|Twisted Little Fantasies
Author: NegativeSpaces PM
In a way she figures it's ironic - the perceived innocent blonde having the filthiest thoughts. As Santana gives her the go ahead to her desires, Brittany finds that control can be the sexiest kink of all. Brittana, Dom/sub. Rated M.Rated: Fiction M - English - Romance - Brittany P. & Santana L. - Words: 9,646 - Reviews: 15 - Favs: 63 - Follows: 43 - Published: 04-28-12 - id: 8065772
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
[A/N: This isn't Battlesong! I know, I know. I've been looking into the BDSM lifestyle recently and felt the urge, so here it is. I tried to get more of Brittany's perspective since it's usually from Santana's. This is a tentative not-quite-complete because I don't know if I'll ever be writing more.]
Brittany is fifteen the first time she realizes it can be done.
Huddled in bed with her laptop casting blue shadows along her face, headphones in her ears, eyes casting nervously once or twice to the door as if somebody is going to burst in at any moment and clue into her schemes. It's not like she's never surfed porn before - let's be real here, she's probably one of the first girls who lost their virginity - but her mouse hesitates, hovering over the well-explored section of what could be classified as "regular" sex. She needs something. It grows and swells and frustrates her with its girth, cloying and obstructive but just out of reach.
She scrolls through facial with no luck (that's pretty gross, she looks like she's smeared herself with glue) and anal with maybe a little stir in her belly (Santana would look so pretty clenching around her fingers) but quickly grows unsatisfied. By the time she unwittingly stumbled on mature she's pretty sure her lady boner has vanished, but a flash of chains catch her wandering eye.
Her clit throbs.
She bites her lip and clicks BDSM.
In the split second it takes to load it feels like maybe this is a bad idea, that she should go back, maybe she isn't cut out for this after all? (Puck recalls the one woman who tied him up and pierced his nipple to her one day. She wonders why exactly her thighs slick at the thought.) But all this is wiped away at the images that invade her mind; people tied up and bound with gags and blindfolds, spread out on racks completely vulnerable to the other's touch; a man winding his hands in the woman's hair harshly, yanking her back and forth as her mouth opens greedily to swallow his length with the collar slapping against her throat. Brittany stifles a whimper passing through her pursed lips and shifts uncomfortably against her sheets.
As she scrolls through more and more of the images that get filthier and so deeply intriguing she can't help but devour every sight, she blindly flails for one video and stuffs her hand into her sleepshorts - she's so ready that even a small, teasing touch bursts a gasp, unexpected, from her lungs. It loads in endless loops and her fingers twitch with impatience.
When the scene finally fades in she isn't even concerned that the actresses are two women, - she's long since accepted that she's a bit different, a bit flexible, a lot confident - drawn instead to the fact that one is on her knees, eyes lowered and demure, hands bound behind her back. She is naked and glistening with sweat, breasts heaving and stomach fluttering with every breath. When the other woman struts in simply leaking power, her muscles shiver from her position on the floor. (Brittany's seen a lot of videos where the girls are faking it. She isn't.)
Short, violently red nails grip her pale chin and turn it from side to side - she is inspecting her handiwork, looking critically for any signs of flaws. Green eyes remain lowered obediently to the floor as her partner traces every part of her, tugging at the binds, brushing hair from her eyes. Despite the seemingly brutal actions there is a sort of carefulness underneath that betrays them. It feels like foreplay when her fingers trail down the bound woman's neck, scraping with a hint of bite before pulling away. Brittany whimpers as her own fingers mirror the movement, raking the bitten stubs of her fingers along the outer lips of her pussy. The shocks it produces set alight a fire within her chest.
Of the two, the instigator (later she will learn the terms after countless late night research splurges and deletion of web histories) is all darkdark eyes and even blacker smirks, teeth shining through when she harshly palms the girl's breast and tugs on an already hard nipple. "Do you want this?" She asks, but Brittany can already see the shiny wet on the bound woman's thighs, slick and intoxicating. Her pale fingers press hard against her clit and clamp around her shirt collar to muffle her moans. In turn, red drags down an arching back to swipe teasingly against the pale flesh of her inner legs, gliding the slickness between the pads of her fingers and bringing it up to taste.
A whimper sounds from the redhead on the floor and bites her lip harshly, blush burning through her skin and rupturing outwards to stain the delicate jut of her collarbone.
"Lick." The submissive rocks forward and noses her way across the seam of her Mistress' legs, tongue snaking out obediently with the hand now tangled in her hair guiding her motions. It doesn't last long - she's sporadically brought in to devour only to wrench her away before too much colour can rise to the darker cheeks.
Brittany watches as the rough-soft strokes continue; a strike upon the firm globe of her ass, a tweak of her pebbled breast in return for her services. Each vocalization is rewarded with a stronger hit, hitching the breathing of both girls, both on screen and on the sheets. Green eyes shut and the sub's throat shivers as she swallows down a groan when the woman stalks behind her - Brittany feels their passion reverberate to herself. She almost feels the supple skin heating underneath her strokes.
She's always been on the bottom. Her first time with Santana had been drunk and sloppy and every time she tried to flip she'd receive a growl punctuated by a firm "stop it" hissed against the shell of her ear. Everything about Santana was intoxicating in a way that the booze failed to be so she went along, gasping as a wet tongue slithered its way into her mouth and clumsy fingers went upupup until they were reaching into the deepest parts of her.
Others have always assumed. And maybe they're right? Her aversion to conflict, soft spoken words, constant clouds in her eyes coupled with dreamy smiles. All the different facets of her personality add up to the singular conclusion that she simply lacks the force to take over - and boys take advantage of that. They spread her out on the sheets and use her body like their canvas, doing what they like and allowing the next person to wipe her clean. She lets them without complaint because that's what she's supposed to do.
