Chapter Text
The knife gleamed in Regina’s hand. Emma felt like taking a step back, it was so copiously sharp, but she knew in her bones she couldn’t give an inch to the other woman.
“I think it’s fair to say we’ve been at loggerheads.”
“Loggerheads,” Emma replied. “That’s putting it in… words from the 1930s…”
Regina made a slight grin, the one that left Emma unable to tell if she was being condescended to or if she’d genuinely amused Madame Mayor and her honor didn’t want to cop to it.
She brought the knife down to the pie plate and sliced into the apple pie, running the blade as neatly through the crust as a coroner conducting an autopsy. Emma just about winced. There was something about seeing Regina so skillfully wield such a dangerous weapon that struck her as…
Erotic. The word occurred to Emma and she couldn’t dispel it. The smell of fresh-baked pie had permeated the air since the moment Regina had barreled into Mary-Margaret’s address. Demanding-without-demanding to speak to Emma as long as they had the time and privacy between crises. And that smell only grew stronger as Regina used the knife’s sharp edge to effect. Percolating on Emma’s tastebuds, making her pinch her lips shut to hide the salivating as the overt goodness of that pie hit her senses. Crying out for her to take the plunge and…
And taste Regina’s pie? How old are you, Swan? It’s just pie, God.
Now using the knife as a lever, Regina eased that triangular slice of heaven out of the pan and onto a small plate she’d retrieved from Mary-Margaret’s cupboard. “Well, here’s my peace offering, Miss Swan. And I don’t think I could bring it to you any hotter. Or more juicy.”
Emma gulped. What the hell was Regina doing? Trying to seduce her?
No. No way. No chance in hell that the PTA Mom From Hell had any sort of sapphic inclinations. The very thought made Emma feel defensive. She was the one who messed around and got tattoos and made out with girls who rode Harley-Davidsons. Regina was… about as Republican as New England got.
When she’d fetched the knife, Regina had also gotten a stack of plates and a few forks from the silverware drawer. Exactly the kind of thing Regina would do, turning this whole visit into some party she was hosting. She picked up one of the forks and held it over her slice of pie like the Sword of Damocles with tines.
“Obviously, I took it very personally that Henry sought to supplant me as his mother and I allowed my emotion to overwhelm my better judgment—starting this ridiculous feud of ours. The fact is, Henry can’t be my little boy forever and he is at that age where he’ll seek role models outside of the home. I was ready for him to latch onto a pretty teacher or a sports celebrity… but I suppose when you’re as unique as Henry, the person you look up to is equally unique.”
Emma took a deep breath. She wasn’t good at these big talks at the best of times—one of many reasons she hadn’t signed up for motherhood. And now it was being sprung on her over pie… really nice-smelling pie… and Regina looking as hot as ever, unattainable in every possible way, and that maddening hotness was even more maddening when she’d gone from mean sorority alpha bitch to sweet Suzy Homemaker.
Fuck, to think some lucky SOB in the fifties got to go home to Regina’s mom every night. Regina probably had one hell of a happy childhood with parents as into each other as those two must’ve been. A guy who lived up to the Regina family standards and a girl who looked like Regina. It made her wonder how the hell it’d all ended up with Emma’s lovechild…
“And I, uh… I guess… I’d been trying really hard not to think about what happened to Henry after I gave him up and once I decided I was going to be in his life again, I might’ve—I probably overcompensated. I just want to know he’s doing okay, that he isn’t in any sort of danger, and Storybrooke is…”
“Dangerous?” Regina prompted dubiously, the old scrutiny front and center in her eyes, like she’d like to know in extreme detail how her town could have anything wrong with it.
Emma bit the bullet. If Regina wanted to make peace, fine, but she couldn’t walk on eggshells with the woman for the rest of her life. “Maybe you’re used to it, Regina, but this is one weird fucking town.”
Regina quirked her lips. “It has personality.” She stabbed the fork into the pie. “Here. Let’s get started on this feast before it gets cold.”
Emma tried to hide her wariness as Regina offered the fork to her mouth, but she didn’t think there was a polite way to respond to Regina trying to feed her. “Uh… that’s cool, I’ll just nuke it in the microwave later.”
Regina arched an eyebrow. “You’ll eat it now.”
“I, oh…”
Regina was moving the fork inexorably toward her lips.
“Jesus,” Emma said, and acceptingly opened her mouth to take the fork in before Regina stabbed her in the chin.
It tasted sublime. Wrapped up in that cute little smile Regina had made when she conceded Storybrooke its personality (whatever that meant) and the elegant arch of her eyebrow and the faint, crisp scent of her perfume. Candy apple, Emma thought. Close to the smell of the pie, but very distinctly her.
All of it combined, hitting Emma with a heady sensation like a toke, warmth flowing through her tastebuds, sweet and crisp, and somehow moving down her body, those little pangs of joy not stopping at her tongue but fluttering into stiffening nipples, down the twitching muscles of her abdomen, into her clit and labia.
Holy fuck, I’m wet.
And not just a ringing-the-doorbell kind of thing. This was the kind of twang deep in her sex that would usually have Emma moving for a hot shower with a massaging showerhead, a locked door and a buzzing vibrator, humping her fucking pillow if she couldn’t find anything or anyone better.
Regina’s lips were plump and red as a bushel of freshly picked apples as she smiled. “Tastes good, doesn’t it? Old family recipe. It seemed appropriate, since you are part of the family now. Living in Storybrooke. Helping to raise my child—in a certain way. I’m so glad you like it. It’s about time we share something, don’t you think?”
