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“I just need enough to get to New York, and then I’m gonna make my fortune.” Vinciane had said. Unlike most people, she was telling the truth. Not that she knew that for sure at the time - the future was unpredictable, and her confidence was admittedly unfounded. But she would, in fact, make a fortune in New York, prior to her untimely death.
Much of the perseverance that eventually led to her fortune would be sourced from that sentence and the woman who entered her life as a consequence.
You see, Vinciane was a large woman. It wasn’t uncommon, even in the early 20th century, for other women to show some interest in her. This had led to her developing a mild complex, and also to her acquiring, by the confusing and conflicting influence of social pressure, the instinctual urge to provide for her partners.
And laying eyes on the delicately feminine Alastor triggered this latent instinct into the most powerful force acting on her constitution.
This was another thing no one knew would happen upon her accepting the job. The job being to perform sexual acts on another woman in a private gentlemen’s club for the pleasure of an all-male audience.
Vinciane happened to be a woman, so she was reasonably confident she could get another woman off. How hard could it be? She’d be a hell of a lot better than every guy she’d ever bothered to fuck, twelve seconds on a clit and asking if she’d come yet or confident they’d gotten her off in five minutes of shit angle thrusting and grunting. She was adventurous. She knew herself. This would be easy. But she also knew exactly what men liked, and she knew what kind of girl a woman with masculine features (even if she had an ample bosom that made it very clear she wasn’t a man) would be paired with.
This was being confirmed by the host of the evening’s every insulting word.
“You can be a bit aggressive, but try to be gentle with her. Our patrons aren’t into blood - deflowering shows are presented to a different crowd.”
Said the balding freak, and just. Gross. Amazingly gross. But a hundred dollars was a hundred dollars. That was two months’ wages from any other temporary position in one night. She’d tolerate a lot of grossness for that kind of pay, but she still frowned in irritation at the rude implications of his warning.
“I’m not gonna rough her up, Christ. I know you’re gonna sic me on some tiny, innocent-looking… broad…”
The curtain behind him rustling had drawn her absent attention, then what emerged sucked it all up like a dark star. He could’ve called her Attila the Whore and she wouldn’t have noticed, not with her in her line of sight.
The woman fluffed her hair a bit before stepping into full view of the crowd. Her eyes quickly swept up Vinciane’s body, betraying nothing of what she thought of it. They never settled on her face. Her dark red robe moved like water as she padded across the room barefoot. The host had vacated the area, leaving her space to come to a stop not far from Vinciane on the rug spread under the bed.
Vinciane was in a gentlemen’s club. Any other woman around had to be here for the show. She forced reason to outweigh emotion because emotion said there was no way she was going to get paid to touch the ethereal wood nymph letting her robe fall the mile and a half it took to travel her legs and pool on the floor.
She was perfect. She was everything Vinciane had ever wished she was and everything she’d ever admired. Smooth feet topped by pronounced, grippable ankles, she didn’t shave her graceful, doe-like legs - confident in her womanhood, or just older than Vinciane and set in her ways, and though she didn’t look a day over twenty, there was something worldly about the gaze that had returned to watch her look. The dark thatch of hair between her legs was thick and shiny, freshly washed and unmussed by clothes since, the shape of what lay beneath just barely discernible in the low lamplight that illuminated most of the club. Her hips flared, but the bones were obvious, and her waist seemed improbably slim above them, her belly button stretched like she’d been pulled to her modestly above average height after she’d finished growing for aesthetic purposes. Her ribs were too pronounced, made Vinciane want to feed chocolate between her dark lips, and her small, pert breasts, her biteable candy nipples, begged Vinciane’s nursing. Her shoulders gleamed, narrow and dainty, her arms elegant like the branches of a willow, long fingers gracing her hands and completing the beautifully lanky look of her. Her collarbones jutted like the rest of her, built for marking, for tender bruising, her neck a canvas for teeth to decorate, her pointed jaw like priceless china, her cheekbones high, her hair a pile of tousled curls, and her eyes-
Vinciane slammed her gaze to the ground too late at the recognition of growing amusement in those bottomless, piercing, dark eyes. She wasn’t supposed to stare. Not that she’d ever had to resist staring, ahaha, no. It wasn’t like she was into this. Everybody at school who hinted at it was only making a dig at her overly masculine jaw and strength and height, that was all. She’d never had to measure how many seconds of looking was acceptable in the locker room and oh fuck how long had she been a goddamn lesbian?