(There's a little piece of her screaming no.)
A sharp crack draws her mind back from her daydreams; the sub is bent over, ass displayed and ready for her Dom. Brittany's digits plunge into herself as the heeled woman teasingly plays with the other girl's pussy, stretching and pressing in all the right ways to make the filthy groans filtering into her headphones all that more appealing. Her shorts are damp but she can't be brought to care, hips jerking as two soaked fingers circle her throbbing clit before pressing down. Her head is beginning to loll back, panting deep from the chest, as the Dom roughly parts her pretty little legs before landing a hard blow onto the reddening skin of her ass.
"You like that?" she hisses and the sub remains silent, swaying where she stands. "I said," another smack, unrestrained cry, "do you like that?"
"Yes, mistress!" Brittany audibly whimpers at the desperate tone in the woman's voice, left hand going up to palm her breast as her right works itself into a frenzy. Her nipple is hard against her palm and there is a heat coiling around her spine, spreading and thickening the faster she moves. It's unlike anything else she's ever had, a liquid dragon, roaring through her veins and thrashing about in her belly. Each stroke of his tail along her insides cranks up her desperation until her fingers are sliding through over-soaked flesh, scrabbling to find any sort of purchase.
Her nails catch her clit and it feels like everything is collapsing around her.
Their cries and commands are a backdrop to her rising masterpiece, skin stained with sweat and eyes clouded with desire.
Brittany imagines coal-dark hair wound into her fist and sees stars when she comes.
Two months later, Brittany doesn't take no for an answer.
They're splayed out together on the couch; her mouth is an open and welcoming heat for Santana's who explores every crevice between her teeth, the mountains upon the roof of her palette, the waves patterned onto her pink tongue. She is her own map that she has to relearn in case something has changed in the hours they've gone without reconnecting, kiss-swollen lips seeking and demanding something only the other can give.
It's been like this for as long as they care to remember. Only Santana knows how to wind Brittany higher higher higher until she's unleashed and floating about in the clouds. All the boys and their angry hands simply can't find her places, leaving nothing but imprints against her hipbones and a faint ache that doesn't fade for days.
Sex is like dancing only more dangerous. You're at risk of falling and never getting up.
They both feel a low pooling in their stomachs as lithe bodies flatten against each other - Brittany's kiss ends with a wet pop as she lathers half-kisses onto Santana's neck, open-mouthed and dirty that leaves a trail of saliva upon the hinge of her jaw. Her arms wind themselves upon the small of Santana's back, scraping along the skin there, constellations and wisdom she finds whenever the smaller girl manages to lift her so high she sees the makings of the universe. Sometimes Brittany understands the world in her haze of orgasmic bliss, but the knowledge is shattered when the reality filters in.
A moan transfers from one chest to another. Santana rips Brittany's shirt from her head and latches greedily onto a nipple that puckers at her firm touch, grinding down her quivering hips and hissing at the stimulation. The blonde cradles her head and remembers her first video, how the Dom had guided her through the motions.
Wetness pools in her underwear.
Santana squeaks in surprise when Brittany's strong muscles surge and suddenly she's on her back, eyes all deep and dark and wide with confusion in a way the other girl finds so utterly hot. The question on her face is replaced with annoyance, however, and she tries to flip them again only to receive interference.
"No." Brittany says firmly, pressing her shoulders down into the couch. Santana's eyebrows lift high on her forehead and she tries again, only to earn another reprimand. "No." Brittany repeats, swallowing thickly as all her nerves slowly burn up under her skin.
There's something different about this time. She's so sensitive it's ridiculous, seeing her friend spread out with her hair tossed about in a blanket of shimmering silk and eyes questioning but irritated. "B, what are you doing?" Santana's voice is raspy in that way it always is when she's rumbling to go, scraping from her abdomen straight out of her throat. It makes Brittany shudder. (It reminds her of that dragon the first time, when it broke apart her insides and built her back as this bigger, stronger being.) "Let me up."
The blonde sucks one lip in through her teeth, nibbling away with such a conflicted expression that Santana can't help but rise and kiss away the indecisiveness, mouth soft and supple against her own. Brittany smooths her palm down her neck to rest loosely upon her ribcage, other supported upon the armrest. "What if I don't wanna let you up?"
Santana looks at her but for once doesn't say anything, noting the telltale look as her friend attempts to gather all her thoughts into a coherent sentence and lay it bare for the world to see.
"I just... I want to take care of you." Brittany smiles a little bit and rubs her thumbs in soothing circles against the rigidity of the darker girl's ribs. "You do such a good job for me, but you never let me be on top."
And there's good reason for that, thinks Santana, but the sudden darkening of Brittany's eyes makes her pause in curiosity. "And I think..." her best friend's voice is lower, husky in ways that swipes against her arousal without being touched. There's a distinct edge to her tone, still loving even though Santana repeats to herself sex isn't dating until it's her own Hail Mary, and it makes her squirm uncomfortably against the couch. "that isn't fair at all." Brittany's lips quirk up into a wicked smirk before she leans down and claims Santana's mouth in a wet, scorching kiss.
It's all teeth and tongue but she can still see the incredulous hesitation wrapped up like a tangled web behind that veil of lust. It only makes Brittany seek harder, teeth nibbling at Santana's bruised lips before her hand scrapes unknown words into caramel flesh and makes rough, blooming scores into the skin. Even the feeling of the shorter girl's prone body under her own makes every single part of her thrum with a foreign excitement, carefully unwinding the tension in those muscles so she's supple and ready for the taking. If Santana has trepidation, Brittany will bring her to the earth-shattering peak and break those doubts into nothing.
