, licking a line across Gwendolyn’s sweaty neck, “you feel so good.” She does something with her fingers then, scissors them inside her, and Gwendolyn jerks in her lap with a gasp. It’s sublime; Gwendolyn relishes nothing more than having her Mildred inside her.

She rocks against the pressure of those fingers, chest heaving, and bends to catch Mildred’s lips in a bruising kiss. “Not that I’m complaining,” Gwendolyn pants into her mouth, “but what on earth has gotten into you?”

Mildred mouths at the skin near Gwendolyn’s breast that’s been left exposed by one undone overalls strap, and Gwendolyn whimpers. She feels achy and damp between her legs, and the muscles in her thighs are burning with the effort of her undulations. She places both hands on Mildred’s shoulders for leverage, timing the staccato motion of her hips with the movement of her girl’s divine fingers.

“Mildred, oh!” Gwendolyn moans, long and blissful and drawn out, and it’s enough for Mildred to clap a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. She rides her sweet, sweet climax like a wave, certain her release will have stained the lap of Mildred’s dressing gown.

Breathing hard, like she has run out of oxygen (she has), Gwendolyn notes the smirk coloring Mildred’s pretty features as her fingers slip from her body. She wipes a wayward streak of mud from Gwendolyn’s forehead with her thumb.

“It was the overalls,” Mildred says with a shrug.



They make slow, sweet love in the dead of summer.

There is an unprecedented heat wave sweeping the western United States, and their bodies stick together like glue, tacky and bonded.

Mildred hates the heat and hates the discomfort that comes with it, but she would not give up the hot, sweaty crush of her body against Gwendolyn’s for anything. They’re pressed together on white linen sheets, midday sunlight streaming in from the open window near their bed.

“Take what you need, darling,” Gwendolyn tells her, her lips pressed to Mildred’s jaw. “I’ve got you.”

She does.

She cradles Mildred to her, keeping their hips, their bellies, their breasts close. She holds Mildred with a palm to her lower back as Mildred bucks against the thigh nestled between her legs. She’s slick - surely dripping all over Gwendolyn, and burning everywhere.

Mildred lifts her head to gaze into Gwendolyn’s kind, familiar eyes, and they kiss. It’s saccharine sweet and honey-slow, and Mildred sucks Gwendolyn’s bottom lip between hers, daring to pierce the flesh with her teeth.

This intimacy, this closeness, is nearly as exquisite as the grind of Mildred’s clit against the hard muscle of Gwendolyn’s thigh. She nestles her nose into Gwendolyn’s neck, smelling sweat and orange peel, and shifts her hips down harder, earning a grunt of satisfaction from Gwendolyn in return.

She has never taken so freely from a lover before; they had always taken from her. With Gwendolyn she is wanton, open and vulnerable, and she chases the rich throbbing in her center with abandon.

Gwendolyn reaches for Mildred’s hand, laces their damp fingers together, and that’s when something catches alight deep inside Mildred. Trembling, she finishes with a cacophony of moans and a clenching of her cunt, collapsing, boneless, atop Gwendolyn’s body.

Mildred’s heart is only just beginning to slow when Gwendolyn kisses her shoulder, purrs, “You’re beautiful when you come.”



It’s a race against the clock, and they’re losing.

Gwendolyn vaguely hears Mildred utter something about guests arriving in an hour, but she can’t quite hear with her ear pressed to the skin of Mildred’s inner thigh, where she is all sticky heat.

She wants her spread fully open, exposed; Gwendolyn nudges her legs wider with the square of her shoulders, the hinges of Mildred’s thighs popping in protest.

Perched on the countertop, Mildred scrabbles for purchase amongst the food platters when Gwendolyn licks the sodden length of her. She pitches her tongue down, up, down, in (Mildred chants her name like a prayer), in, in, suckling her where she’s wettest, relishing the sharp taste of her, like lightning in a bottle.

Mildred is entirely dressed, save for the panties hanging precariously off one foot and the skirt flipped up to her hips. Gwendolyn wants to feel all of her girl; without much grace at all, she reaches up to untuck her silk blouse so she can dance her fingertips up Mildred’s abdomen and ribs, over the delicious swell of her breasts. She watches in some kind of awe as Mildred’s head tips back and her hips tilt forward. “Don’t tease, Gwen,” she groans, “more.”

Gwendolyn drinks at the altar of Mildred then, feels the slip of her arousal smeared across her cheeks, her chin, as she draws sinful circles around the hard bead of her clit. She clutches Mildred’s wicked hips as they press against the steady movement of her tongue, and if she were to suddenly die here, forever between Mildred’s legs, she would be alright with it. Gwendolyn hums against her soaked flesh, and it’s the added vibration that sets Mildred off like a rocket entering orbit.

Gwendolyn works her through the tremors, and she is certain there is no state of existence Mildred is more magnificent in than this one.



She can’t see at this angle, but if Mildred were to hazard a guess, she’d assert Gwendolyn’s pupils are blown wide, pleasure clouding the blue.

She’s still learning to take charge, give instruction, but oh, Gwendolyn is a fine student, settled in the V of Mildred’s open legs, her back to Mildred’s chest, both stark naked.

Beside them the fireplace burns hot as Mildred skims her fingers through Gwendolyn’s loose curls, her head lolling back against Mildred’s shoulder. At Mildred’s direction, she runs two fingers down the seam of herself and splits herself open, desperate for friction.

Mildred is pleased as punch, and equally aroused, feeling the tight pulse in her own body as she hooks her chin over Gwendolyn’s shoulder to peer between her legs.

Mildred instructs her precisely how and where to touch herself, just how much pressure to use, and when to back off. She watches with rapt attention, reveling in the feel of Gwendolyn’s body writhing against hers. Mildred sucks one of Gwendolyn’s fingers into her mouth, and she strings a note of melodic moans from her lips when Mildred manipulates that same finger inside Gwendolyn. “Now fuck yourself,” she says, low.

“You are incorrigible, Mildred Ratched,” Gwendolyn croaks, the words catching in her throat.

She does what she’s told though, and comes, shuddering deliciously against the solid form of Mildred’s body.