Except. She was pretty sure she could count the seconds since the transformation had finished, because, staring aside, she’d liked men a few minutes ago. Now everyone else in the room looked like stale bread and she, whoever she was, was the finest French dessert on the market. Fragile only for the pleasure of the texture, rich and hearty to her core, a work of art crafted to be consumed.
“You’ll want to get rid of that.”
“Huh?” Get rid? Of? What had to go to make her happy?
“Your robe. No point in modesty here.”
“Oh.” She should’ve thought of that. Yeah. Gone. If… she had to.
She wasn’t half as admirable as Alastor. Like an overgrown vegetable, she was all fiber and low flavor, broad, thick-ish with usable muscle, and square in a way that would be attractive… in a man. She’d known it since she was fourteen, praying puberty would bless her like it had some of her classmates only to be damned worse than ever before. She had exactly one feminine trait she emphasized as much as she could - maybe two, depending on how you counted.
And Her. The woman swept her gaze over all of it, a honeyed smile on her lips as if the sharpness didn’t matter, and perched beside her on the extremely out-of-place dining room bed.
“My, what large breasts you have,” the woman mused, her left leg pulling up onto the mattress, and Vinciane wasn’t supposed to stare.
“Uh.” Not staring, she locked eyes with the woman’s piercing liquid brown gaze, which was somehow worse. “All the better to cushion you with?”
“More like bludgeon. Look at the size of these things!”
Oh god the contrast. Her thin fingers couldn’t have been starker against Vinciane’s pale, oversized breasts. She squeezed as if she were playing with a doll and alright, maybe, if she liked them, Vinciane would think they were just right for her, oversized like everything else. But hell it felt good, and was this really ok?! Nobody was going to come and cane them within an inch of their lives for it?! This felt too good to be anything but a caning offense. She covered her mouth, her face aflame as the prettiest girl who ever lived kneaded her not all that sensitive but suddenly very sensitive chest. Those goddamn eyes fixed on her face again and she thought she might faint.
“Are you sure you can do this?”
“Nnn… It’s not that I can’t, it’s just…”
“My appearance bothers you.”
“Bothers isn’t the word I’d choose.”
“You’ll have to stomach it if you want to get paid.”
“Stomach is also not the word I would choose.” The butterflies didn’t have the same connotations.
That was a weird thing for such a pretty girl to assume, right? Who the fuck gave her a complex? Vinciane understood how people treated her, as wretched as it made her feel. She was all angles and big and, stellar rack aside, had to work to look or even seem feminine. And here was the perfect woman, slender as a sapling, touchable as silk, acting like the other girls at school treated her the same way they treated Vinciane.
Maybe she shouldn’t understand how people treated her. Maybe people were just dicks. And if they were dicks, fuck ‘em. Fuck everybody for the next however long this woman was in reach.
Vinciane breathed. It was surprisingly easy beneath forty pairs of eyes and low yellow lights. She was all that mattered.
“What’s your name?” Vinciane asked, low and humbled.
“Alastor.”
“Is it really?”
“It’s what I’ve gone by since I was a child.”
“I-” would’ve liked to know you then, she swallowed, “see.” Alastor eyed her curiously, as if she suspected the true end of the sentence, but wasn’t certain of her estimation.
“Where am I allowed to touch?” Vinciane tried, not staring, but hoping what looking she did was normal for this situation.
The groping hands fell away, which was a shame, but gave her a few more faculties to think with.
“You’re here to perform sexual acts with me. It’s assumed you’ll be touching everywhere you normally wouldn’t in polite company.”
“I don’t hang around polite company when I can help it.”
“You do have a roguish air about you.”
There was a sparkle to her eyes and a lilt in her tone that made it a good thing, so Vinciane was happy she had a roguish air. She’d always had it, but today it was positive. Positive like this woman, this ideal creature presented for her to do with as she - and perhaps the audience - pleased. But most importantly, how the ideal creature pleased. Then maybe she could do it again without the audience. Also, she’d make nicer sounds. And Vinciane was suddenly determined to drag the nicest sounds she could from her. Her hands raised, hovered in the air, stalled with opportunity.
The woman chuckled.