Santana's neck arches and Brittany has the fleeting thought of how pretty she would look with a collar slung tight around her throat that bobbed when she swallowed. Her teeth bite into a distinct collarbone and suckle until she forms a necklace of heliotrope marks across her skin and acquiesces to herself that is enough for now.
A sheen of sweat has begun to form along her skin and Brittany's tongue snakes out to lap at the salty flesh, smiling bright as the sun when every moan that filters in through her ears. Despite her reservations Santana is shifting upon the furniture, hips bucking to get what she wants. One of Brittany's forearms presses low against her pelvis to still her movements while the other spreads across her shoulders, covering the spit-slick marks that have now begun to bloom, dark and angry, against her skin.
Her breath blankets her lover's skin in waves of soft heat. She hovers over a nipple, watching her expressions shift and flicker across her face. Brittany wishes she could take a picture of Santana like this, bruised and vulnerable and so very needy, keep it in her pocket and remember it when she shuts down and forces her out again. The delay is noticed and night-black eyes open in confusion - the blonde can't even see her pupils become fat and saturated against the lust - to glance down in frustration. "Britt, come on."
She doesn't move.
"B, this isn't funny. If you're not gonna do anything, let me flip you over."
The dancer frowns slightly and flicks out her tongue without warning to catch Santana's nipple in her mouth. She cries out but the appendage retreats back as soon as it came, leaving only cooling saliva that causes it to pebble. "Be nice, San." She admonishes, making the eye contact she so loathes. "If you want something, you have to say please."
Full lips twist in disbelief and the body underneath her struggles; her superior mass and strength keep her grounded. "Are you kidding me? No way."
"Santana..." Brittany warns lowly, nails sinking into her flesh. There's something about how she can simply exude power over the other girl that sends a rush of warmth spiralling through her - sexual, yes, but also something else entirely. It only amplifies as the sharp bite of her reprimand stills the body beneath her, chocolate eyes rolling up to disappear under closed lids.
She mumbles something quietly, unheard.
"What was that?" asks the blonde; unyielding but soft in her execution.
"Please, B. I'm so wet." Brittany opens her mouth with a hot exhale and latches onto Santana's breast with abandon, sucking the flesh against her tongue and running it around the smooth skin. She arches violently against the touch and brings her hands to Brittany's head, inhaling sharply in confusion when slender hands find her wrists and pin them to the couch. The blonde doesn't say anything, too lost both in her lover's sounds and the own hurricane flying around in her head, but grins happily when the darker girl moans out something that sounds between a curse and a blessing.
She laves her way across to her other breast, giving it the same treatment as before. The fragility beneath her touch astounds her, how nubile her bones feel under her seeking fingers. She seems so much younger and so, so beautiful, neck tilted up to muffle her moans before they come forth. Brittany needs for her to feel the love that bubbles up in her chest (despite Santana's denial, she has no qualms about what they could be) and aches to smother her in comfort and control so sweet her tongue tingles with it. Colours and shapes mold together and Brittany closes her eyes to take a shaking breath, quaking with the confusing medley of emotions that seem to sweep her far away from her own head. The echo of her first time wondering in front of her computer screen clashes with this one and turns it into a singular reality where Santana is hers.
This is what she wants. Beyond any doubt. Being able to give and make Santana feel like she'll never be loved as deeply.
A hand on her cheek. The blonde glances up to see Santana looking down, eyebrows furrowed and concerned. "You okay?" Simply that small action snaps her world back into focus and she smiles once, nodding happily and nuzzling her face affectionately into the cup of Santana's palm. The other girl laughs and Brittany continues her journey down.
Once the blonde settles between the cheerleader's hesitantly spread legs, she rests her face against the slick inside of her thigh and reaches up until her fingers catch Santana's chin. (Red nail polish. She shudders.) Ever so slowly she turns her expression to face the dancer, throat convulsing nervously to betray her conflicted thoughts to her better half. Neither of them feel the couch stick to their skin or the soft glow of the clock by the wall - all focus is narrowed solely on each other. "Santana, do you trust me?"
Flashes of their childhood wheel in rapid succession behind her eyes; them meeting at a park when they're four years old, first day at school at six, a sleepover turned spooning fest at nine, first kiss on the same swings at thirteen. The list goes on and Santana finally begins to understand that Brittany would never hurt her. "If you don't want this, tell me and I'll stop." She floats her eyes upwards to the ceiling for a moment, feeling her heat press outwards against her thighs, breath ghosting against the cooling arousal that coats her skin. It seems there is a much bigger question on the edge of the blonde's words, but she can't find it.
"I do. So much, Britt."
She feels warm and sated at Brittany's approval, made apparent as a hot mouth descends upon her core. The dancer sucks one of her outer lips into the suction of her mouth, nibbling lightly and murmuring "mine" into the flushed skin. It turns into a mantra as she opens wide and embraces the dribbling heat, tongue darting out to swipe in a broad stroke upon her sex. Santana gasps, all startled and disoriented, resisting the urge to rest her hands upon Brittany's head and instead tangles them in her own hair.
She is hyper-aware of every moan Santana makes, every twist of her hips and arch of her back. It's like her whole universe has narrowed down to this one girl, awed at how having her trust and consent makes her feel so good. Not a sunny afternoon good, or a A+ test good, no. It's something so different she can't even classify it, spreading out from where her heart thumps steadily and expanding through her vessels and muscles until her whole body burns with it. She wants to cover Santana with herself, loving and protecting and simply owning until all else falls away and she's claimed irrevocably as her own.
