Sawyer holds out her hand, "Oh no, not while she's out there,"
But she can't deny the dirty thrill that runs through her stomach at the thought.
Natasha advances with it, walks behind Sawyer. Natasha only needs to walk her fingers purposefully down the curve of Sawyer's spine and she's nodding, mouth dry.
Natasha doubles the thin silk and ties a loose knot in the middle, pulls it tight to form a rough ball.
Natasha strokes her finger down the bridge of Sawyer's nose and Sawyer obediently drops her jaw. Natasha pushes it in with one finger, then ties the ends in a floppy bow at the back of Sawyer's head.
"That's a pretty bow,"
Sawyer's eyes slide to the mirror on Natasha's desk. She does look pretty with the pink flush on her cheeks poking out over the cornflower blue fabric. Without mascara, her dark eyes and blonde, translucent eyelashes make her look both young and otherworldly. Her blonde curls tumble down to the small of her back and the bow sits on them nicely, primly.
Natasha takes Sawyer's hand gently, rubbing over her new ring. Sawyer lets her eyes flutter closed as Natasha's fingers caress her wrist, pressing lightly on the pulse there. Her breathing deepens. Natasha gathers her second wrist. She pretends to herself that she can't predict what Natasha's about to do. But she can. When Natasha leans across to grab another scarf her grip slackens, but Sawyer doesn't even twitch. Natasha's binding is lazy, three rings around her wrist and one through the middle. Then another bow. Natasha pushes Sawyer forward on the bed.
Sawyer imagines Lucia in the doorway. Not tearful and vulnerable as she is now, but domineering, like the burlesque photos she posts on Instagram. Glossy black hair, waist tightly sculpted in silk and steel, eyebrow arched like Scarlett in that red dress.
"Fuck, Sawyer, it didn't take long for you to swallow up Natasha's whole hand," Sawyer imagines Lucia sneering, as she lounges against the door post with her long, stockinged legs crossed over each other.
Sawyer would flush at that, bury her head in the mattress. Natasha would smirk down at Sawyer, pat her head softly.
"Listen to how wet her pussy is, Natasha, is she always like this?"
In her fantasy, Sawyer tries to struggle to her feet to confront Lucia, but would be hampered by the tie on her wrist. She imagines wriggling ineffectually on the bed, trying to inch back enough to get her feet on the ground.
She images Lucia giggling at the way her fat, white ass would jiggle as she attempted to rise.
Natasha would move to the side to show Lucia the obscene shock of her white wrist sticking out of Sawyer's pink pussy, and the wetness seeping out around it.
"Natasha! Look how wet your arm is. She wants it really deep, obviously. Push in more, I want to see it."
Real Natasha pushes deep, shunting Sawyer an inch or two further along the mattress. Sawyer wants to yell, but knows the thin scarf is only capable of disguising a fraction of the sound she's capable of making. Natasha has pulled it tight and the fabric is chafing the corners of her mouth. The silk ball on her tongue is sodden and heavy now, and she's beginning to make a small damp patch on the pillow.
Natasha is balling her fist at Sawyer's entrance, making her lightheaded with need. She whimpers and tries to push back on Natasha. If she could move her arms she would be on her hands and knees by now. Natasha pushes deep again but keeps her fist tight, rocking it from side to side. It hurts but feels incredible, sensation flooding through her whole body.
She whimpers, the sound escaping from her nose. Before the sound fades in the air, Natasha roughly pushes her face in the bed. Natasha moves to kneel on the bed so she can continue to fuck Sawyer and keep Sawyer's head firmly in the sheets. Sawyer is already sex-flushed, but the heavy blanket across her face is stifling. She snuffles and sputters into it. When she comes Natasha releases her so she can take some deep breaths. The sound of her panting is obscene in the quiet.
Natasha drags Sawyer by the ankles until she's hanging off the bed, pushes the backs of her knees to fold her to the floor. She settles herself in front of Sawyer, legs spread broadly. She grins just as broadly, plucks the bow open and draws Sawyer to her. Sawyer eats her out sloppily. She can't help thinking that if Lucia pushed the door open now, the first thing she'd see would be Sawyer's ass and her hands tied, folded and propped on top of it.
She imagines Lucia in the doorway, watching Natasha spread her legs wider and wider, kick them in the air.
Her imaginary Lucia drawls, "That good, Nat?"
Real Natasha moves her hands from the back of Sawyer's neck to her hair and starts pulling at it. She holds Sawyer's hair like a resistance band, spreading her arms and arching her back. She's more mobile and serpentine than Sawyer is used to. The movement of her hips is making tracks on the sheets. Sawyer has to shuffle from side to side on her knees to try and keep up with her. Every time Sawyer tries to add suction Natasha moves her hips and breaks the vacuum with a loud smacking sound. Natasha does a good job of coming silently; eyes screwed shut, chin on her chest, lips bitten and a series of short, reflexive thrusts against Sawyer's face.
They tip toe
