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The Thin End

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Liz and Finn are fighting over privatisation again. The debate rages on for days, spills into the time they spend together outside work. It’s the combination of one too many mentions of how his arse is on the line and them being buggered and the final angry exclamation of “fuck me!” that makes her see red, and she snaps “bed!” at him, turns heel to storm into her room with him trailing after her.

She points at the bed. “Sit.”

He bristles. “I’m not your fucking dog, Liz, I don’t just -” She says nothing, keeps pointing and staring at him with narrowed eyes until he sighs and plops onto the edge of the mattress.


As she heads into her bathroom, he sarcastically asks, "What next? 'Roll over'?"

"That'd be a start," she retorts. Liz slams the door behind her, takes a deep breath, and sheds her clothes.

Once she's down to her panties, she can hear Finn shifting. "Am I needed for this?" he calls.

Liz catches her exasperated expression in the mirror. "Can't you sit still for half a fucking minute?"

"You'd better not be having an angry wank in there!"

"Self-gratification is more of your thing!"

It's mercifully silent for several seconds. She retrieves her recent purchase, fiddles with the buckles - 

Finn questions, "Did I misread this? Are we not going to fuck? Are we about to deliver impassioned filibusters to each other, and you're practicing in there?" She pauses mid-task to thump the bathroom door once, irritated. His voice rises. "Spare me your usual excuses. I refuse to be on the receiving end of - "

Liz steps out wearing a strap-on.

“Mine’s bigger,” is the first thing he says, following a moment to absorb the situation.

“As much as you’d likely enjoy the process, I’m not going to commission a plaster replica of your dick and fuck you with it.”

The harness is snug, black leather riding low on her hips. His gaze quickly sweeps over her body and re-fixates on the phallus; Liz has never been as adept as reading him as the reverse, but she doesn’t detect fear or disgust on his face, only a projected ambivalence.

“I didn’t know they came in cornflower,” he comments.

“That’s why I chose it, really.”

“Very tasteful, very muted.”

“I have a thing for fake, rigid pricks." She steps closer, fondling the dildo with both hands. "You know. Like my men."

"What brought this on?" Finn asks, in a low voice.

Liz tugs the cock in several lazy upward strokes to demonstrate its give, delights in the way his brows raise as he watches.

"Can I just be really open and honest with you?" she drawls.


"My first month here, I slept with my ex a few times. I had weird sexual tension with Richard." Finn cringes; her words probably hurt him a little, she knows, but he can handle it, and all's fair in...yeah. "Nothing I experienced was as arousing as the thought of you being ploughed into a mattress doggy-style."

His eyes dart up to her face. "You were planning this."


"Have you done this before?"

"Never, and nothing like it," she answers truthfully, which seems to relieve him somewhat, which is odd. "Never wanted to, either. Until you."

Finn gives her another appraising once-over and shrugs. Unbuttoning his shirt, he says, "I'll play along. But bear in mind that there are no safe words when it comes to the real-world private sector." 

Liz grins as she counters, "Any contract we sign will be a preemptive measure of equivalent value." 

"Yes, large companies are so well known for their trustworthiness." 

She crosses the room to pounce on him, kisses his lips, his jaw, only ceasing once his clothes litter the floor. Under her onslaught, he gropes the dildo, and she bucks into his touch like she can actually feel it. 

"Turn around. Hands and knees," she instructs, breaking off. 

"So you did want me to roll over," Finn deadpans. Amazingly, he obeys without further comment. He even grabs the lube from her bedside table and hands it to her. As Liz sinks onto her knees behind him, he shoots her a coy glance over his shoulder. “I hope you're admiring my upper body strength.”

“Your lower body is more of my priority right now.” She runs an appreciative hand up his thigh, wondering if he can feel the sear of her gaze as she ogles him. It's a shame if he doesn't. “Great ass. And your butt is nice, too.”

"Are you getting a kick out of this?"


"Well, you're certainly in-character."

"I don't know if the personification of the Met would be this mouthy." Liz smacks him on the buttocks, inexpertly. The resulting loud crack is probably disproportionate to the sting it'll cause, though he inhales sharply anyway. "Or fuckable."