(She knows they haven't agreed to anything but hopes it's just a matter of time. If Santana rejects her offerings of security and stability after this, Brittany knows not of what she'll do.)
"Oh god," Santana muffles her cries into her bicep, legs spreading wider for better access. "Brittany, keep going... it feels so good." They know each other like nothing else and it's visible in the way Brittany spells out melodies against her clit, dragging every way to constantly keep her guessing. Music notes are seared into her skin, branding her with the blonde's unique signature, knowing that it's so different from all the rest. She feels torn wide open in a good way, beginning to come apart at the seams.
If she could paint stars on the backs of her lids it would be the Ursa Major. She taught that one to her companion one night, laying out in the deep black of their family's campground. Santana had smiled and said that whenever Brittany felt lonely she could look up and see Santana in the constellations, watching over her steadily and without faults. Pale eyebrows had drawn in as she looked seriously at her friend, asking why she was Ursa Major if she was shorter than her. Now, however, she lets the sun burst into endless constellations that the blonde orchestrates, ebbing and flowing along to the frenzied stutter of her heart.
Brittany hums deep in her chest and opens wide, pushing her tongue to breach Santana's entrance even as an earthquake starts up around her. Her hands go blindly up to cover as much as her lover as she can reach, comforting her with her presence as the world seems to stop for a blissful second.
"It's okay, Santana," she mumbles into the soaking flesh, chin shiny and wet. The cheerleader doesn't know what she's giving permission for but it feels right, aching to slip out from between her teeth, "I've got you."
Santana howls into the empty house as her hands crush Brittany's for sake of her sanity, rocking into her orgasm with brutal finesse. Everything is Brittany, from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair, blanketing her in a sense so relieved and satiated that she turns into a boneless pile of skin upon the sticky couch. Brittany slithers up her body with a smile and nobody protests when she wraps her up in a cocoon of her own silky legs, nestling Santana's sweaty face in the crook of her neck.
This was the day that everything changed.
On Brittany's sixteenth birthday, Santana stumbles through her own faltering verbalization and asks tentatively if she'd be open to a relationship. Brittany responds with an open mouth curving into a smile and nails sinking happily into caramel skin, marking her and her own. It seems the other girl has finally let herself feel the pull between them, unrelenting and consuming, rushing through her steadily beating heart and out into the world.
She tangles her hand in hair dark as what used to be Santana's soul before Brittany and delights in how she lets her pull it sharply with a quick yank of her wrist. A jolt of power and light floods through her so quickly it makes her gasp, and rewards her lover with teeth and wet heat. It it still so very tender but edging on something else.
It doesn't take long for Santana to figure it out.
While she understands that Brittany on top is pretty much the hottest thing ever, there is the one-two hitch in her breathing after she repeats a forceful command, or when she pins her body down until she becomes one with the sheets.
Simply when the blonde spoons in from behind and pulls her so very close, breath hitting the shell of her ear, safe and quiet in ways that other people can't understand could be the best part. Her whole being stills when Brittany presses against her back and slings a lithe arm around her wrist, splaying her hand apart to claim her subconsciously. A soft nip upon the base of her neck followed by a soothing tongue and a smile printed along her skin submerges her in a hazy contentment.
Spanish is always her easiest subject; she scrolls through her girlfriend's laptop lazily with feet kicked up and jaw working slowly on her piece of gum. Brittany's ensconced herself in the warm heat of the shower, wrapping liquid silk over her skin, tired from dance and yet another confrontation in school. Her face was carefully blank, but Santana saw the flash of anger within her oceans. Lurking like a hidden leviathan; she washes the grime of fury from her porcelain complexion to rewrite herself into the cleaner being they all expect her to be.
Sometimes she drowns in all the feelings she has for her best friend. It grows and flows and breaks through her chest and she simply watches her for hours on end, memorizing the slope of her jaw and the crooked tilt of her lips that seems constant when she's around. Santana is dark and twisted in all the wrong ways that throws her inner balance off-kilter, but she's learned to accept those seeking hands that pull her upright and make her feel invincible - the world at her feet and Brittany's fingers against her own.
A notification pings quietly and she slides her gaze sideways, clicking curiously upon the link and watching as her laptop whirrs to life. Secrets aren't something that the blonde does well - she believes all the words bounce around inside her skull - but she's tried her best to keep this from the light as Santana finds no recollection of this site on her browser history. Burning with an interest that refuses to be sated, she waits impatiently for the window to load and sucks in a sharp breath between her teeth when it finally spits out images.
It takes a few moments for them to fully reveal themselves, blooming like rotten roses that still manage to be beautiful. Her eyes roam over the restraints and chains nervously, committing each one to memory and trying to picture Brittany, knees bent and fingers flying, mouth open in time to the cracks of a whip.
She wanders into the room with a fresh smile and wet hair, drying her head and shedding her towel on the floor to be clad in nothing more than a sleep shirt and tight boxers. Santana sits cross-legged on her blue sheets, eyebrows drawn together in a concentrated frown, riveted onto whatever's playing on-screen. Brittany grins at the slight parting of her lips as she mouths along with the words.
"Whatcha watching?" The blonde flops down beside her, tilting to watch Santana's face as opposed to the screen. Her girlfriend's eyes are stygian without the embrace of the sun. Brittany's smile dims. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Brittany believes wholeheartedly that Santana is her One. She's had to suffer through Rachel Berry's endless soliloquies about true love and finding it in this horrible word, safe and content in the knowledge that she has always had her own. There is little (nothing) she wouldn't do to ensure Santana's stability, her happiness and her everlasting affection that seems to bleed out from her skin whenever she's around. It shimmers like a cup that's too full; dripping down her wrists and under the hardness of her nails to linger for hours upon hours until she can rewrite constellations into her hair. She never feels ashamed or worthless where Santana is concerned.