“You don’t seem hopeless. I’ll get you started, but I expect you to sort yourself out quickly.”
“Please,” Vinciane heard herself beg, overwhelmed by her unlimited options.
Long fingers drummed against the back of her neck, Alastor’s full weight, if she had to guess, slung behind them. A number of her more alluring options became just hard enough with the move that she came unstuck, surged forward and captured her lips, struggled with the dissonant spatial perception of Alastor taking up the whole room but being so thin her hands could overlap around her waist, molded her body close and exhaled harshly over her damp lips at the buffering collision of their breasts. Vinciane’s hand skated up her back, her thumb gliding through the dip of her spine, her palm drinking in the softness of her skin, until her fingers could hook over her bony shoulder. Was it manly providerism or womanly nurturing that made Vinciane want to feed her? Why couldn’t it be both? But her own hunger outweighed them, made her chase the tang of whiskey and bitter coffee through the seam of Alastor’s lips and seek more across the front of her bottom teeth. A little tremor of tension beneath her biceps, a stalled rejection, it felt like, Alastor’s reciprocation hesitant in a way it wasn’t before Vinciane forced her way in, and she’d better say if she didn’t like something, damn it, because Vinciane’s mindfulness was evaporating along with her mind in the heat of her desire.
Pressing for it, starving for more, she shoved at Alastor’s tongue with her own, sought to entice it to battle, and Alastor did break the kiss with a click. Thank god. The angel on her shoulder had given her one parting thought to call it off and damn the money if Alastor wouldn't stop her, leaving to abandon her to sin as it was, because if she wasn’t stopped she’d devour her.
Alastor kept her chin tucked out of range, looked up at Vinciane through her lashes, amused, as she twirled the hair at the base of her neck.
“Frightfully strong… a farmer’s daughter?”
“Y…eah. Sorry?”
“I was attempting to pull you down. You didn’t even budge.”
“Oh.” She… probably should’ve understood that. But the weight on her neck wasn’t half of one of her father’s rams, so of course she wouldn’t budge. Her hands slid to Alastor’s hips, electricity sparking up her arms when this planted them on the globes of her ass, her digits long enough for her fingertips to sink between them, and she lost the thread of her thoughts and only kept moving mechanically, lifting Alastor completely off the bed in a state of mild mania. “You’re so light. Whoa-!”
Alastor’s legs lassoed her waist and now she was going down, overwhelmed by the momentum she’d accidentally lent the intelligent human she was handling.
She caught herself on her palms, and yep. She was a lesbian and happy about it. Thank fucking god she had eyes to see how gorgeous the woman lying on the silk sheets was.
“I guess I’ll have to work a bit to tame you,” she quipped, coy.
Horizontal was all it took for her lips to fall helplessly to gleaming skin, whatever they could reach first, the hinge of her jaw, the tendons in her neck, over the beating artery where every brush quickened her breath. Vinciane’s hands started working categorically to memorize the feel of her everywhere, dragging up her side, her nails grazing her ribs, until she finally cupped her much smaller breasts, kneaded them as her teeth marked up her jutting collar bone. Alastor tasted like thyme and peppers under the impersonal clarity of her recent shower, a flavor that threatened to burn her tongue in a higher dosage, and she hoped it’d brand Alastor into her mouth forever.
Alastor hissed softly when Vinciane seized her nipples. She pinched and rolled them to hardness as Alastor squirmed and panted, her sanity unraveling with every encouraging signal.
“Alright, then,” Alastor breathed, driving her lower to mark up the unblemished swell of her left breast. “It appears you’ll d…o just fine.”
Her hands flitted up to clutch at the pillow, her lip pulled between her teeth, when Vinciane caged the point of her imploringly perky breast in her mouth. She pressed close with a needy groan, suckling and lapping at the tight bud that had earned her Alastor’s praise, nipping and nibbling when that had Alastor twitching with stuttering gasps.
Her lips had freed up one hand to work along the uncharted territory left to be explored, trace over her quivering stomach, tug her hip to situate her better, trail up her thigh, then back down the velvety inside toward increasing warmth.
Alastor moaned at the intrusion of Vinciane’s fingers through short curls and Vinciane moaned at the luxurious feel of buttered silk, wet with fresh slick, her clit swollen and begging for service Vinciane was more than happy to provide.