Her thumb smooths over the cleft of his arse, but she doesn’t spread him yet. She pops the lube open with her other hand and drizzles some between his cheeks, smirking to herself when he flinches at the cold. Then she smears a generous amount onto her fingers.

“What would you do,” Liz begins to ask, “if I lubed you up by spitting in your hole?”

Jesus. His dick twitches. Unbeknownst to her, that has layers of the twisted irony they both love, and turnabout is fair play - not that he's ever been particularly interested in fairness, but it sounds pretty fucking hot.

“I’d probably kick you on reflex." One hand spreads him and - fuck, there's her thumb fluttering over the ring of muscle again. "You know there won't be this period of adjustment," Finn says, attempting to make conversation to distract himself from her wet index finger now circling his hole. "Do you really think they'll ease us into it?"

"They don't want to hurt us," she reasons. He scoffs, even as his heart pounds; he keeps his eyes trained on the headboard in front of him, vulnerable and exposed and other things he hates in theory but savours as long as it's Liz inflicting the discomfort. "Or I could shove myself in dry, if realism is that important to you."

His retort gets caught in his throat when her fingertip breaches him.

It's...weird. Liz prompts, nervous and hopeful, "Okay?"

"All this concern is inaccurate."


"It's okay," he grumbles. "Maybe add more lube."

She removes her finger, squirts another dollop of lube onto it, and slowly slides it past the resistance. Once she's up to the base, Finn lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

"Ohhh," Liz sighs. The mattress starts to bounce - he realises that she's rubbing herself against it. “You’re like a furnace in there. And tight." 

“Of course I’m fucking tight. Why wouldn’t I be? Do you think I habitually finger myself or take such massive sh - ah."

She's crooked her finger, hitting something that radiates pleasure, makes his toes curl involuntarily. “Were you saying something?”

He has to suppress a whine as her finger is withdrawn. “Do that again.”

"I thought you weren't in a position to give orders."

"Never mind. It's not a perfect analogy. Do that again."

Liz sort of wishes she could see his face, but there's always next time. Besides, not seeing his face was a big part of this specific fantasy. She stretches him with caution, coaxing out muffled curses and shivery sighs. Two fingers in, she notices that he's stroking his dick; not one to be outdone, she scissors her fingers abruptly, brings them back together to bracket his prostate, and squeezes. He grunts, rocking backwards. 

"Down, boy," she chides. When he cranes his head to glare at her, she repeats the action while rolling his balls in her free hand. Finn bites back a shout.

By the time they're at three fingers wriggling knuckle-deep inside him, he's breathing heavily, reacting to every tweak and twist of her wrist as if it's a revelation.

She asks, "Ready?" 

"Think like a corporation: just take."

That earns him another smack on the arse, and she pulls her fingers out in one motion, eliciting an indignant noise at their loss.

"Yeah, that's more like it," Finn exhales. He plants his hands firmly on the mattress, bracing for the next smack. Instead, he hears a stifled laugh, followed by the crinkle of foil. Lest he lose his nerve, he decides not to look. "What's that? Crisp packet?”


“Worried about knocking me up?”

“It’ll be easier to clean after,” Liz explains, like it’s obvious.

“I hope it’s not a rental,” he fires back.

“Because we’re doing this again soon?"

"No, because a rental would be...unhygienic. And less cost-effective.” Finn digs his elbows into the mattress and huffs. “Shut up."

He listens to her slicking the dildo with lube. He can picture her lips pursed in concentration, that disgustingly sexy thing she does whenever she's engrossed, her eyes hot and hungry on him. At this mental image, his mild anxiety is accompanied by a bead of pre-come trickling down his shaft. Oh, fuck. 

Liz lines herself up with his entrance. He's tensed; she makes a soothing sound from the back of her throat, plants her open mouth between his shoulder blades before sloppily dragging her lips down the curve of his spine. The tip of her cock nudges at his pucker. She watches, fascinated, as she pushes it in and - that's a heady rush of power, knowing he's going to be full of her, knowing she's the only one who's seen him like this. His whole frame quivers at the intrusion, a soft gasp escaping him.