But looking at the screen and recognizing her still-favourite redhead and brunette, she swallows with the distinct feeling of complete and utter humiliation.
"I, uh..." Her mouth is dry, moisture lingering along her skin forgotten. Santana's eyes are unreadable voids that seed within her a need to explain. "It's just a few videos," (lies) "that I found a little while ago" (lies) "and thought that the girls were hot." (Truth.) "It's not really like I'm that into that." (Biggest lie of all.)
Her girlfriend doesn't bother to blink, simply sliding the mouse until she reveals rows upon rows of links; movies and sites and information, titles of books and experiences of others. Brittany's skin is devoured by a deep crimson, splashing along her chest and boiling her cheeks until her whole body is uncomfortably warm. She can't lose Santana over this, not now. Not when they've finally found their paradise.
"I'm sorry! You must think I'm a freak! I promise I'll stop if it makes you feel better, you know, if it makes you feel not as uncomfortable or something. I just found it one day and I found it so cool that I couldn't stop looking for it. It was almost like an addiction... oh god, what if I'm addicted to porn?" Brittany's wide eyed horror makes Santana's lips catch into a small smile. "Santana, I swear I'm not a creep or anything. It's just... I can't stop it. It makes me so wet and happy at the same time and I think of all the things I want to do to you. Sometimes when I'm really desperate I look at that and imagine your hair in my hand looking up at me and-"
She slaps one hand across her wet eyes and the other against her mouth to silence any more of her traitorous thoughts. Faced with the very real possibility that this would weird Santana out to the point of separating (she remembers the struggle she went through simply to get on top) her shoulders begin to shake, sucking one lip into her trembling mouth. Warm hands drape over her naked body and she allows herself to be pulled forward, searing mumbled I'm sorry's into her lover's skin.
"Britt..." Santana starts slowly, not knowing exactly where to begin. It breaks her heart to see her so scared, embarrassed of the feelings she can't control. "I need you to tell me something, and you can't lie to make me feel better. Okay?" Something that sounds like an agreement rises from the paler chest.
"When you think about these things... what are you doing?"
Brittany stiffens in her arms and her throat moves carefully as she swallows.
She glances up and meets soft, chocolate eyes. Santana smiles encouragingly Brittany and lets out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.
"I-I just..." her fingers hook into her lover's shirt, "imagine you there, naked and on your knees. Sometimes you're cuffed, and..." she falters and feels the blush bloom even hotter against her cheeks.
"Come on, B." Santana soothes with a brush of her fingers. "And what?"
"You're wearing a collar." She whispers. Her head rises when her girlfriend sucks in a rapid breath. "I touch it and it feels like the most amazing thing. Like unicorns, only more magical. I want t-to wrap you up and protect you. Own you. Get you to serve me."
Santana blinks but lets Brittany burrow her face into her chest, absently stroking her hair. Kind, gentle Brittany as a domme? She hushes her girlfriend's quiet sniffles and gathers her closer to her chest. "Baby, why didn't you tell me?"
"I-I didn't want to freak you out because it's not normal." Brittany says softly, eyes bright. "It took forever for you to let me on top." The darker girl bites her lip guiltily and looks away, resting her cheek upon the crown of blonde hair. Flashes of an idea begin to form, blue gaze hovering over her own body, thick with authority and warmth. She shudders.
Now that it's silent she can hear the moans floating through the speakers, grainy with age but still capable of shooting arousal straight down to her spine. She only needs a moment to think this through - she'd caved the moment Brittany had curled up with wet eyes and the beginning of sobs starting in her throat. (And if she's being perfectly honest, she finds it hot. Really, really hot. Too hot.)
She wiggles down until she rubs her face against the blonde's in an Eskimo kiss, gaze careful and probing in the dark. Brittany's expression, wide and alarmed, softens into warmth as she presses back, lips skimming her own. The blonde shivers as Santana's breath brushes against her damp skin. "You never have to worry about that, Britt. Okay? Never. I'm so in love with you it's crazy. I think I'd do anything you asked and be okay with it."
"Anything." A thrill rushes through both of them and lights a fire under the sheets.
" I think... this is something we can try."
A grateful smile curves around the taller girl's lips and she seals her mouth to hers in thanks, winding her fingers into wavy hair and plucking gently. They trace each other's scars with reverence and it's not long before breathing comes in sharp gasps, nails raking and plunging and spreading apart the flesh. Brittany wants to worm her grasp down and open up Santana's ribcage, splaying her out for the world to see, the fragility of her heart cradled in the palm of her hand.
One arm slings over her shoulders and the blonde guides them down into the plush bed, smothering her girlfriend with her comforting warmth and laying herself between her thighs. Santana's legs part easily to accommodate her, heels locking against the pole of her spine. It's taken them a long time, but she draws pleasure now from how Brittany presses down against her, all hard muscles and lean bones and soft soft skin.
The sounds floating through the air is but a backdrop now, a base colour, something to build upon. Brittany moans and widens her mouth, tongue darting out slowly to lick a sloppy trail up to Santana's ear. "I plan to do more than just try."
All at once she's sitting up and the darker girl is straddling her lap, lips pausing in confusion when Brittany pulls away to tug her shirt up over her head. She complies readily, scattering pitch-dark hair about her shoulders, breath catching as the oceans darken to a tropical storm. They're not cold like she expected them to be - they burst with a hesitant but commanding warmth that's somewhat abated when paired with the gentle smile upon her face.
