Chapter Text
It started with the couch.
Not their first time making out on it—not by a long shot—but something about that particular night stuck in Orm’s mind and refused to leave.
It was raining softly outside, a slow evening in, some half-watched film flickering on the screen. Lingling smelled like eucalyptus shampoo and muscle balm, fresh from a post-gym shower, her hair still damp and tucked behind one ear. Orm had been curled up on the opposite end of the couch in one of Ling’s oversized hoodies, bare legs draped over the throw pillow, sipping a cup of tea she didn’t really like just to keep her hands warm.
She’d shifted closer under the guise of stealing Lingling’s blanket.
Then closer still—until she was practically in Ling’s lap, breath misting her neck, smirking when she murmured, “You’re not even watching the movie.”
Lingling had turned toward her, sleepy eyes heavy-lidded and amused. “Because someone’s been crawling all over me.”
Orm just hummed and leaned in, brushing their noses, their lips—until Ling closed the space and kissed her.
It was soft at first. Sweet. Familiar.
But then Lingling’s hands found her hips—fingers curling in with purpose—and the energy shifted. Orm ended up flat on her back, hoodie riding high, with Ling above her, thighs bracketing her waist, mouth hot and hungry on hers. And then—god.
The grinding started.
Not slow and teasing like usual. No, this was desperate. Lingling rocked into her with surprising force, hips pressing down hard and steady, her breath catching like she couldn’t hold it back anymore.
Orm gasped against her mouth, fingers clutching at Ling’s toned back, feeling the ripple of muscles under soft skin. “Fuck—Ling—”
“You feel so good like this,” Ling whispered, her voice rougher than usual, barely audible between their frantic kisses.
Orm whimpered, back arching to meet her. Her panties were soaked, her thighs trembling—and Lingling was gone. She rutted into her like she couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t stop, like she wanted to mark her.
They didn’t go all the way that night—eventually stumbled to the bedroom and took their time with fingers and mouths—but that moment? Lingling, flustered, serious, grinding hard and letting loose for once?
It stuck in Orm’s head like a fever dream.
Which was why, a week later, Orm was scrolling through a site labeled “Strap Into Something New” while stretched out on their shared bed, bare legs tangled in the sheets, her phone tilted just out of Lingling’s view.
Lingling was in the bathroom, finishing her skincare—moisturizer, toner, dabbing at her cheekbones with careful precision. Her robe hung open over a cropped tank and boxers, long legs bare, hair damp and braided back loosely.
Orm tilted the screen up slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of a new arrival: minimalist black harness, curved silicone attachment, five-star reviews, phrases like “perfect for beginners” and “surprisingly comfortable thrust.”
She grinned.
Ling stepped out a minute later, rubbing her neck. “You’re quiet.”
Orm smiled innocently. “Just shopping.”
“Mm?”
Ling padded over to her side of the bed, flicking off the overhead light, leaving the room washed in the warm orange glow of the bedside lamp. She slid under the covers and turned on her side, propped up on one elbow.
Orm waited until she was comfy before turning her phone toward her.
“Question,” she said casually.
Lingling blinked.
“If you had to choose,” Orm went on sweetly, “would you want something curved… or straight?”
Ling narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
Orm tilted the phone to show her the site banner. Strap Into Something New gleamed across the top.
Lingling froze.
Her face gave it all away: eyes widening slightly, lips parting, then that very specific twitch in her brow—followed by the rush of pink that bloomed across her cheeks and, adorably, the tips of her ears.
“Oh,” Ling said faintly.
Orm bit her lip, pleased. “Just a little research.”
Lingling gave her a wary look. “You want to try that?”
Orm nodded, not even pretending to play it cool. “Kinda. Been thinking about it since, y’know…” She gave her a meaningful look. “The couch.”
Lingling flushed deeper.
“You were really into it,” Orm said softly. “Like. Really. I thought you were going to lose your mind.”
“I was… excited.”
“You were humping me, P’Ling.”
“I was grinding,” Ling said, a little scandalized.
“Like you wanted to pin me down and fuck me through the couch.”
