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00:45 \ Overcast
Ruins, haunted by ghosts still walking. Sarkaz mercenaries, shoulders bowing under the weight of inherited names. They’ve dug tonights grave in to the remains of a mobile city. A fallen plate shrugged off like cicada skin, whole highways long. Complete with tilted buildings and catastrophe struck playgrounds. Picked clean since years back, the weary sarkaz settle in to the bleached bones of the place seeking respite. An escape from sheering wind, blistering heat, rain enough to rot your feet. One building in particular, longer than it is tall, sturdy enough to support weight. An apartment complex of sorts, the sarkaz carry in their weapons and crates and camping gear. Trudge through the halls and lay claim to empty rooms with faded nameplates. Like a dark mirror to the game of house, they sleep in beds long deserted, take partners to pass the time, to feel alive, to cry with. It’s a longstanding, unspoken agreement among drifters like them. A social contract you come to know the terms of when your life is as concrete as a raincloud.
Ines sits on the edge of an uncomfortable bed, dingy sheets covered by a sleeping bag that smells of sulfur and ozone. She’s tying back her hair halfheartedly, combing through it with her fingers to tug out errant tangles. Nearly on autopilot. Picking at still healing cuts on her neck from who knows what. Rolling the stiffness out of her shoulders. Heavy dark under her eyes from old mascara and nights of lost sleep and horizons marched.
She’s placed her boots and bottoms in a neat pile nearby and is observing with a resting disgust as W fishes through her gear cast about in seeming disarray. She's naked already, head to toe, but Ines still manages to stare as though undressing her. W's change in wardrobe since Babel somehow making the body underneath seem new and exciting. Her eyes follow W's double-spaded tail as it lashes back and forth, down and up her legs hanging off every nick and scratch and soft white hair. From her muscled back and rounded edges, the nape of her neck, the crows feet of her faked smiles.
“I’m getting sick of waiting, W.” Ines huffs, folding her top and draping it across her stave propped against the wall. Crossing her arms over herself, bare to the cold breath of the room.
“Oh? You must be pretty backed up then,” W turns on a heel towards the bed, dropping a satchel on the dusty nightstand with a thunk. “I always figured it was slim pickings without me around but…” She looks down at Ines, her barbed smirk widening, eyes ever mocking. “My poor little sheepy, did you even get off at all while I was gone?”
Ines draws breath to retort, but has to swallow her hot air as W presses a finger to her lips. Ines can feel the callouses of pulled triggers and cut wires. Feel the fine grit of sweat and sand and blasting powder.
“Paints quite a vivid picture, doesn’t it?” W’s nail thin pupils leer down at Ines, as she cups the faux-devil’s chin. “You, all alone in your cramped little tent till the crack of dawn with a pillow smashed between your thighs tight as you can manage fucking yourself silly with as many fingers as you could jam inside but never…” She steps away, playfully pushing Ines’ face to the side “...Quite getting there.”
Ines wants to bite the hand feeding her, spit back, demand W clean herself up, but her head is swimming and she’s pink with frustration at how close to the truth W’s shot in the dark landed. She hates her. She missed her. She's afraid any words too harsh will banish this walking ghost. So She turns back to glare in silence, but catches sight of what W had been fishing for earlier.
“Where the hell did you get that?” In this case ‘that’ is a strap, of sorts. A feeldoe. W cradles it as she would any one of her weapons of war. Gently, knowingly, with a practiced hand. She laughs.
“I wonder. Maybe I’ve had it all along?” She brushes the back tip against her lips, meeting eyes with Ines “Maybe it belonged to the original W, hm? Maybe I’ve been taking very good care of it all this time just like with all his other fun things.” In the same breath that she speaks of the dead, she takes the strap in to her mouth to the base. She pauses and winks before taking it out, letting long strands of spit drip off her tongue. They catch the light in the dusty room like spun threads of silver.
“You’re disgusting.” So says Ines, but she swallows hard against a warmth like a furnace slithering low in her gut.
“Mm, and yet here you are.” W steps up to the black haired woman, her cunt right at eye level, but just out of reach.
