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Few things feel quite as joyful to Victoria as when, at the end of an evening, shaking and exhausted, Claudia would wrap her up in one of Claudia’s favourite wool sweaters. The wool is always comforting and familiar against her flushed skin, and she marvels at how baggy it is, swamping around her wrists and stomach. The sleeves hang far past her hands. She does not question why Claudia requires all her jumpers to be able to fit three people inside, but she appreciates how much they cover her.
Victoria blinks, trying to rid the slight fuzziness from her vision. She can see the outline of Claudia doing something in the bathroom, the door open.
“Mistress? Claud?” Victoria begins quietly, tilting her head up to properly watch Claudia as she puts her pink strap-on in its temporary place of the en-suite bathroom sink. Oh .
“Yes, puffin?” Claudia asks, almost gleeful. She turns, and Victoria can clearly see her eyes beam from under her fringe, her dark hair swishing about her bare shoulders.
Tits . Victoria chokes. She has seen Claudia’s naked body before, of course. But that doesn’t mean she can’t stare like it’s her first time setting her eyes upon Claudia’s bare chest, bare stomach, bare thighs. She reckons her eyes are practically falling out of her head. In this very moment, she doubts she has ever appreciated Claudia’s unashamed love for her body more, if this is the view she gets.
“You’re pretty, Mistress,” she says weakly, unable to think of any stronger adjectives to clarify her meaning while in her hazy state. Claudia is pretty, she can’t deny it, but she transcends pretty. She’s gorgeous. She’s incredible. She’s resplendent .
Praising Claudia; it is what she loves to do. She loves to cover her Mistress in kisses and compliments. She loves to tell her every day she is the most beautiful woman to ever have lived. She loves to worship her, serve her, obey her. Claudia is perfect, ethereal with her beauty. And she… isn’t. She self consciously retreats back into the jumper, pulling it forward to cover more of her legs.
Claudia switches the bathroom light off, and closes the door. She comes closer, and reaches out to cup her cheek. Victoria shuffles closer too, drawn to her like a magnet, still on her knees. The cotton sheets are cool and soft under her, and the wool swathes her in a familiar warmth.
“Aw, aren’t you adorable like this, puffin?” Claudia laughs. Victoria’s stomach flips, feeling her voice strike straight through her, even in her mental haze. “In my jumper, all cute and eager?”
“Yeah,” Victoria agrees, mouth agog. That is all she can do at this moment, simply agree with every word that comes from Claudia’s mouth. Her concentration is not helped by Claudia’s breasts a foot away from her face.
“Do you want more, bunny?” Claudia teases, gripping her cheek forcefully, and Victoria knows this is her way of asking permission. Asking for what, however, she does not know.
But, Victoria slowly shakes her head. Much as she wants to be good, she’s too tired to go for another round. Although, she is enchantingly captivated by the sight in front of her.
“That’s okay, baby. Go take a shower, Vicky.” Claudia pats her cheek, and takes her hand off her face to offer it to her to get her up. Victoria’s palms are clammy when Claudia holds them, and she is pulled onto her feet. Victoria cannot resist pressing a kiss to her tanned shoulder. She wraps her arms around Claudia, and practically leans her whole body weight on her, knees shaking.
“I love you so much, Mistress,’ Victoria whispers, and flops her head down onto her girlfriend’s shoulder.
“I love you too, Vicky. So very, very much.”
The air is sweet, and the moment is tender. One of Claudia’s hands trails down from her waist to squeeze her bare ass. Victoria’s face breaks into a grin, and lightly pushes her hand away.
“I’m sorry, I can’t help myself around you.” Claudia squeezes her shoulder closer with her arm, kissing her cheek. “Now, go have a shower. You’ll regret it in the morning if you don’t.”
“Give me a moment,” Victoria says quietly. Her legs are still wobbly under her, and she doubts her ability to stand under a cold shower in her current state.
“Do you want me to help, Vicky?” Claudia offers, gently lifting Victoria’s chin to look up at her.
She gets a blank stare in return. “Help?”
“In the shower?” She confirms.
No, Victoria thinks. She can’t let Claudia see her-
“Vicky, what’s going on?” She looks at Claudia again (she doesn’t remember looking away so quickly), and sees her frowning. Claudia’s voice is so soft and gentle , it almost makes Victoria want to cry.
“‘M not pretty.” That’s out of character, Claudia recognises, even for post-coital, potential sub-dropped, tired Vicky.