Lingling choked. “Orm—”
“I liked it,” she continued, undeterred. Her voice softened. “I loved seeing you like that. Confident. Hot. Desperate.”
Ling’s jaw clenched like she didn’t know where to look.
“So I figured,” Orm whispered, leaning in to kiss just under Ling’s ear, “maybe you’d like this too.”
Lingling said nothing.
But she didn’t pull away either.
Orm pressed another kiss to her neck, slow and lingering. “I know we’re good,” she murmured. “Like… really good. I love what we do. But maybe we could spice it up a little.”
Lingling’s lashes fluttered.
“I’d love to try it with you,” Orm whispered, hand slipping under Ling’s shirt to rest on the soft line of her waist. “I bet you’d be so hot with it on. All confident and in control. You’d ruin me.”
Lingling’s breath hitched.
Orm kissed her again—cheek, jaw, mouth—and then nuzzled in close, whispering sweet and low: “C’mon. Let’s just look. No pressure.”
Lingling let out a tiny, embarrassed laugh. “You don’t play fair.”
“I’m in love with you,” Orm said, more seriously. “I trust you. And I want to try this with you.”
That—that—made Lingling melt just a little.
She sighed, brushing a hand through Orm’s hair. “Let me see what you picked.”
Orm lit up and handed the phone over. Lingling held it like it might explode, scrolling slowly.
“Are all of these… this big?”
Orm laughed. “You can pick the size. That one’s just medium adventurous.”
Lingling arched a brow.
They settled into bed shoulder to shoulder, Orm cuddled against her side, making quiet little comments as Ling clicked through product details.
“You like black, right?” Orm whispered. “Very sleek. Very ‘boss woman with abs about to fuck her girlfriend stupid.’”
Lingling buried her face in the pillow.
In the end, it was Ling who quietly clicked Add to Cart—then handed the phone back wordlessly, hiding her face in Orm’s neck.
Orm couldn’t stop smiling.
She kissed her softly and whispered, “You’re gonna look so good in it.”
Lingling just groaned.
But her hand—firm and sure—curled around Orm’s thigh under the blanket.
The apartment smelled like lemon spray and fabric softener.
Lingling sat at the kitchen table, red pen poised over a poorly formatted paragraph, chewing on her bottom lip like it was personal. She had on her old college T-shirt, glasses low on her nose, and a mug of cold tea sitting untouched by her elbow.
Orm, meanwhile, had taken it upon herself to wipe down every available surface in the living room while blasting a throwback playlist from her phone. She wore Lingling’s hoodie—too big, sleeves shoved up—with nothing but black boyshorts beneath it. Her hair was tied in a messy bun, and her hips moved to the beat while she danced around with a microfiber cloth in one hand.
It was a quiet kind of afternoon. Familiar. Easy.
Until there was a knock at the door and a quiet thud as something was delivered through the slot.
Orm paused mid-dust. “P’Ling?”
Ling didn’t look up. “Mm?”
“There’s a box.”
“Probably a textbook. I ordered a new edition for my advanced section.”
Orm padded over to the front door, bent down—and paused.
“Oh,” she said, voice higher.
Ling glanced up, confused. “What?”
Orm turned around, holding the box like it was the crown jewels.
Lingling’s expression froze.
“No,” she said immediately.
“Yes,” Orm whispered dramatically, stepping forward.
Lingling groaned and pushed her glasses up. “I thought it wouldn’t ship until next week.”
“It’s early. She’s excited.”
Lingling choked. “Don’t refer to the strap-on as ‘she.’”
Orm set the box down on top of her half-graded essay stack. “Well, she’s here. Shall we?”
Ling sighed deeply, like a woman preparing to face her mortality. “Ten minutes. Then I need to finish grading.”
Orm grinned and peeled the tape open slowly.
Inside was… well, everything they ordered. The strap. A small bottle of complimentary water-based lube. A folded marketing insert that looked suspiciously cheerful.
Orm unfolded the card and read aloud in a voice far too chipper: “Thank you for your purchase! Strap Into Something New — You’re Gonna Love It. Use code STRAPPEDAGAIN for 10% off your next order.”