W makes her watch, makes a show of it. Running her thin fingers from belly button down through tufts and curls of downy hair halo white. Her ring and middle fingers slipping through her lips to smear heady wet. She dips those fingers and moans a laugh and spreads them apart still sticky and shining. A second set of silver threads Ines wishes she could dress herself in.
Ines stares daggers up in to W’s smiling eyes, denying her the satisfaction of being a captive audience. Struggling to keep her arts from pulling back the performers curtain.
“You’re gonna miss the best part.” W’s voice is breathy, carved apart by pointed teeth to sound like a smile. Her antennae shiver and she twitches briefly. By the sounds alone Ines can guess she’s slipped the feeldoe in deep and snug.
Ines clicks her tongue,
“If the best part’s already come and gone you’ve definitely lost your touch.”
W laughs, rubbing thumb and finger together to watch the dripping web of slick droop and unravel.
“Quite a mouth on you,” She presses her coated thumb against Ines' lips once more, firm but not forceful. Savouring the soft give of the sensitive skin, self satisfied as the slick smears on. A fitting shade of lipstick. “Open it.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” Ines manages to maintain her bluster up to the moment W’s pushing her finger in and pressing down on her tongue.
“Then be good and I won’t have to.”
Ines breathes deep and lets her eyes drift closed. Let's herself get lost in the warmth and smell and taste of someone she hasn’t seen in so long. Someone she's ached over, despised and worried for. She wants to ask her a hundred useless questions, bite her thumb and chip her nail polish. But she'd never get a straight answer from W. Not before. Not now. So she settles for this exchange of empty banter, this sick game of house.
She works her tongue under the pressure, and swears she could recite the womans fingerprint from taste alone. She suckles at the tang of it until W pulls it out with a satisfying pop.
“Good girl.” W’s face is flush as she says it, rare words of genuine praise. She cups Ines’ cheek, fingertips against the back of her neck, so gently, and directs her to the head of the strap.
Ines scoffs, incredulous,
“You seriously want me to suck that?” She leans away from it like it’s a loaded gun. W cackles and smiles, tail flicking,
“You do know how to, right?” She takes a handful of hair and drops her voice low. “Or do you need me to tell you what to do after all.”
Ines bites back a moan at the sting of pleasure, and steadies herself,
"I didn't come here to waste my time choking on plastic, cockroach."
"Then don't." W straightens out the hairs she pulled out of place ghosting her finger across Ines' ear,
"This is only gonna take as long as you make it, sheepy. I wanna see you take my cock deep enough to have your nose buried in my cunt hair. Consider it a present from you to me."
Ines stares up at her in silence, knowing W's a brick wall that talks back. Disgusted at how much she enjoys humiliating herself for W and wetter and wetter wondering how low W will force her head before giving her what she wants.
Smile and laugh, always smile and laugh with W. A hundred different words for cackling and a thousand more for each grin and every one of them fake. And now is no different, as she adjusts the dildo.
"How about this. Do that, and I'll fuck you hard enough to make us BOTH forget all the time I was gone."
But the performance is believable enough for the both of them.
Ines breathes out her tangled thoughts and makes no attempt to disguise her displeasure, as she places a tentative kiss on the crown of the strap and takes it gingerly in to her mouth. Unsure where to put her tongue she starts to work the tip, a little unpracticed but putting in the effort. She sneers up at W when she hears a snicker. Catches the sight of W's antennae jerking and fidgeting. W's tail curls and uncurls around her own leg as Ines starts sucking lower, the bobbing of Ines' head pushing the rub of the strap inside W just enough to excite.
The mangle horned woman's hands start to wander, one for a moment steadying the dildo at its dripping base. Then over to W's soft hips to coax her closer. It doesn't take long for W's tail to slither up and around Ines' wrist, constricting and claiming. Ines wonders how much of this is a conscious choice for the sarkaz, if she's more honest with her tail than her tongue. She takes the strap deeper, fighting back a gag.