"You don't need clothes on to serve me. They only get in the way."
Brittany resists a grin when Santana visibly squirms on her lap, lifting her hips slightly to allow her seeking fingers to tug off her skirt and spanx. They pool carelessly on the floor and Brittany urges her up until she's standing awkwardly by the bed, hands nervously clasped in front of her. She sees the intimidation of something so new written clear as day across her face (she's always clear as glass where the blonde is concerned) and two lithe hands cup burning caramel cheeks. "Santana," she says sternly, prompting dark eyes to look at her, "if this is something you don't want to do, tell me now. I won't be mad."
Her lover sucks one bruised lip between her teeth, pinching the flesh in consideration. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't scared, but the frenzied buzzing between her legs is eclipsing all thought. And judging from the aura surrounding the dancer, she really doesn't want to stop either. Despite her initial reservations she feels herself wanting to grow with the girl sitting in front of her, the one she's so desperately in love with that it hurts almost all the time with a good sort of pain.
So she shakes her head. "No, I want to." She pauses, unsure. "Ma'am."
A spike of heat flashes in Brittany's lower regions, so hot that it nearly crisps her skin. She smiles in pleased abandonment, stroking Santana's hair from her face. "Good girl." she murmurs quietly. "You may call me Mistress."
Another flip of her stomach.
"This is all about learning, my love. For the first time, there will be no mistakes. I want you to ask any and all questions you might have. If you feel uncomfortable, you need to tell me. This isn't going to work without trust. I want you down on your knees with your eyes on the ground unless I ask you to raise them as a sign of respect. Do you understand?"
A nod. "Good. You..." she exhales slowly as Santana lowers herself shakily to her knees, only keeping her eyes up at Brittany's probing touch on her jaw, "are mine. All of this," she sweeps her palm down her girlfriend's naked flesh, "belongs to me."
Tanned thighs squirm together at the unexpected gush of liquid that saturates the seam and throbs between the apex of her thighs, greedy and demanding. She keeps her gaze firmly on Brittany's, marvelling at the power she is already blossoming into. Later, they can discuss the nuances, the quirks and squicks, but for now their hands will explore and learn a whole new world. "It's yours. All yours."
"Kiss me." And she does, pushing herself up towards her to seek out Brittany's hot mouth. It is closed and patient, softly teasing and nipping in all the right places. Her Mistress smiles into the kiss and ropes around her submissive's waist, pulling her naked flesh flush against the coarse fabric of her Cheerios skirts. Santana's hands go to her hips but stalls at the last second, breaking away to look questioningly at her lover. It's hard simply not to take the reigns and lavish her until her pale skin is bruised and flushed, but this new Brittany (no, whispers her mind, your Mistress) is something she wants more and more of. Mistress grins happily. "Good girl. You may touch."
Santana's compliance gives her a need to reward, fingers reaching out to tweak a stiff nipple. If the submissive goes above and beyond expectations, a reward may be given. It is up to the nature of the Dominant to determine what sort of reward that will be, but ultimately in the relationship it will come second to the submissive's inherent want to please their Master or Mistress. She groans out into the touch and bucks her hips, causing her to receive a light swat on the ass in amused reprimand.
"Getting ahead of yourself, pet?" She has the decency to look vaguely ashamed. "Take off my shirt."
Her fingers tremble as she raises the material up, exposing Brittany's toned stomach. "Slower." Inch by inch more creamy skin is exposed until her palms brush the sides of her breasts. Though she shudders visibly, her voice is strangely even. "Fold it neatly and place it on the floor." She does with care. Her Mistress pets her hair absently as she watches.
Santana goes to lean back in but Brittany stops her, finally taking a fistful of her long tresses like she's so dreamed of into her fist and pulling gently until her face turns up. The blonde studies the part of her lips that puff hot air into the room, the way her eyes have been all but devoured in darkness. "Bri- Mistress?" Her eyes clamp shut at her mistake, but Brittany simply smirks.
"Hush, pet. There's no punishment for the first offense."
Languidly she reaches down her other hand and swipes across Santana's inner thighs, pleased both by the repressed whimper and the copious warmth she finds there.
"Mm, such a good girl." Brittany's nails rake lightly across dark nipples and Santana's mouth falls open in a gasp, soundless air inflating her chest. "Suck." The way that the cheerleader moves readily along with her hand sends buffets of scorching heat through her veins and straight to her clit, only amplified with pouty lips wrap onto one of the stiff nubs and tugs. A pooling warmth begins to settle, accompanied by a sudden flash that makes her sex tighten with want. Soft, sloppy sounds fill the air as Santana runs her tongue along the hardened peak of Brittany's breast eagerly, held in place by her Mistress' guiding hand.
When she's urged onto the other side her lips detach with an audible pop, leaving a sticky trail of saliva against her porcelain skin. She skims the sparse freckles on Brittany's chest as she passes, nuzzling her cheek affectionately into the side of her breast before opening her mouth to lavish the other nipple. The blonde's back arches into the suction, coiling like the dragon in her belly as it begins to stir within. (It only ever appears with these thoughts, waiting to take her to unknown heights.)
"Mistress?" Santana mumbles around her mouthful, keeping her eyes lowered carefully, though she wants nothing more than to catch another glimpse of that rare control that suites her so very well.
She sees the darker girl struggle with herself for a moment, defiance flickering up across her face, side by side with hesitation. Her fingers curl unknowingly into the bedsheets and her gaze darkens before her eyes slide lower until she's looking up at Brittany through her lashes. "Can... can I..."
The blonde watches her with a fond smile.
"Can I touch you?"
Brittany's fingers glide up to her jaw, grasping firmly with a slight reprimanding tap. "Always address me properly, pet. And be more specific."