"Good?" she murmurs.

Finn's mouth has gone dry. The dildo is around the same length and width as her fingers, but it's different, more solid, blunter. His body isn't entirely sure whether it should jerk away or try to get closer.

“I’ve mentioned that I’m flexible," he rasps.

“This has more to do with openness, though.” She eases her cock out, in, out, inch by inch, marginally further each time. Careful, the slow burn of it setting his blood aflame; almost mesmerizing once he tunes out the persistent squelch of lube and focuses on Liz's breathing, her hands massaging his back. It isn't as difficult as he'd expected, but he still has to will himself to relax. 

“There’s only so much anyone can take," he answers, after what seems like eons. "People, organisations, arseholes...”

Her movements stutter. “Do you know how far I’m in?” She doesn't give him a chance to respond. “Centimetres to the hilt.”

“You’ve started using metric. That’s g -” Liz bottoms out, sighing as her hips rest flush against his arse. He looses a sound vaguely like a squeak.

“Not so bad, is it?”

“Fuck,” Finn utters.

It feels - not exactly pleasant or painful, just uncomfortable, a small burn over the admittedly interesting sensation of being filled. Liz drapes her body along his, crushing her breasts to his back, her nipples hardened peaks against his skin. Then, she moves in one tentative forward roll. And she brushes that spot.

Miraculously, he remains upright. It's a glance off the side, but God, it shoots straight to his cock like a bolt of liquid fire. She stops there; he wants to surrender to it, spread out and request more, but he remembers that this is Liz and there was an argument leading up to this though he's having trouble recalling it.

Liz places a hand on his hip. He jumps.

"Finn? Talk to me."

"Nnnnngh," he manages.

"Do I win?"

"N-no. I just. Let me." He clears his throat before speaking, trying to find some semblance of composure; his voice comes out thinner than he'd like. "So, it feels surprisingly good..."


"But you prepared me for it, and you're being gentle." Liz resumes thrusting at an irregular pace. She wipes a hand across his damp forehead, curls a lock of his hair around her fingers and twirls it idly. "I doubt corporations would be such considerate lovers."

"Did you just call me your 'lover'?" she interrupts. "Your 'considerate lover'?"

"That was - I didn't mean - no," Finn claims. His sanity is dangerously close to fracturing, so he may as well argue while he still can. "I take it a reacharound is out of the question, for authenticity's sake?"

"I could give you one, if you really want. But I thought you'd prefer to suffer in solidarity with the Met." He nearly lets slip this isn't suffering before realising that that's her point. "No touching yourself," she adds. "You can rub against the sheets a bit, but you either come on my say-so or not at all."

"See, that's the controlling aspect you need to capt - oh, fuck! Fuckfuckfuck."

His fists bunch in the sheets. She's begun pounding into him in earnest, a steady, searching in-out. Just as he's getting used to it, she changes the angle of entry, and on the upstroke -

"Right there," he gasps. Liz fucking laughs and obliges. Again. Again. When she grips Finn's waist with both hands and stabs dead centre on his prostate, his eyes roll back in his head. His cock is hanging heavy and leaking; he drops his hips to rut against the sheets, but keeps the contact light, out of a morbid curiosity to see if he can come untouched from this.

"I don't need to prop you open with anything," she points out, sounding infuriatingly casual. "You're so...pert. Your ass is holding me in like it can't bear to let go." He chokes on a moan.

Apparently the appeal isn't only in the power she wields, though that is a hell of an aphrodisiac. The base of the dildo presses against her clit and part of her cunt; the harder she fucks into Finn, the greater the friction. She wasn't expecting much from this - honestly, she was planning to get him off as fast as possible, then ride his tongue - but this is good, too. Fantastic, even. 

Liz alternates between deep strokes and shallow jabs. He's writhing beneath her, a sweat-slick mess begging to be taken further apart. Bedsprings creak. Half-swallowed moans reach her ears, and she knows he's still trying to fight, trying not to show her how much he wants it, which is somehow better than making him lose all control. 