Ines starts shifting on the edge of the bed, little adjustments that squeeze and rub her thighs together. She digs her nails in to W's hips, her eyes watering, mascara starting to run as she struggles further down. She pulls back to the tip for a breath, light headed, slipping her free hand between her legs. She barely brushes her clit before W grabs her by the wrist and pulls her wanting hand away.
"Hahaha, you really are backed up aren't you little sheepy. Couple missed cumshots and out the window goes all that air of composure you put on?" W slips her fingers between the other woman's, interlaced, holding her tight. She sharpens her stare and drops her voice again, "You really are pathetic."
"Why do you turn everything simple in to such a fucking chore." Ines stares a hole in the floor, cheeks red and burning ear to ear, squeezing W's hand, heart fluttering like the last leaf in autumn. Knowing full well if she looks W in the eyes her arts will pry apart the lock that hides her secrets.
"Because it's fun." Ines takes a breath, fighting to stay lucid against the dizzying, aching warmth between her legs.
With one hand holding W's the other caught by her tail. She takes a breath, two, and fits the cock far as she can manage and further still until she feels that coarse fuzz between W's legs tickling her nose. She looks up for praise, for approval, sticky with sweat and ruined eyeliner.
The sarkaz squeezes her hand, strokes her head and sighs through a grin,
"You're such a slut."
W sits between the legs of her plaything, one hand resting on Ines' knee. Her other shifting the tip of the plastic cock between Ines' drooling lips. Dragging it slowly, achingly, slowly down and back up and up and up against her stiff clit.
Drinking in the noise of how wet she is, the soft scratching of her hair,
"You've always had such a cute pussy."
Ines hides behind a hand, head muddled by the honeyed praise.
"Just--just fucking stick it in you wretch, I'm ff--" She moans and lurches as W rubs the tip against her clit again, "I'm fucking tired."
"Aw, what a shame." W presses the strap exactly against her slit, slipping just barely inside. "If you're that tired, want to call it here then?"
Ines grimaces, glaring between her fingers, white knuckling the bedsheets in to a knot.
"If you're not inside me by the tt--" Deep breath, "by the time I'm done talking I'm putting my sword through your ff--hh--Fucking throat."
"Aw sheepy, if you wanted my cock inside you that badly you should've begged from the start."
W leans forward, arms wrapped around Ines' legs and gripping her thighs, letting her weight glide the strap in effortlessly. Filling up inch by inch Ines lets out a long swear of a sigh.
"Finally…" she keeps her eyes covered, out of habit in her arts and to focus better on the electric warmth lighting up her insides. She tries to breathe in time with the way W rolls her hips breath hitching as her body twitches or shivers when W rubs against a good spot. She fights to stay quiet, a lifetime habit W works very hard to break. Yanking horrid and new noises out of Ines' throat as she grinds their bodies together.
W's tail slithers up her leg possessive, spade wagging and slapping against her skin. Ines keeps her eyes covered, fingers splayed across her sweaty face holding the dark over her arts. Overwhelmed and mired in radiating pleasure and hungry for every moment. She nearly squeaks when she feels the change in angle as W leans further and further forward. The shorter woman rutting deeper, as there comes the tickle of W's antennae dappling her neck in cockroach kisses. She counts in frustration each beautiful bruise W hickies into her skin. One, two, three across her collarbone and three, four, five wandering along her chest and when W takes Ines' tit between her teeth she yelps and every thought in her head scatters like scared birds. She latches on to what she can feel. The coarse fabric of the bed beneath her the trickle trails of sweat on her arms and under her back. Frigid air and howling wind shaking shutters of this dead home and the warmth of W's heaving breath short as she is only up to her neck face buried against her chest. The weight of W's tits so soft and rubbing against her stomach and how she could cry knowing its all real knowing she has her back knowing she knows so little but could just take one look.
Ines has trouble understanding others. Some would describe her as socially atrophied, though not to her face. But Ines can't help it, and she hides it well. The vestigial thing called social skills underdeveloped by virtue of her arts. The proverbial answer key to the test of understanding others.