“Oh…” Alastor sighed, her head tossing and knees digging into Vinciane’s sides as she fell into a quick, short rub over the hood. A few more seconds and she exhaled sharply, her hips rocking into Vinciane’s touch and her watery eyes fixing on her.
“You must have an… especially high libido. None of the… other girls have been so… skilled…”
Guilty. None of her female classmates seemed half as plagued by the demands of their bodies as her, but today that wasn’t a source of shame, not when it gave her knowledge gained through masturbation as furious and frequent as the boys to visit on the vision of Aphrodite beneath her. But this was hardly the best she could do.
She sat back on her knees, got a curious and moderately irritated stare from Alastor’s black pearls for stopping, and swept her gaze over that gorgeous body again. Yeah. She could rock this.
She snapped her fingers, summoning a waiter to the bedside. Probably by instinct on his part, but he came and that was what mattered. She slipped her glasses off her nose, held them out in his general direction without looking at him.
“Put these somewhere safe for me,” she commanded, grinning. “I'm a messy eater.”
He squeaked, she thought, but what really mattered was the stunned widening of Alastor’s eyes before she gripped her thighs and dropped between her legs.
“Oh!”
Alastor jerked, her thighs jamming into Vinciane’s palms and both hands flying to fist in her hair, but it was no trouble to hold Alastor’s thin legs open as she drove her tongue in where her fingers had already mapped the lay of the land, and god, this was giving kissing her mouth a run for its money. Alastor’s taste was thick but simple, a staple she’d take with every meal, her clit twitching with every squeeze of her thighs so Vinciane had to chase it to lap and nibble at it, bully the little thing into bursting distressed pleasure as far as it could cry along Alastor’s nerves. Alastor scrunched up, holding her in place and trying to hide at once, the force on the back of Vinciane’s head so strong Alastor had either decided she was indomitable or wanted to suffocate her in her cunt, but her legs still trembling with the effort to snap shut against Vinciane’s patient grip.
She probably wouldn’t suffocate, and Alastor’s pert little breasts were so unguarded in her desperate curl around her head she couldn’t resist. She released one of Alastor’s legs, let it clamp down and shove her deeper as she slithered her tongue to her entrance, and caught her damp nipple in her fingertips again. Alastor whined, pretty and sweet, her nails gouging her scalp, her hips flexing so she really couldn’t breathe, and fuck, whatever was going on between her legs had to be what blueballing felt like.
If Alastor’s slick, warm channel hadn’t unclenched from her tongue and taken her oxygen-reducing tension with it, Vinciane might’ve simultaneously come without anything touching her and passed out. But Alastor relaxed with an adorable whimper, telling her all she needed to know about how powerful that orgasm had been, and she thought she’d try for a streak.
Alastor raised scratches down her back as she crawled up her body, two fingers sinking into snug heat as she went, Alastor arching on a strained but encouraging hiss. Vinciane’s fingers were big, but Alastor wasn’t a virgin. Sort of surprising to find her brow furrowed at the intrusion, but her pout didn’t speak to displeasure. And on the subject of her lips...
Lost in her, Vinciane slid her hand under Alastor’s head, held her soft curls and captured her in another kiss to share her flavor.
There was a murmur of voices, and oh right, there were other people in the room with them.
She broke the kiss before Alastor could get annoyed, nuzzling their noses together and peppering little pecks across her cheek as she carefully warmed Alastor to the stretch and the concept of another round.
“My, what big… fingers you… have,” Alastor panted over the increasingly loud, slick, obscene, wet sounds in the air.
Vinciane’s grin was all teeth this time.
“All the better to fill you with.”
She crooked the digits in question, Alastor bowed with parted lips, and a glass shattered somewhere in the unimportant reaches of space. Vinciane cast a cursory glance around to make sure no one was in their bubble and found them the subject of several slack-jawed stares.
“Why are they so worked up? Don’t they see this all the time?”
Alastor’s hands had fallen to the sheets, threatened to rip them from the bed between her white-knuckle grip and the twisting writhes of her torso. Her panting had turned harsh, and Vinciane wasn’t as invested in the answer as she was in Alastor’s fluttering eyelashes, so she bore down on the spot that seemed to be making her go to pieces.
“Aha…” she threw her head back, her long neck lengthening and jutting up in offering for Vinciane’s mouth, and who was she to deny a goddess?