Ling buried her face in both hands. “That is horrifying.”
Orm wiggled her brows. “Baby, they believe in us.”
“They’re overly optimistic.”
Orm pulled out the toy and cradled it reverently. “Minimalist. Curved. Black. Sexy, but not too scary.”
Ling gave it a sideways look. “It’s very… confident.”
“You like confident,” Orm said, grinning.
Lingling rolled her eyes but didn’t look away.
Dinner was simple.
Leftovers reheated in mismatched bowls, eaten cross‑legged on the couch with the TV on low. Lingling kept pausing the show to complain about a student who had somehow cited Wikipedia as a primary source. Orm listened with exaggerated seriousness, nodding along, occasionally feeding Ling a bite of her food just to watch her get flustered about it.
“You can’t just feel that an argument is correct,” Ling muttered. “You have to support it.”
Orm hummed. “I support you.”
Ling shot her a look. “That’s not the same thing.”
Orm grinned and bumped her knee. “I think it is.”
After dinner, Ling washed the dishes while Orm dried them, hip‑checking her every few seconds just to be annoying. Ling pretended to scold her, but she didn’t move away. She never did.
They brushed their teeth together, bumped elbows at the sink, Orm stealing a mint from Ling’s stash just because she liked how affronted Ling looked about it.
By the time they got into bed, everything felt soft and easy.
Orm lay on her stomach, scrolling idly on her phone, legs kicking behind her. Lingling climbed in beside her, slid an arm around her waist, and pressed a kiss to the back of her shoulder.
Orm hummed and rolled onto her side. “You’re warm.”
“Come here,” Ling murmured.
Orm did, immediately, curling into her chest like she always did. Their kisses started lazy—slow presses of lips, familiar and unhurried—but Ling’s hand crept up Orm’s side, fingers splaying warm against her skin.
Orm sighed into the kiss and shifted closer.
“Mmm,” she murmured. “You’re clingy tonight.”
Lingling smiled against her mouth. “You like it.”
Orm laughed softly. “Yeah. I do.”
She swung a leg over Ling’s hips, straddling her now, kisses growing deeper, messier. Ling groaned quietly as Orm rolled her hips down, just enough friction to make her breath hitch.
They were making out properly now—tongues tangling, Orm’s hands sliding into Ling’s hair, tugging just enough to make her gasp.
Ling’s hands slid under Orm’s tank, thumbs brushing over warm skin.
“God,” Orm whispered. “You always get like this after grading.”
Ling chuckled breathlessly. “I’m overstimulated.”
Orm kissed her again, harder. “Poor baby.”
She ground down more deliberately this time, and Ling groaned, hands gripping her hips.
“That’s not helping,” Ling murmured.
Orm pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes dark and bright. “Actually… I was thinking.”
Ling raised an eyebrow. “That’s dangerous.”
Orm leaned down, lips brushing Ling’s ear. “Do you wanna try it?”
Lingling froze for half a second.
Orm felt it immediately. “Only if you want to,” she added softly. “We don’t have to.”
Ling exhaled slowly. Her hands tightened on Orm’s waist.
“…Okay,” she said.
Orm smiled and kissed her gently, then rolled off her and padded over to the drawer.
Lingling sat up on the bed, suddenly aware of her own body again. She watched Orm move around the room, all casual confidence and soft curves, and felt that familiar pull in her chest.
Orm handed her the harness.
Ling stared at it. “It looks… more complicated at night.”
Orm snorted. “Mood lighting adds stakes.”
Ling stepped into it awkwardly, fumbling with the buckles. “Why are there so many straps?”
“It’s about support,” Orm said solemnly.
Ling glanced at her. “You’re enjoying this.”
Orm grinned. “Immensely.”
She knelt to help, fingers deft and gentle as she adjusted the harness around Ling’s hips. Her hands lingered, thumbs brushing bare skin.
When Ling finally stood there with it on, shoulders slightly hunched, she looked down at herself and groaned.
“I feel ridiculous.”
Orm stood and took her face in both hands. “You look hot.”