Ines cracks open an eye, parts her fingers just a hair. Stares long at the white haired lost cause of a woman who is called W. And she wavers, the taut leash on her arts falls slack. Perhaps on purpose. Perhaps on accident. But all it takes is one private second and Ines sees the weeping keyhole ache in W's shadow, and she screws her eyes shut and bites her lip hard to forget and wants to vanish in to the ocean of now and grinds her hips up against W and worms her free hand between their locked bodies to rub out every last drip of pleasure but--
"Such a bad girl, just couldn't resist could you." It all happens so quick. Her hand is snatched away at the wrist. W pulls out and flips her on to her stomach, pushes her head down and pulls her arms back, the slip of a ziptie binding her wrists together. Her words fail her as W rides her forward again, face buried in to the pillow as W bottoms out. Ines moans and bites the fabric of the sleeping bag as her cheek is ground against it.
She feels a hand against the back of her head once more, heavy, commanding, and a breath hot on her back and her thighs quaking and ecstatic pressure as W slaps her ass and--and--and--!
She's drooling in to the pillow brights dancing through her vision light headed, stupid under the weight of an orgasm, heavy, bouncing against W's hips with each push ears ringing moaning what she wants to be words growing more terribly coherent by the breath.
W grabs Ines' docked tail at the base, hard. Shrill laughter punctuated by gasps of exertion.
"This funny things been flopping around like a soft little dick," She runs her hand up in a stroke, pulling, "If I jack it off will it make you cum, sheepy?" W presses her thumb against the underside of it and drags upwards. The caprinae's reply comes, something guttural, awful, honest. Her thoughts leaking out in long beads of wet leaving a cavernous empty head reverberating with the echos of orgasm.
W slows her pace to a grind as she glides her hand up Ines' tail and lets go, before gripping tight at the bottom by the nest of nerves and repeating the whole fanfare again and again and again. Squeezing, softening, squeezing and loving every second of Ines having lost herself. The pillow is sticky with sweat and spit and painted in ruined makeup and Ines pulls against the tie to feel that nauseatingly sweet panic and pain and is fucking herself against W faster and faster and nearly blacks out the second time she cums.
W slides the strap out and flips her over,
"Still with me sheepy or did I fuck your brains out already?" W pulls a couple strands of hair from between Ines' teeth and pats her cheek.
"fuck yourself.." Ines' words drip out the side of her mouth, her body heavy and useless
"Plan to." W slips the feeldoe out and pushes the base far as it will go up in to a writhing Ines. She licks her fingers clean and brushes back her hair, antennae falling back in to place and twitching as they taste the savory night. W pushes herself up, standing on the bed one foot on either side of Ines.
"Watch, but don't look."
To the woman beneath her, she's always been like this. Shorter by definition but towering over her. A looming presence in her life. Ines looks up at her in awe and swallows hard as W lowers herself down bit by bit until she's on her knees over Ines' twitching silicone cock. W's tail wraps around the base of the toy to keep it steady and firm as she pushes herself down on to it. Soon W rests the full weight of her body on Ines' hips, the warmth and wet of her thighs and ass. She shimmies back and forth to get comfortable.
W grabs one of her tits whole handed, switching to squeezing between thumb and pointer. Her other hand rubbing lower, pressing, little circles in to her clit heavy as she rocks herself forward.
Bound and fucked Ines still gripes,
"Hypocrite…"
"Oh please as if--nn--I could trust you to do a d-decent job of getting me off." W leans forward and covers Ines' face with a hand, "You're MUCH more useful like this."
W lifts her hips and lets them back down in a rising rhythm, bouncing in Ines' lap.
Ines is exhausted, and so deeply content to be so close to W as her plaything. A warm hole with a smart mouth. In the darkness beneath W's palm she listens to all the noises of the woman riding her. Her gasps, her laughter, the wet sound of their skin slapping together and feels so satisfied to know shes played some part in giving this to W.
When W cums, its not what you'd expect. She's quiet, she's small, shivering, squirting mess all up Ines' stomach. Her mask, her grand performance of the self falling away as her fingers twitch and dig in to Ines skin sure enough to leave bruises. And for that moment she's vulnerable, she's real, she's all Ines' and no one else's. Not Hoederer's. Not Reunion's. Not Babel's.