Alastor moaned softly at bites on thin, vulnerable skin as her tension subsided again. Vinciane slowed her fondling but didn’t stop.
“Most girls are… not this bold,” she managed at length.
“How could I not be with you under me?” Vinciane mumbled into her neck.
Alastor huffed.
“I think I… misunderstood you earlier… dear…”
“I think you did.”
“You like… dark girls, then…?”
“I’ve never seen any girl of any color as gorgeous as you.”
Glistening eyes slitted open, fixed on her wryly, but she was clearly pleased. Vinciane took the opportunity to see how distracted she’d get with cleverer touches on the sensitive spot inside her.
“No poin…t… nnn…! I-in flattery… now.”
“Heh!” She nuzzled Alastor’s chest, half hoped she’d drown in it. “You have no clue how rarely I tell the truth or you’d take how much I meant that as a very high compliment.” She reveled in Alastor’s skin a little longer, pinched in the clench of her thighs, her fingers buried in tight, warm, wet walls. “How long do I get to do this?” she risked whispering as Alastor’s trembling ratcheted up out of stagnation.
“Nnmph… you’ve done plenty… for your pay.”
“Should I stop?”
“No, keep going.”
Apparently Alastor could still get momentum from the flat of her back. Vinciane found herself levered up, Alastor’s wire limbs binding around her neck and waist, her hips thrusting hard onto her hand with the power she gained from settling in her lap.
“Jesus,” Vinciane breathed, slinging her free arm across Alastor’s back to keep her upright. She slipped her thumb up over her layered finery to the temporarily unaccosted nub and Alastor slammed into her, grinding into her touch. Vinciane’s mouth watered watching her, watching her chest heave, the way her hair bounced with the insistent rolls of her hips. She barely had a nipple between her teeth again when a hand clapped to her forehead and shoved her away, her jaw releasing just in time to keep from tugging painfully on the little bud.
“No,” she ordered, collapsing with her head on Vinciane’s shoulder as if to prevent any further attempts. Oversensitive already? She hadn’t even played with them much.
This was good, though. This was great. Alastor in her lap, her hips bucking into every jab of her fingers and the teasingly slow rub of her thumb, her curls brushing her jaw and her breaths accompanied by whines as the seconds turned to minutes.
Admiring the expanse of her thin back, Vinciane smoothed her palm up the warm, living planes of it, indulged herself by twining her fingers in Alastor’s hair, tucked her nose behind her ear.
“Come on,” she coaxed, shifting her wrist and drawing a shiver from Alastor at the improved angle. Hell yeah. She knew she could do this. “More.”
Not another. More. All of her, until she couldn’t stand it, until she fell to pieces, until her scratches turned shredding, her bites meant to draw blood, every bit of pleasure torn from her and served for Vinciane to savor like the rare treasure it was.
Something must’ve come through in her voice, in her hold, in the way she drove in to the knuckle, because Alastor tensed, then she was crying out, her thighs spreading wide, spearing herself on Vinciane’s fingers, rolling her hard clit desperately against her thumb.
“I wanna keep you,” Vinciane mumbled mindlessly, working her through it, past it, leaving marks on top of marks on her neck, full but still unsatisfied. Limp and trembling, Alastor pried at her shoulders, flinching at Vinciane’s demanding massage of the spot that was undoing her.
“Tired?”
“Mmm…”
Vinciane let gravity take her back to the mattress. It wasn’t far. She was still in Vinciane’s grasp, just splayed out prettily for the feast. Vinciane withdrew as Alastor went, and even untouched, she squirmed with the aftershocks of Vinciane in her system. Vinciane let her catch her breath. What a show.
What a show they were putting on. She’d give their audience something to clutch their pearls about. She grinned, manic, suddenly aware of the eyes on her and empowered by it, one of those sets of eyes belonging to the perfect thing they presented to her like an offering, like a god whose love she was to earn through pleasure, and brought her fingers to her mouth. The crowd did gasp, but she’d stopped caring about them.
Alastor watched her tongue drag from her knuckles to her nails, unblinking.
Still not done, huh?
Her grin got sharper, then broke to admit her damp fingers. She got them good and wet, didn’t let adding a third seem like a thing of importance until she released them.
“I think you can take three.”
“Wh- nn… nnn…!”