Ling opened her mouth to argue, but Orm kissed her before she could.
“You look strong,” Orm continued softly. “And confident. And like you’re about to make me lose my mind.”
Ling swallowed.
They kissed again, slower now, heavier. Orm backed them toward the bed and fell onto it, pulling Ling down with her.
Ling hovered over her, the toy pressing against Orm’s thigh. Orm gasped and wrapped her legs around Ling’s waist instinctively.
“Fuck,” Orm breathed. “Okay, yeah. I like that.”
Ling tried to move, testing the rhythm. The pressure was there, but it felt… distant. Not wrong. Just not right.
Her brow furrowed.
Orm noticed immediately. “Hey.”
Ling slowed, then stopped. She looked down at Orm—flushed, open, wanting—and then at herself.
“I don’t think I can do this tonight,” she admitted quietly. “I keep thinking instead of feeling.”
Orm’s expression softened instantly.
“That’s okay,” she said, pulling Ling down into a kiss. “You don’t have to.”
Ling hesitated, then reached down and unbuckled the harness, setting it aside without ceremony.
Then she leaned back over Orm, eyes darkening.
“But I still want you,” she murmured.
Orm shivered. “Yeah?”
Ling didn’t answer.
She kissed her again, slower, deeper, hands roaming with purpose now. This—this—she knew. The warmth of Orm’s skin, the way she melted under her touch.
Ling slid down her body, mouth trailing open‑mouthed kisses over Orm’s stomach, her hips, her thighs. Orm’s breathing was already uneven, chest rising and falling fast.
When Ling spread her legs and really looked at her, her breath caught.
Orm was flushed pink, slick already, wetness glistening between her thighs.
“You’re so wet,” Ling murmured, awe threading her voice. “You were excited.”
Orm whimpered. “You always do this to me.”
Ling dragged two fingers slowly through her folds, feeling just how soaked she was, and groaned quietly.
“God,” she whispered. “I love how your body reacts to me.”
Orm arched. “Ling—”
Ling slid one finger inside her, slow and deliberate. Orm gasped sharply, hips bucking up.
“So tight,” Ling murmured, curling her finger just right. “You feel so good around me.”
Orm made a small, broken sound.
Ling added a second finger, stretching her carefully, her thumb brushing Orm’s clit in slow circles.
Orm’s legs trembled. “Fuck—please—”
Ling’s mouth found her then, tongue warm and firm, licking a slow stripe that made Orm cry out.
Ling loved this part. Loved the way Orm sounded. Loved how her thighs tightened around her head, how her hands fisted in the sheets, how her whole body responded to every touch.
She moved with confidence now, fingers pumping, tongue flicking and sucking, fully locked into Orm’s rhythm.
“You’re doing so good,” Ling murmured. “I love hearing you like this.”
Orm was whimpering openly now, high and needy, face flushed and eyes glassy.
“I’m close,” she sobbed. “Please—”
Ling pressed her palm against Orm’s lower stomach, grounding her, and curled her fingers deeper.
“Come for me,” she whispered. “I wanna feel it.”
Orm shattered.
Her body arched hard, legs clamping around Ling’s head as she came with a broken cry, soaking Ling’s fingers, trembling through the aftershocks.
Ling didn’t stop until Orm went slack beneath her, breathless and spent.
She crawled back up slowly, kissed Orm’s flushed cheeks, her mouth, her forehead.
Orm blinked at her, completely wrecked.
Ling, flushed and breathing hard herself, murmured, “Sorry.”
Orm laughed weakly. “You’re insane.”
She pulled Ling down against her chest. “You just made me come so hard I forgot my own name.”
Ling hid her face in Orm’s neck, still warm with afterglow.
They lay there tangled together, quiet and content.
The harness sat forgotten on the floor.
For now.
The bar was a mistake.
Lingling realized that the moment she sat down.
It was cozy in the way that felt too intimate—low ceilings, amber lighting, leather booths pressed close together. A place frequented by couples on quiet dates, grad students pretending not to eavesdrop, and, worst of all, people who looked uncomfortably like they could be her students.
