She collapses backwards, the wet silicone slipping out of her as she tumbles onto Natasha's legs.
Natasha's laughing at Sawyer already, "Jesus, you went down like the World - "
"Don't finish that joke, Nat, please."
"Take this fucking thing off and fuck me," Natasha hisses at her.
Sawyer does. Her pussy feels delightfully stretched, still pulsing every few seconds. Sawyer spreads Natasha's legs and a new wave of arousal hits her. She feels her stomach jump. She doesn't think she's ever seen Natasha's pussy as swollen as this, her clit red and fat and almost entirely poking out of the hood. Natasha is wet down her thighs, the hair on her labia a sticky mess. She ruts against the air, writhing on the bed.
Sawyer starts off by fucking Natasha with two fingers. Sawyer beckons inside her, and Natasha bucks down on her hand, twisting the bed sheets in her hands.
"More, more," Natasha sounds vacant, another world away. Sawyer has never heard Natasha sound quite like that before, either. Sawyer adds a third finger, feeling the tough band of muscle stretch around her fingers. Her joints press into each other painfully. Sawyer feels almost hypnotized as she squashes her little finger underneath the rest, pushing in the last or two down to her first knuckles.
Natasha's pussy is spread as wide as it can. Sawyer knows it must hurt. There is no way she can accommodate the wide span of Sawyer's palm, even if Sawyer knows it gets much easier when you get down to the wrist and that dreamily full feeling sets in. Sawyer tries to squash her fingers closer together but even with lube, her hand is what it is.
She uses the fingers of her other hand to rub Natasha's clit to distract her from the stretch. There's nothing much she can do with the hand mostly inside Natasha, just rock it back and forth, try and twitch her fingers upwards in hope of touching the soft spot that makes Natasha gasp and buck up.
Natasha's clit is so swollen that Sawyer moves to rubbing around it with her forefingers, glancing over it with her thumb. Eventually even that makes Natasha hiss and yelp, and so Sawyer slides down the mattress to lick her instead.
Her elbow is bent at an awkward angle and Natasha tastes almost entirely of the metallic tasting lube they've been using. But Sawyer loves it. She uses her lips to create as much suction around Natasha's engorged clit as she can, keeping her tongue fat and floppy to brush up and down, side to side. She presses her thighs together, the last of the little aftershocks pinging through her thighs.
Natasha brings her legs up around each side of Sawyer's face. Her knees are straight and she's pointing her toes like a ballet dancer up into the gloom of the rest of the bedroom.
Sawyer reaches underneath Natasha's ass, using her thumb to put pressure on Natasha's hole. She presses hard enough that it gives way, then pulls back.
Natasha is clutching at her own hair, muscles clenched, spewing obscenities until she comes, shaking, against Sawyer's face. For a minute, Sawyer enjoys the erratic clamping around her hand, totally out of time with the heaving of Natasha's chest, before trying to pull out as carefully as she can. Her hand has been squeezed so thoroughly that she has pins and needles in it, and she wiggles her fingers to try and get the feeling back. She cups her damp hand against Natasha and her clit is still pulsing, twitching against her palm.
Sawyer feels giggly and energetic. She bounces on the bed, flings a leg over Natasha. She taunts her in her most obnoxious voice,
"Did you know that when you came you called me both a 'fucking slut' and a 'dirty little pussy licker?'" Natasha hides her face in her hands, but Sawyer wrenches them away to see her face. She grins, wide-eyed and elated, into Natasha's face.
"Don't hide your face! I loved it, you fucking pervert."
She loves Natasha's skin, wants to slither all over it.
"Look! Look at my hand," Sawyer insists, "I got this far," Sawyer points at the little red marks where her knuckles were crushed together.
"Are you proud of me? Are you proud of you? I've never done that with anyone before!" My hands are huge! Did you enjoy it?"
Natasha rolls over, catches Sawyer's mouth with her own. Natasha barely moves her lips, just hums quietly into it. Sawyer knows full well that means leave me alone, I want to sleep now. But Sawyer still feels exhilarated. She forces herself to calm down, regulates her breathing by using Natasha's as a guide until she falls asleep.
In the morning, Sawyer feels fresher. The Winter sun is bright, and lights Natasha's room in a familiar way. There's Natasha's incongruously expensive perfume, her small painted plate with St Basil's Cathedral on it, the vintage leather gloves Sawyer hasn't got a hope of getting on her hands. She knows this house, she knows this woman.
Natasha's dancing to something raucous in the kitchen. The music is crashing, but her movements are sinuous and sensual as she holds the handles of her cupboards and writhes, bending her knees and sticking her ass out.
"This is not a calming way to start the day, Natasha!"
"The day started four hours ago!" Natasha cries cheerfully, and kisses Sawyer on the cheek.