One particularly forceful thrust has him scrabbling desperately at the sheets. The next makes his elbows give way, and he struggles to get back into position before accepting it for the moment. Now he's facedown with the rest of his body canted towards her, as if he's offering himself; it's very appealing, but he's too quiet...

"Fuck, Finn. Are you actually biting the pillow?" He flips her off, head still buried. Liz grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks upwards. Her voice positively drips with smugness. "Be as vocal as you can. I value your input."

"Hate you," he mumbles, without feeling.

"Can we continue our discussion now?"

Finn lowers his head and pants open-mouthed against the mattress. She brings a hand to where she's buried inside him and teases the swollen skin with her thumb; he jerks in surprise, lifts himself back onto all fours.

"What discussion?" 

"Corporate sponsorship."

"Jesus," he groans. "You really were planning this. Like they are." 

"I wanted you to be comfortable." As an afterthought, she adds, "I'm sure they do, too."

"Fuck off."

"If we let them have their way with us, they'll do all the work." To illustrate her point, she slams into Finn at an angle that makes them both gasp. Fuck. Earlier, she put together a whole speech specially for this moment, but she's left tongue-tied by the slippery grind of their bodies, the heat buzzing between them. Anyway, what leaves her mouth is more coherent than the helpless sounds he's emitting. "They may end up on top, but we benefit the most. Of course, everyone will know. Transparency and all." 

"So we should play the high-class whore? Bend over and think of the budget?" 

"You seem to be enjoying it." 

"You'll ruin us," he insists weakly. Liz hears his unspoken addendum: You'll ruin me.

"I didn't come here to destroy the institution. I came here to reform it, inside-out."

He has no response to that other than a protracted moan.

Her legs are getting tired, but a brilliant idea strikes her, one she's currently more proud of than the privatisation thing. Resting on her haunches, she pulls out until the dildo's tip just catches against the rim of his entrance. Seconds pass. When she doesn't push back in, he turns frantic, making distressed high-pitched noises while he thrashes ineffectually and claws at the sheets.

"Liz. Liz? You've stopped fucking me. Why have you stopped fucking me. Why the fuck have you stopped fucking me."

"Be a good public sector bitch and show me how much you like it."

"You complete fucking arsehole," Finn whines, which she thinks is rather apt. He babbles as he starts to work himself onto her cock, every visible muscle straining. Her own arousal flares. "You're evil. I thought I had issues. You're so into this. What did I tell you? Today it's pegging with a modestly-sized strap-on. Tomorrow you'll be in a leather get-up, flogging my bollocks with a cat-o-nine-tails. Because...lobbying."

"I love how eloquent you get when you're losing your mind." Liz drinks in the sight of the dildo reappearing and disappearing into him. It's tempting to wildly hump him to completion, but she recalls their confrontation in the lift - and not the privatisation aspect. She remembers looking in the mirrored walls afterwards, watching a scared girl step out from behind a confident facade. He was right about her dabbling in the dark side. Part of her craves seeing him fear and desire and hurt the way he hadn't believed she did.

But he believes it now, and she couldn't truly harm him. So this is how she vents her lingering anger. With five inches of fake cock. 

"Fuck me. Fuck me." He lets out a pitiful keen and twists slightly; she glimpses his contorted face, the expression easy to mistake as agonised. "Come on, you can't tease me forever, please - "

"Tell me what you want."

"I just did!" Finn sounds like he's on the verge of frustrated tears. That almost tugs at her heartstrings.


"Stick your dick in me. Bugger my brains out. Liz, fuck, I need you inside me, I need your big hard cock, make me feel it for days, make me walk so funny tomorrow that everyone stares and collects on their water cooler bets - Jesus Christ!"

He's just crying out now, broken little shouts punctuating the rapid slap-slap of her hips and thighs against his. Her arms bear down around him, enfolding, trapping. There's a sweet ache stirring deep inside her, familiar urgency mounting and, fuck, she's close, but she needs more from him, needs that nudge over the edge -

"What do you say?" she croons.