She slid into the booth with her back to the wall, cardigan still on despite the warmth, hands folded neatly around her glass like she was waiting for a faculty meeting to start.
When the door opened, she looked up immediately.
Namtan came in first—confident stride, leather jacket, that unmistakable energy of someone who never once worried about whether they were taking up too much space. Film followed right behind her, fingers already hooked through Namtan’s sleeve, smiling softly as her eyes scanned the room.
They spotted Ling at the same time.
Film waved, bright and warm.
Namtan grinned like she’d just found trouble.
They slid into the booth across from Lingling, Film tucking herself in beside Namtan with an ease that spoke of years together—knees brushing, shoulders touching, a quiet intimacy that didn’t need words.
Namtan didn’t even sit all the way back before she leaned forward, elbows on the table.
“So,” she said brightly.
“The strap.”
Lingling physically recoiled.
“Oh my god—” She ducked, half covering her face with one hand, eyes darting wildly around the bar. “Can you not say that so loud?!”
Film blinked, then burst out laughing.
“I’m serious,” Ling hissed. “I teach, like, three blocks from here. One of my students hears the word strap and I’m done. I’m finished. My career is over.”
Namtan looked delighted. “Honestly? You’d get glowing reviews.”
“I would not.”
“‘Engaging lectures, clear syllabus, unexpectedly iconic personal life,’” Namtan recited.
Ling groaned and slumped back against the booth. “I hate you.”
Film reached over and patted Ling’s arm soothingly. “We’ll whisper.”
Namtan held up her pinky. “WLW discretion.”
She absolutely did not lower her voice.
“So,” she continued, unfazed. “How was it?”
Lingling stared into her drink. “Humiliating.”
“Hot humiliating or bad humiliating?”
Ling glanced up. “Both.”
Film leaned forward slightly, expression soft. “Tell us.”
Ling exhaled slowly. “I got it on. We kissed. It was… fine. But the moment I tried to actually use it, I just—” She gestured vaguely. “Lost the plot. I kept thinking about angles and movement and whether I looked stupid. I couldn’t get out of my head.”
“That’ll do it,” Namtan nodded. “You can’t fuck confidently while mentally drafting a peer‑reviewed paper.”
Ling snorted despite herself.
Film smiled gently. “Were you connected to her?”
“Yes,” Ling said immediately. “That wasn’t the issue. I just… felt like the strap was in the way of how I usually feel her.”
“Mm,” Film hummed. “You’re very body‑aware. You respond to feedback. You watch your partner.”
Ling hesitated, then nodded.
Namtan leaned back. “Okay, practical advice time.”
Ling stiffened. “Oh god.”
“First of all,” Namtan continued, undeterred, “stop thinking of it like a separate thing. It’s not a performance. It’s an extension. You already know how to move your hips—this just gives them a job.”
Ling’s ears went pink.
“Second,” Namtan added, “slow down. Everyone wants to jackhammer immediately. Don’t. Let her react. Adjust to her.”
Film chimed in softly, “Confidence doesn’t come from knowing what you’re doing. It comes from staying present even when you don’t.”
Lingling looked at her.
Film smiled. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to stay with her. Talk to her. Touch her the way you always do.”
Namtan nodded. “And honestly? From what I’ve seen—” she gestured vaguely at Ling’s shoulders, her posture, the quiet intensity in her gaze “—you’re already dominant without trying. You just have to stop apologizing for it.”
Ling swallowed.
“That’s the part that freaks me out,” she admitted quietly. “I don’t want to hurt her.”
Film’s expression softened further. “Caring doesn’t make you weak. It makes you attentive.”
“And attentive tops are the best tops,” Namtan added, raising her glass.
Ling let the words sink in.
She pictured Orm—flushed, open, trusting. The sounds she made. The way her body responded when Ling touched her without hesitation.
Maybe the problem hadn’t been the strap.
Maybe it had been the doubt.
Namtan drained her drink and stood. “Alright. That’s enough growth for one night. Go home.”
Film smiled at Ling. “You’ve got this.”
Lingling stood too, pulling her cardigan tighter around herself—but her spine was straighter now.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely.