Santana nods, carefully biting her tongue to calm her nerves.
The brunette swallows once, sucking in a shaky breath that floods the material of her lover's underwear. Simply seeing Santana prone and knelt before her makes the tips of her fingers tremble uncontrollably.
"M-may I please touch your body?"
Brittany doesn't want to scare her off with this thing, so very new and fragile and easily shattered, but the words come easily and spill out of her damp lips before she can stop them. They feel so right, like she's finally clued in on something she's been missing her whole life. Part of her is wary. A larger part is happy.
All of her is throbbing.
"Where on my body, pet?"
Santana's thighs clench together as her jaw tightens; she knows the cheerleader enough to realize she's having yet another internal battle with herself. For the girl with heartbreak eyes it's taken so long to even accept this part of herself with sarcasm and attitude - giving up those shields in reverse to everything she was taught doesn't come overnight. Brittany spots the curl of her eyebrows looking vaguely pained. She opens her mouth to either break the scene or voice her concern, but Santana beats her voice.
"Everywhere. I-I just want... to make Mistress happy."
Pride unfurls in her chest like a bird taking flight. Delighted, Brittany grins bright and gathers her submissive against her chest. "Oh, such a good girl." One hand slips down and spreads Santana's glistening pussy with two of her fingers - despite the struggling, the other girl seems to be enjoying herself immensely. "You make your Mistress so very happy." Her middle finger runs the length of her slit and relishes the broken moan it produces.
Perhaps she's being too lenient. Isn't the point of a Dominant to direct and test the submissive, making her work so very hard for even mediocre praise?
(No, no. The books say and she knows, deep down in her heart, that this is right. Whatever works, whatever makes her feel so tied to her other half they're but a singular being. Changes can be made, but not now. Never now.)
"Spread your legs more. Even more. Good... tilt your hips for me." Santana's mouth is open now, tongue pink and glistening as she tries not to grind her pelvis into Brittany's roaming fingers. She can smell Brittany's arousal through her damp boxer shorts, taunting her. Yet she tries not to move. Something tells her she's not allowed.
"Please, Mistress." She mumbles out despite the haze. "May I please touch you?"
The taller girl grins, stretching herself out. "You may."
Instantly Santana's hands are on her, fingers playing the xylophone on her ribs and smoothing out her flushed skin. Everywhere that her girlfriend touches she burns, still wrapped up in dripping heat down to her knuckles. Her hips have begun to pump in short, uncontrolled strokes against Brittany's long fingers - the urge to move has overpowered the desire to serve. In return, the blonde slips her digits out of her tight hole and rubs quickly along her clit instead, thumb circling while her fingers pinch lightly at the sides.
Something high-pitched and keening comes from the shorter girl's throat; never hearing that before, Brittany increases pressure. The sound intensifies, wandering hands cupping small breasts tipped with nipples that throb another heartbeat. She squeezes for a moment before sliding down again, taking her time to adequately worship her girlfriend's body.
Dark hands curl around the waistband of her underwear and she stills, earning a poorly muffled whimper. Santana is a mess - face flushed, jaw hanging loose, skin slick and chest heaving. Her flesh shines with Brittany's saliva in some places: in others, her own juices take on the glow. Still, she has the presence of mind to look upwards, silently asking permission from her Mistress to shed the last piece of clothing from her body. One glance at what it was doing to the blonde (eyes hooded, lips shimmering, muscles coiled tight) made her more than happy to continue the game. Brittany's left hand goes back to support her while the right winds tight in sweaty dark locks. Inky against her own complexion. She spreads her legs wide, showing but not quite offering. Teasing.
"Lick." She commands firmly, pulling the submissive to her panty covered crotch. It's no great surprise that she's soaked through, enough to immediately coat Santana's lips in a fine film of gloss. She's never been so hot, sparking from every nerve, teeth gritted. The dragon has grown now, tugging at the base of her spine, his scales scraping against her innards as he writhes. A hot warmth penetrates through the fabric and she moans, full-bodied and low, as Santana's tongue pushes against her folds with only the flimsy barrier in the way.
"Like you mean it, pet. If you please me, you may have a reward." On cue, her mouth opens up, pulling in as much flesh and fabric as she possibly can. Everything is Brittany; surrounding her, invading her, stroking her. The taut hand in her hair grounds her just as the juices already finding their way onto her chin bring her above the Earth. Santana's tongue licks feverishly along the crease of Brittany's thigh and hip, bathing it in sticky heat as she swipes broad strokes wherever she can find.
She almost cries in relief as her Mistress's foot comes up to press against her aching cunt.
When her underwear is ruined, soaked through with both her own fluids and Santana's mouth, she tugs her away and forces her to look up so she can crash her mouth against her own. A great privilege for the bowed submissive - Santana takes it for all she's worth, eagerly darting her town out to meet the one that forces into her mouth, showing her just how good she tastes. In return she receives a languid bite on her lip and the top of Brittany's foot pressing hard. "Show me how much you want me."
Her voice is but a husky purr. It almost sends Santana crashing through her orgasm.
"I want you so much, Mistress. So much." Her fingers anchor around the waistband of her boxers. Pleading.
A moment's deliberation; from where she can't see, Brittany's eyes are so very dark in frenzied delight, softened by a constant warmth that she wears perfectly over her naked shoulders.
Her underwear tangles by her ankles, getting shucked off with poorly concealed impatience, Santana's body worming tight between the blonde's spread legs. Before her she's opened up and ready, glistening and dripping slowly along her thighs.
Could she really go through with this? Simply pleasing Brittany on her knees like a... a slave? She starts to go forward but stops, her breath covering the damp skin of her thighs. Is she allowed to have second thoughts?