"Thank you. Ah, shit," Finn whimpers.

"Mmm, Finn, so fucking good," Liz purrs. As she begins to shudder, she sinks her teeth into his shoulder, barely shy of breaking the skin. She unlatches her mouth to whisper raggedly, "You're a fucking slut. Greedy whore. You act like you have the moral high ground, but you love being stuffed with my corporate cock..."

Her voice tapers off, then pitches into a wordless cry. He's getting the ride of his life and she's coming; she has the audacity to gasp and whimper as if she's surprised and needy and not currently railing into him so hard that the bed rattles. And she keeps taking him, using his body as leverage to wring out every last bit of her orgasm. On some level, he's pleased to have gotten her off by sticking his arse up and asking nicely. On another level, fuck that's unfair.

The contented mewls in his ear are almost too much to endure. "Liz, close."

"Sssh." She tenderly kisses the bruises she's sucked into the nape of his neck. "Not until I let you."

Finn wants to reply with "good corporation impression" but it comes out as gibberish. Liz rotates her hips in a taut circle, ruthlessly stabbing his prostate in one continuous swivel. His balls have never been so drawn-up or deliciously painful. He's aware that he must look and sound ridiculous, and that only heightens the sensation, the just-right gut punch of humiliation at the corner of his need.

"Please, Liz," he croaks. She pulls all the way out, then rams back in and stays in place at that perfect spot, the small snaps of her hips making his dick throb and heart hammer in anticipation of release. "Fuck! Please!"

"You can come now," she breathes - more of a suggestion than a command. He mashes his face into the pillow and wails, clenching around the dildo as tightly as he can. Her hand finally encircles his cock, but not to pump or even really grip it; she's angling it so that his come splatters onto his stomach and chest instead of the sheets, and that's filthy and vaguely degrading, and for a few horrible seconds he realises he might actually be in love with her.

Liz gently extracts herself from him, leaving him feeling both sated and empty. Finn manages to flip over before collapsing, too blissfully fucked-out to react when she kisses a stray drop of come off the edge of his mouth and chuckles. The mattress bounces as she stands to dispose of the condom. Head swimming, he shuts his eyes and waits for her to flop beside him, maybe lap up the rest of his mess. It's a mild shock when she straddles his chest.

He opens his eyes and finds himself face-to-tip with the dildo still bobbing between her legs.

She worries her lower lip. "Suck it for me?" There's an awkward question mark at the end of the sentence.

What the hell, he figures, he's already intimately acquainted with it. His tongue flicks out several times to lick the tip; Liz flattens her palms against the wall to push her cock into his mouth. He's always questioned what she gets out of blow jobs - upon looking up, he thinks he understands.

Finn lets the dildo slip free. Her eyes go wide as he reaches beneath her to run his fingers through the come on his stomach, then coats the strap-on. His mouth descends for a slurp that's noisier than he intended. 

"See?" he mutters, staring up at her glassy-eyed, one hand jacking the dildo. "I have good ideas, too." 

"Shut up," Liz growls, voice thick with renewed lust. She shoves her cock past his lips, and he deliberately bats his lashes at her as he takes it in. 

It doesn't take long for her to start fucking Finn's mouth. He mimics everything he likes when she sucks him off, hollowing his cheeks, maintaining eye contact, making the occasional moan. Her gaze is aglow with condescension and cruel glee and a hint of affection; if he could get hard again, he would. 

Soon, Liz throws her head back, shouts his name, and shivers violently, thighs hot and trembling against his face. It's nowhere near a draw, but it's also not a total loss on his part. Although he should probably reevaluate his concept of losing. 

The dildo slides out with a pop. She unstraps the harness, tosses it aside, and curls up next to him.

"I'm going to need more convincing," Finn pants.

"I'm open to further discussion."

"I think you fucked my brain out of my prick."

Liz clutches his arm, a bit possessively, a bit fondly. "I had fun, too."

They lie side-by-side for some time, drifting in and out of consciousness.

“Analogy?” she drowsily asks no one in particular. “More like anal-ogy.”

Finn groans.