Namtan smirked. “Go wreck her.”
Ling choked. “Please don’t say that in public either.”
Film laughed as Namtan slung an arm around her shoulders and let herself be dragged toward the door.
Lingling watched them go for a moment.
Then she grabbed her bag, paid the tab, and headed home.
Orm had just finished folding the last of the towels when the front door opened.
She didn’t look up at first—just kept humming something under her breath as she lined the stacks of fresh laundry on the couch. When she did glance over, it was because she heard the soft click of the door shutting… and no greeting.
That was strange.
Lingling always said hello.
“Ling?” Orm called, folding a shirt absently.
She looked up.
Lingling was standing just inside, cheeks flushed from the cold—or maybe something stronger—hair a little windswept. Her cardigan was slipping off one shoulder. Her heels clicked softly against the floor as she stepped forward slowly.
“Hi,” she said.
Orm blinked. “You okay?”
Lingling said nothing.
Just looked at her.
And then she pounced.
“Wha— LING—!”
Orm shrieked, full body jolting as Lingling tackled her onto the pile of warm, clean laundry. A stack of towels exploded under them like a broken dam. The white fitted sheet went airborne.
“Jesus Christ—what got into you?” Orm asked breathlessly, half-laughing, half-shoving her off and failing spectacularly.
Lingling’s hands were already up her shirt.
“Not me,” Ling said into her neck, voice low and heated. “You.”
Orm made a sound.
And then—
“I mean,” Lingling added, muffled, “I will get into you.”
Orm froze.
Then looked up, eyes wide.
“…What?”
Lingling pulled back just enough to look at her—hair in her face, lips parted, and clearly tipsy.
“That made more sense in my head,” she admitted.
Orm wheezed.
“God, you’re such a loser.”
But her arms locked tightly around Lingling’s neck and she pulled her back in anyway, kissing her like she’d been waiting all week. Lingling groaned into it, deep and hungry, hands moving greedily over Orm’s waist, up her back, pressing her deeper into the soft nest of towels beneath them.
Orm was warm and pliant and just a little bit squirmy.
Lingling kissed down the curve of her jaw, the shell of her ear, the spot where Orm’s pulse fluttered too fast.
“I’ve been thinking about you all night,” she murmured, lips dragging over the slope of Orm’s throat.
Orm gasped, her hips already shifting against Ling’s thigh.
“Yeah?” she said, breathless. “Was it before or after your WLW strategy meeting?”
Ling bit her shoulder lightly.
“Shut up.”
Orm grinned, biting her lip as Lingling leaned in again, hungrier this time. Their kissing turned sloppier, deeper, a little uncoordinated from the tequila in Lingling’s veins and the sheer pace at which they were devouring each other.
Orm’s shirt was pushed up—Lingling’s hands under the fabric, greedy and familiar, thumbs brushing the curve of her waist, her stomach, her ribs. Orm whimpered, clinging to Ling’s shoulders, grounding herself with the sound of their breaths mingling.
The laundry around them was forgotten. Crushed. Wrinkled beyond salvation.
They stumbled into the bedroom like they were drunk on each other.
Lingling had already half‑undressed Orm in the hallway, fingers hooked under her sleep shorts, mouth hot at her neck. Orm laughed breathlessly as they tumbled inside, back hitting the mattress with a soft thump.
Ling followed immediately, climbing over her, bracing herself on either side of Orm’s head.
“You okay?” Orm teased, eyes bright. “You look… determined.”
Lingling smiled, slow and crooked. “You did this to me.”
“Oh?”
Ling didn’t answer. She leaned down and kissed her again—long, deep, unhurried. The kind of kiss that wasn’t about rushing anywhere, just about claiming time. Orm melted under it instantly, hands sliding into Ling’s hair, legs opening without being told.
Ling broke the kiss only to trail her mouth down Orm’s jaw, along the side of her neck. She lingered there, lips brushing skin, teeth grazing lightly until Orm gasped.
“Ling—”
“I know,” Ling murmured. “I’ve got you.”