Her tone is a foreboding warning. Something inside her jumps with the call as the same time a cold shiver works its way up her spine; the darker girl leans in without hesitation and smothers herself in wet, sticky warmth.
The result is more than worth the reprimand.
Brittany's whole body bucks up into her mouth, smearing her pussy all along her lips and chin. Both hands anchor firmly against her scalp, grinding forward mercilessly. Santana is surrounded on all sides by her lover; her scent and taste thick against her tongue, the heat from her thighs as they clamp around her ears. Over the flesh she can hear the blonde calling out to the room, voice so low it's almost a growl.
Her arms snake up under her ass and yank her closer, practically pushing her face as far into the dancer's core as she possibly can, groaning loud into the swollen lips when the foot between her leg rubs furiously back and forth. Santana's world is starting to fuzz over in the way she only gets when she's too high to speak, simply focusing on her task so hard she blocks out the ache in her knees. Brittany's slurring is the cursive of spoken tongue, stringing together into one massive line as she rides her way to freedom.
Oxygen is difficult in this moist crook, but she could care less. Those sounds, as far as she's concerned, should never stop.
The taller girl almost growls when she feels a burning tongue prodding at her entrance, trying to breach her walls. She reluctantly loosens her thighs that have bracketed her girlfriend's head, missing the control it offers only to moan as a sharp, cold snap of inhaled air brushes along her heated skin. A second later the muscle plunges past all her barriers and she forgets how to breath.
It's like the dragon quivers in her belly, tightening into a hard knot.
She pulls her submissive so close she's practically curled around her, drowning the girl in her slick fluids. A muffled moan sounds from between her legs even though her foot has fallen away.
She glances down. Brittany sees the epitome of perfection in Santana, face shiny and jaw tensing in time to the rhythm of her thrusts. Her legs are set wide apart, pussy bared and spread open, juice running in little rivulets down one lean thigh.
"Mmm, pet. Fingers."
Moments later, two fingers probe questioningly at her entrance in place of her tongue. "S-slowly." They slide in with almost no resistance, her walls fluttering around the new additions. "Lips... on clit."
Santana's mouth wraps firmly around the hard nub, applying decent pressure but resisting the urge to tongue. Everything about this is shaping up to be a massive release - she sees Brittany's stomach muscles clenching almost as if something is fighting to be freed - and she's glad to simply be along for the ride.
Brittany curls one strong leg underneath her to begin and rock deeper into her lover's mouth, hissing incoherently whenever she hits a sensitive spot. She feels inexplicably warm, smiling through her mounting desperation, mouth open into a soundless howl as the pants ripped from her chest become painfully ragged. "M-more. Oh god, more."
Several sharp curls, a firm lick, and it all splinters apart.
That dragon tears apart her insides, exploding outwards in a spectacular display of colour that Brittany sees through her open eyes. She screams and doesn't bother to try and tone down the volume, fingers tightening in Santana's hair, every muscle clenching before snapping taut as the liquid fire consumes her being. She knows nothing beyond the pleasure that's caused her walls to convulse, strangling slender fingers. It's like she feels the tail crashing into her spine so that even her skull shrieks in delight, writhing upon the bed; her thighs have clamped again around Santana's ears but she is unable to regain control. To do anything other than wait. Her breathing sears her tender throat.
Her lover starts in surprise at the gush of fluid that floods her mouth, greedily licking in an attempt to clean after her mess. Brittany is falling apart all around her and she does her best to keep her upright, hands splaying on a spasming stomach as the howls fade into whimpers and shuddering breaths. Panting, her Mistress slumps over to one side, crooking her fingers to her pet. Santana crawls at lets herself be pulled into the kiss, smiling at the sloppy, exhausted quality.
"Mistress liked?" She asks warily, eyeing the odd expression on the blonde's face.
The dancer lays there for a moment, thighs still trembling. A slow smile stretches onto her face before the grin eclipses the sun.
"Mistress did more than like..." she whispers softly, filling Santana with an unseated happiness that takes her by surprise. (Seems that Brittany isn't the only one with desires.) "God, I've never come so hard in my life. Such a good girl, babe. So good."
The scene breaks with a startling clarity and Santana blinks as if coming out of a daze.
Brittany watches her gather her thoughts, absently wiping at the sticky mess on her face. She's still reeling and her brain seems to be filled with cobwebs.
"B, that was... really fucking hot, actually." Santana has to admit, gazing off into the distance. She'd thought of it as nothing more than something to please her girlfriend, but the hot mess between her thighs speaks of a different story. "We... well, I, need to do some reading."
The curious contented feeling in her chest needs to be explained. Not that she is unhappy it's there, but she's unused to its girth taking up her body.
"Totally." Brittany mumbles, nuzzling her face into her lover's sweaty neck. Though the feeling of domination and control has faded, the ghosts of the emotions have not; nor have the aftershocks that rock her frame. "Were you..." she hesitates, "were you faking the whole submission thing? I know it must've been hard."
"I don't know," admits Santana, "it was hard at first, but once I let myself realize that it was you and you were going to make me feel good, I just went with it. And I... really liked making you feel good too. More than usual. It was almost as amazing as when you were actually touching me."
She relates all too well. The power that grew within her every second she had Santana under her hold had exploded into a messy conflagration of ecstasy - she finds herself already resisting the urge to make the darker girl hers.
Almost as if sensing her thoughts, Santana smiles. "I'm so yours, baby. I always have been."
"Good. You are mine. And right now, something of mine needs a little helping."
With a mischievous smile, Brittany trails her hands down between Santana's thighs.