“What do you mean, you’re not pretty, puffin?” Claudia asks carefully. There are two ways this can go, and she wants it to go right .
“You’re pretty, Mistress,” Victoria mumbles. “And I’m… not.”
Claudia recoils slightly in shock, before pulling Victoria close to her chest, holding her tightly. “Vicky, what’s brought this on?” Her sudden change in demeanour worries her.
“I don’t know,” Victoria says truthfully. She honestly doesn’t.
“Is it subdrop, baby?” Claudia questions. “What are you feeling?”
“I don’t know,” Victoria repeats herself. “I feel shaky, and…”
“And?” Claudia prompts. “I need you to talk to me, bunny. I know it’s difficult, but I need to help you.”
“Overall shit? Is that alright?” Victoria almost snaps. Logically, she knows Claudia is in the right, and is trying. But, frankly, right now, logic can go stick a cactus up its arse for all she cares.
“Vicky, this isn’t like you. At all. You’re not speaking like you, and you’re not thinking like you.”
Victoria thinks it would be quite nice to not have to think ever again. It would certainly make life easier.
Claudia frowns. “Come on, puffin. Lie down with me.”
-
“Do you really think you’re not pretty?” Claudia asks, rubbing her back gently. Victoria makes a small, whimpering sound from the crook of Claudia’s neck. She, under the watchful gaze of Claudia, managed to pull on a pair of pajamas trousers, but she refused to take off her sweater. Claudia also had put on a pair of grey shorts, and covered (sort of) her chest with her bra.
She doesn’t say anything for a good while, and Claudia does not pressure her. She keeps stroking her back, the wool soft and warm. Claudia runs her other hand through Vicky’s hair, taking care to remain gentle.
“Not compared to you,” Victoria says eventually. Claudia pauses her ministrations. A quiet rage burns beneath Claudia’s skin, but she pushes it down.
“Victoria Elizabeth. Look at me,” she says, her tone serious.
It does take Victoria a few seconds, but she manages to push herself up onto her elbows.
“Why would you say that?”
“Because… Because it’s true, Mistress-“
“No, no,” she cut Victoria off. “Victoria, I need you to concentrate. What’s my name?”
“Claudia.”
“If you know my name, call me by my name,” Claudia says. “Right now, I’m your girlfriend, not your mistress. Okay?”
“Okay,” Victoria whispers, and Claudia nods.
“Why, Victoria, do you believe yourself to be less attractive than me?”
“Because you’re you ,” Victoria gasps, and it is all she manages to get out before tears prick at the corners of her blue eyes. “You’re perfect , Claudia.”
Emotion wrenches at Claudia’s heart, and threatens to constrict her throat. “What if, Victoria, I told you I think you’re perfect too?”
“I… I wouldn’t believe you.”
“Why don’t you think you’re perfect?” Claudia pushes on. Much as it hurts, she needs to. Whatever is going on in Puffin’s head, she needs to and will help with.
“Because I’m ugly.”
Claudia sucks in a breath, and it feels as if she’s been punched in the stomach, or stabbed through her lungs.
“ Why - Vicky, why on earth would you think that?”
Victoria’s head falls onto Claudia’s chest, and she can feel the tears leaking from her eyes on her skin.
“I don’t know, I don’t know - I’m sorry .”
Victoria knows many things. She knows sound can be in minus decibels. She knows ‘If On a Winter’s Night a Traveler’ displays the nature of change, coincidence, and how the interdependence of fiction and reality can bend the human conscience . She knows ‘The Dark Side of the Moon’ by Pink Floyd is the fourth best-selling album of all time. But she does not know exactly why she doesn’t believe herself to be perfect.
Because of her face? Because of her body? Because of her personality? She cannot pinpoint anything, much to her pain and chagrin.
Claudia’s body is so soft and smooth beneath her. It almost makes her feel worse. Rubbing in exactly what she does not have.
It’s not Claudia’s fault. Nothing is ever Claudia’s fault. Except when she’s wrong.
“Victoria?”
“Mhm?” She croaks, voice breaking.
“I think you’re beautiful .”
The floodgates splinter, and an outpour of tears come. Victoria can’t help it, emotion and fear building up inside of her and bursting free. Claudia says nothing, and it is a comfort. She holds her, gripping the lilac wool of her sweater and her hair in an iron grip.
She cries and cries and cries, and still Claudia stays silent. Just holds her. She pets her hair, and kisses her forehead, and her touch feels so good.
“I love you,” Victoria whispers, voice seeming to shudder.
“Beautiful. You’re beautiful.”