She took her time after that. Deliberately slow. She pushed Orm’s tank top up inch by inch, kissing each newly bared strip of skin, until Orm was arching up impatiently.
“Please,” Orm whined. “You’re doing that thing.”
Ling hummed against her sternum. “What thing?”
“The thing where you pretend you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”
Ling smiled and finally peeled the tank off, tossing it aside. Her hands came up to cup Orm’s breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples experimentally.
Orm sucked in a sharp breath.
Ling leaned down and took one nipple into her mouth, slow and warm, tongue flicking before she sucked gently. Orm cried out, back arching, fingers digging into the sheets.
“Oh my god—”
Ling switched sides, lavishing the same attention there, fingers kneading, mouth working patiently until Orm was squirming beneath her.
“You’re so sensitive tonight,” Ling murmured, kissing a slow path down her stomach. “Could barely wait for me.”
Orm whimpered, hips shifting. “You pounced me on laundry.”
“True,” Ling admitted. “But you liked it.”
She kissed lower, over Orm’s navel, her hips, the inside of her thighs. She spread her legs wider and pressed a soft kiss to the heat between them—through fabric first, just enough pressure to make Orm gasp.
“Ling—please—”
Ling didn’t rush. She kissed around it, dragged her mouth teasingly close and then away again, enjoying the way Orm’s body chased hers without thinking.
By the time Ling finally pulled Orm’s underwear down, Orm was shaking.
Her thighs were slick, skin flushed and glossy, wetness already visible. Ling paused there again, just to look.
“Fuck,” she breathed softly. “You’re gorgeous.”
Orm hid her face with one arm. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“I can’t help it.”
Ling kissed her there at last, slow and open‑mouthed, tasting her properly this time. Orm let out a broken cry and grabbed at Ling’s shoulders.
Ling worked her patiently, tongue steady, hands holding her thighs apart. She listened closely to every sound Orm made, adjusting pressure and pace until Orm was trembling, breath coming apart.
She slid two fingers in slowly, feeling how tight Orm was, how eagerly her body pulled her in.
“You’re so ready,” Ling murmured. “So warm. You feel incredible.”
Orm whined, hips rocking helplessly. “Please—don’t stop—”
Ling kissed her once more, lingering, then pulled back.
Orm made a small, desperate sound. “Hey—?”
Ling kissed her stomach reassuringly. “I’m coming right back.”
She stood, calm now, confident in a way that surprised even her. She crossed to the closet and retrieved the harness, slipping out of her clothes as she went.
Orm lay back on the bed, chest heaving, watching her with wide eyes.
“Don’t take too long,” she complained weakly.
Ling chuckled as she stepped into the harness, buckling it with practiced ease this time. No hesitation. No embarrassment. Just steady hands and a focused mind.
She turned back toward the bed.
Orm swallowed.
“Oh,” she breathed. “You look… different.”
Ling approached slowly, letting Orm take her in. “Good different?”
Orm nodded quickly. “Very good.”
Ling climbed back onto the bed, the harness snug against her hips now, her body moving differently with the added weight and tension of it. She looked down at Orm—flushed, wide-eyed, legs still spread—and kissed her again.
Orm met her eagerly, tongue sliding against hers, fingers framing Ling’s face like she never wanted her to leave again.
Their bodies pressed together, hot and bare, and when Ling shifted her hips forward just slightly, the toy nudged between Orm’s thighs.
Orm broke the kiss with a gasp.
“Oh fuck,” she whispered.
Ling’s eyes flicked over her face, down to the way Orm’s thighs trembled. Her hand rested gently on Orm’s stomach, grounding her.
“I’m going to go slow,” Ling said quietly. “Okay?”
Orm nodded, breathing fast.
But then she reached down between them—her small, shaking hand curling around the strap and guiding it between her legs herself. Her fingers were slick from how wet she was.
Ling’s breath caught.
“Jesus,” she whispered.
Orm lined it up, tip pressed to her entrance, and looked up with glassy, pleading eyes.
“Now,” she said.
Ling slowly pressed in.
The first inch disappeared inside with a wet, lewd sound. Orm gasped, eyes squeezing shut, hand clenching in the sheets.