“Uhh…” Emma said eloquently. “Uh, yeah. Yeah.” Her pussy was still throbbing. She had enough experience trading blows to handle sparring with Regina, even with her being so poised and so fucking hot, but getting along with Regina? When her womanhood was begging to come and, and…
Well, she could always think of clever things to say later. Right now seemed to only call for being agreeable and letting Regina be nice to her. And Regina was surprisingly good at being nice.
Regina speared another bite of pie. “And you are a strong, powerful woman. The sort of person it’s good for Henry to appreciate. Much better you than some offensive comedian or oversexed rapper.” Regina gave a performative shudder of disapproval. “You just need a few rough edges sanded down, that’s all. And I can’t expect you to grasp all the intricacies of motherhood in a few weeks. That’s why we need to align ourselves to each other. You can accept my guidance and I can accept your unique repartee with Henry.”
She offered the fork again. Emma stared at the gooey, delicious filling just waiting for her mouth. She wanted to bite into it. She needed to bite into it. But while she didn’t know what exactly had happened to her with her last bite—an allergic reaction worthy of House, some barbiturate she’d taken once getting knocked loose and going straight to her vag—she did know that she didn’t want to come right in front of the Mayor now that the woman had finally stopped treating her like a degenerate.
“That’s okay,” Emma said, weaving her head back. “I ate a big lunch already. I’m really full.”
“You’re in Maine, dearie. You can never be too full here.” And the glint in Regina’s eyes took her perfectly innocent words and turned them into Emma wondering just how full she could be. Regina’s fist between her legs. A harness around her waist and a big cock ready for Emma. Anal beads to be sure her asshole wasn’t left out of the fun.
A day ago, Emma would’ve sworn in court that there was no way Regina knew about any of those things. That leaving the lights on during missionary position was her idea of kinky sex. But suddenly Emma was thinking that Regina knew exactly what Emma was thinking and wanted her to think every naughty thing that was dominating her brain and frying her cunt.
“Open wide, Ms. Swan,” Regina purred, moving the fork inexorably forward. “I made this just for you.”
Emma let her push it into her mouth. She wrapped her lips around the fork, held onto it until Regina had pulled it all the way back—she was so set on not giving up a single morsel of that delicious pie until it had all melted on her tongue, decadent sweetness pulsing through her with every chew, rattling her clit so hard that Emma almost didn’t notice when the closeness of her orgasm became the happening of her orgasm.
Only that her full-bodied shudder was accompanied with a liquid throb, a twitch that ran from deep inside her nether regions to the tender but untouched lips of her womanhood, and suddenly she felt the hot wetness of her own panties’ gusset rebounding to her mons, sticking to them. She’d come, come all over herself, just from tasting Regina’s pie.
“Swallow, Ms. Swan,” Regina instructed her, that husky voice of hers just a little breathy, and Emma panicked at the thought that Madame Mayor was aware of what was happening to her. It was nuts to think that Regina had some… James Bond drug that made you come, that she’d want to embarrass Emma by feeding it to her…
If nothing else, Emma was pretty sure any amount of embarrassment was worth coming this hard. In fact, the humiliation kinda… added to it.
“Swallow,” Regina breathed again, and Emma obediently gulped. Even, without thinking, opened her mouth to display to Mommy Regina that she’d eaten up like a good girl.
“Very good.” Regina’s voice crisp and tart as a cracking whip. “No need to savor it like it’s your last meal. There’s plenty more for you. In fact, now that I can see how much you enjoy my cooking, I think I’ll be bringing over much more for you to eat.”
Emma’s eyes about glazed over. She could just not hear Regina talk like that, and wearing those fucking dominatrix dayjob outfits, without imagining all the eating she wanted to do. And she had no doubt it would taste better than apple pie.
But some part of her rebelled. Some part of her, that unbelievably prioritized dignity over orgasms, wanted to stop this madness before she came in her pants again. And before Regina heard her scream ‘yes-yes-yes’.
Although there was an intoxicating effect to the thought of Regina hearing her orgasmic cries, obsessing over them even a fraction as much as Emma did that slightly too small blouse Regina wore, the buttons straining over her abundant chest, leaking little tiny views of her caramel skin and, heaven help her, the little satin slip of a bra that was so not from K-mart. Fuck, it could be lingerie she had on under all that… let’s admit it, Swan… MILF soft butch so-my-fantasy chic.
“W-why don’t you have some?”
Regina smiled like Emma was a pet that’d done something amusingly daft. Like a cat trying to jump somewhere and instead bonking into a wall. “I don’t think I need fattening up, Ms. Swan. Do you?”
Fuck no she didn’t. Not that Regina was fat at all. But her curves were… well, maybe it wasn’t that strange that Emma’d had a climax with no more stimulation than the sight of Regina and the taste of apple pie.
“You, you’re skin and bones. You need to start eating right, especially if you’re to be setting a good example for our son. And I love cooking. I consider it a special compliment to take a woman as hungry as yourself and make sure she’s absolutely stuffed.”
Regina moved in with the fork again, only this time her grip wavered. The filling spilled off the tines and hit Emma’s breast—underneath her tanktop, of course. Emma almost moaned with dismay. But Regina simply smiled.
“Oopsie.” That was not the smile of someone who did it in the missionary position. That was the smile of someone who told Emma to turn over, get her ass in the air, and that she’d better be wet because the strap was going in fast and hard and not stopping until she came. “I’m terribly sorry, Ms. Swan. Let me wash that for you before it stains.”
“T-that’s alright. This is an old top,” Emma sputtered. “It’s had worse.”
Regina showed no sign of displeasure. Her eyes didn’t darken. Her tone didn’t grow arch. She simply repeated herself, with the air of a woman used to being obeyed, like Emma just hadn’t heard her right. Because surely no one would be stupid enough to defy her.
“Take it off,” Regina said. Her smile was still bright, but it was the brightness of a razor freshly polished. “Then you can have some more pie.”