~*On Top*~

Summary: There really must have been something in the air.

Rating: NC-17

Ship: Hattie/Dame Olga

Warnings: Incest, femslash, sexual content, second person, strong language.

A/N: Oh, hush, all of you. This is one of my squicks, but it's not like I approve of it in real life; this is fan-fiction, people. So, now that we're past that, please enjoy.

I do not own Ella Enchanted. It belongs to Gail Carson Levine.

She was drunk, you were drunk, like mother, like daughter. Things were perfect, with Olive tagging along behind you as always, eager to be a part of your bonding, but never coming close to being accepted into the inner circle. It should have made you feel guilty, but the vodka was quite overriding your emotions, and so all your were focused on was making it inside without tripping all over yourself.

But with all of your finishing school training, you made it inside, falling onto the leather sofa, curling up into a ball, just wanting nothing more than to sleep off the alcohol. Olive bid you goodnight, walking up the stairs slowly, looking dejected, but you didn't have time to feel anything for your youngest daughter, because your eldest…your favorite, was laying beside you on the couch, on top of you, really, and the whole situation was just so…

"Mother…"

Wrong.

Her speech was slightly slurred; but you understood her nonetheless, after all, who was a better expert on drunken vocabulary than you?

"Hattie…" you managed to choke out her name, the bitter taste of vodka still present on your tongue.

"Mother," she said again, looking thoughtful now, and apparently trying to clear her fogged head. She shook her head from side-to-side, cleared her throat, and tried again.

"Mother, you know how much I love you…"

You were surprised; it was such a mundane, average thing to say…

"Yes, Hattie, I am fully aware…"

"No, no, mother…I love you…." Her tone became quiet…almost…lustful…and honestly, you couldn't believe it, because she was your--

Her lips were suddenly on yours; and the shock was enough to knock you back into a state of sobriety. The manner was far from chaste, and what was worse was that you felt a tingling shoot up your spine; and you shuddered.

"Hattie, NO…" you said, grasping her shoulders, pushing her away, but she was resilient, grasping your wrists, nails digging in to the flesh painfully; "Hattie, this is WRONG." You said, raising an eyebrow at her, assuming your best parental authority expression.

She pouted; hanging her head, messy, wavy, honey-blonde hair falling into her face. She looked so…so like a teenager; sixteen, the girl who was rejected by her crush…

"I don't--I don't care!" She whimpered, shaking slightly with repressed sobs. She just looked so pathetic!

"Hattie, darling…" you whispered, stroking her hair, looking into the perfect, ice-blue eyes that matched yours exactly

"Mother, please…"

"Hattie, I. Am. Your. Mother. This is…this is wrong."

"Dame Olga," she said your name and your fucking title; "Can't we just…tonight, pretend that I'm not your daughter…that you're not my mother…let's just forget it tonight…because, Olga…" her lips were suddenly at your ear, "I think about you…when I do naughty things…"

You could have fainted.

Her lips were on yours again, hot and wet and insistent. You refused to kiss back; refused to give in, but she fucking whimpered, begging you to kiss her back…

"Just for one night…" you mumbled, pushing her off you, onto the floor, where she landed with a soft "thump." You straddled her hips, kissing her, swallowing your pride, your morals, your everything just to give her what she apparently wanted…

Your mouth found it's way down her neck, and you nipped the skin, making sure to leave marks, to remind her of what a naughty girl she was…

"Yes, mother…" oh, so she had lied…she wasn't going to let you forget…she was going to torture you with it…the little bitch….

You sank your teeth into the pulse point at her neck, biting so hard that she had to put her everything into stifling a scream. Your hand, of its own accord, found its way up her skirt, and you gasped when your fingers met moist cotton.

"Mother…yes…touch me, mother…" she begged, entwining her fingers in your hair, pulling you into another kiss, her tongue hastily (and somewhat drunkenly) slipping into your mouth. You indulged her, tugging teasingly at her panties, smirking, chuckling, deriving pleasure from her whimpers of impatience.

"Ah-ah-ah, Hattie," you began, breaking the kiss, grinning at her debauched appearance; face flushed, hair a mess, legs spread open and just waiting for you to take advantage….

"Tell me what you want, Hattie…and say please."

She gasped; your fingertips brushed against her through her panties.

"Mother…touch me please…I want to feel your fingers inside me…please, mother…"

Her back arched, and she kissed you again, and you relented, slipping your hand down her panties, teasingly rubbing against her very wet entrance. You slipped three fingers

inside…fuck mercy…

She moaned, loudly, and you were frightened at first that she had woken Olive, but then the whimpers she made drowned out your concerns immediately.

"Yes, mother…" she gasped, arching her back again, whimpering, practically crying.

You kissed her again, and she bucked her hips, and your fingers kept up a hectic pace inside her.

"Mother…!" she dug her nails into your back, and panted into your mouth, gasping and writhing, and moaning…

"Fuck…me…mother…"

And you did, thrusting your fingers into her harddeep…and suddenly she tightened…and she arched her back again, gasping so loudly you really worried about waking Olive up…

"Mother! Yes…mother, I love you…I love you so much, mother…yes….!" and then she

was silent, still, and you couldn't bring yourself to move.

But one thing was for sure; you were never going to take Hattie out drinking with you again.