Ling froze immediately. “Hey,” she whispered, kissing her temple. “You’re okay. Take your time.”
Orm’s thighs were shaking, breath shallow. “I’m just—wow. Give me a second.”
Lingling stayed perfectly still, murmuring soft words against her cheek, brushing damp hair back from Orm’s face. She kissed her nose, her jaw, her throat.
“You’re doing so good,” she said. “So fucking good. I’ve got you.”
Orm’s body gradually relaxed around her. After a moment, she rocked her hips gently upward, letting more of the strap slide in.
“Okay,” she breathed. “Okay… yeah.”
She moaned softly. “You can move.”
Ling exhaled and began to thrust, just barely at first. Her hips rolled forward, tentative and slow, her own breath catching at the way the harness rubbed against her clit with each movement. Not direct—just friction, pressure, a tug of pleasure that bloomed and simmered low in her belly.
Orm moaned again, louder this time.
Lingling adjusted her angle slightly and thrust deeper.
“There,” Orm gasped. “Fuck—right there—”
Ling kissed her again, tongue deep and possessive, and began to move in earnest. Her hips snapped forward with more confidence now, the strap sliding wetly into Orm, deeper with each stroke. The harness tugged with every movement, sending waves of sensation through Ling’s core.
Orm was so wet. So tight around her.
Ling’s gaze was locked on her—on her flushed cheeks, parted lips, the way her breasts bounced slightly with each thrust. Her hair was spread across the pillow, her hands trembling where they gripped Ling’s shoulders.
“You feel unreal,” Ling whispered. “So warm. So perfect around me.”
Orm whined, legs wrapping around Ling’s hips, heels digging in. “Closer,” she begged. “Please—I want you closer.”
Ling pressed down over her, chest brushing chest, mouth at her neck as she kept fucking her, slow but firm, every thrust dragging a breathy moan from Orm’s lips.
“You like this?” Ling asked, voice low.
Orm nodded frantically. “Yes—yes, please don’t stop—”
“You’re doing so good, baby. Taking me so well.”
Orm’s hands clawed down her back. “Fuck—fuck—Ling—”
Ling moved harder now, pushing deeper, her hips snapping with rhythm. The pressure against her own clit was sharper now, making her shudder with every grind of her hips. She was sweating, flushed, but the pleasure came from Orm—from the noises she made, the way she shook, the way she held her close like she’d fall apart otherwise.
“Look at you,” Ling whispered, eyes locked on Orm’s face. “So needy. So pretty for me.”
Orm gasped, head tilting back, thighs trembling as she neared the edge. Her body met every thrust now, grinding up into Ling, desperate for more.
“Ling—fuck—I’m—” Her voice broke.
“I’ve got you,” Ling whispered. “Come for me.”
Orm shattered beneath her.
Her body arched, mouth open in a silent scream, thighs squeezing tight around Lingling’s waist. She came hard, sobbing out her name, hands clinging to her like she’d drown without her.
Ling slowed down, hips rolling gently to help her through it, eyes soft as she watched every second of it.
“You’re incredible,” she whispered. “I love watching you fall apart.”
Orm whimpered, collapsing under her, a flushed, wrecked mess of bare skin and aftershocks.
Ling eased out carefully, unstrapped the harness one-handed, and pulled Orm into her arms.
Orm was panting, cheeks glowing, still dazed.
Ling pressed a kiss to her temple, then her jaw.
“Still with me?”
Orm nodded, eyes fluttering open. “Barely.”
Ling chuckled softly and pulled the blanket over them, her arms tightening around Orm who responds with a pleased hum.
“Next time,” she whispered, “you’re riding me.”
Orm let out a broken little laugh and buried her face in Ling’s neck.
“I’m never letting you take that thing off.”
Then, after a beat, Orm lifted her head with a crooked, sleepy grin.
“By the way,” she murmured, “you’re folding all the laundry you destroyed earlier.”
Ling sighed, dramatic. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
Orm curled into her chest, smug. “Good. And wear the strap while you do. For morale.”