Alastor’s dazed stare widened, her waist and knees bending too late to escape the initial breaching of her rim. Vinciane held her ankle as her gorgeous body writhed, the squeeze in the channel beneath her stretched clit shockingly tight as Vinciane sank deep. Maybe she was getting why men were so desperate to fuck. No, she definitely wasn’t. Men didn’t seem to care about this, the display, the effect they had, not as much as they cared about themselves, but Vinciane would spend all night putting things inside Alastor to see how she reacted and forget about herself unless the mess of slick dripping down her legs got so thick on the sheets it fucked up her balance.
Alastor kicked like an angry horse, freed her leg and flipped onto her stomach, her knees bent under her, whimpering as the move twisted her on Vinciane’s penetrating fingers. She tucked her forehead into the pillow, carving ten lines of shadow into it beneath her hard grip.
Vinciane chuckled lasciviously, admiring the new view. She grabbed a slim hip and yanked Alastor up, tilted so she could see her knuckles flush to the taut hole hugging her digits, making Alastor jolt and shiver.
“Yeah beautiful, give me a show too. Let me watch your pussy suck on my fingers.”
She received a put-upon whine, but the lack of violence encouraged her to draw out and thrust back in, and Alastor’s pleasured keen signaled her reluctance was only for Vinciane’s overenthusiasm. She got that a lot, so she didn’t let it worry her. Just meant she’d have to blow Alastor’s mind a little harder to make up for it.
And this angle gave her just the thing. Maybe? But why the hell not. This bed had definitely seen a pair of men before, so it had to feel good, right? No guy would let himself be fucked if it was awful.
She gripped a dark, fleshy cheek and dipped between them, her tongue darting out to lap at the puckered hole that lay neglected behind the one slurping around her prying fingers.
“Ah!” Alastor jerked, dislodging her, but she wouldn’t be dissuaded that easily, leaned closer to prod at the shy little entrance. “Don’t-...!”
“Why not?” Vinciane smirked, let Alastor feel it against her skin. “Sounds like it feels good.” From the moan that’d hidden under her protest and the lack of any other resistance, she knew damn well it did. Alastor’s lower back arched at the third nudge of warm, wet muscle, but Vinciane was ready for her this time, exerted the power Alastor had observed lay in her limbs to hold her still, and slid into the undefiled tunnel just as she strengthened her grinding in the other. Alastor gasped, her shoulders hunching, a stressed mewl breaking free from her chest.
“Sto…”
She buried her face further into the pillow, pressing back into her lips, and Vinciane was more than happy to dig in. She shoved her tongue as deep as it would go and curled it and her fingers at once, punched a high, broken sound from Alastor’s pretty throat as she was spread open twice over, filled as much as she could stand, invaded as much as Vinciane could manage. She muffled her cries into the pillow, each adorably tinted with embarrassment, as Vinciane fought shamelessly to get deeper into her.
“Nnnahaah…!”
The orgasm seemed to shock her with how fast and sudden it was so late in the evening, ripped out of her by force, the haze of pleasure too strong to tell the sparking noise of ricocheting aftershocks from building tension. Vinciane memorized the feel of her ass clenching, lapped at her rim and thrust a little rudely in defiance of her cunt’s best efforts to hold her still, worked her until she went limp again and submitted herself demurely to Vinciane’s play with a fragile, sensitive whine.
Vinciane kissed the juncture of her leg and hip, urging her lax form to turn back over and let her see her beautifully teary, unfocused eyes.
She dug her fingers into the spot that got her thrashing and they slitted, snapped to her pleadingly.
“Give me one more, gorgeous,” Vinciane purred, shifting Alastor’s feet to rest on either side of her waist.
A sigh, a hiccupping whimper, Alastor turned her head and panted, her chest shaking temptingly, her hands trembling in the wrinkled sheets. Vinciane watched her fingers disappear inside her, gleaming wet, their girth straining her folds and clit along with the narrow passage they explored. She sought new places that might make her already heavy breaths harsher, her clumsy, tired writhing grow vigorous.
“So good for me,” she babbled, desperate to fill her, to ruin her, to claim her from everyone else. “You take me so well, doll, like you were made just for me.”
Fuck, what was she even saying? Her teeth ached with the buildup of worse she’d bitten down; once she was comfortable with this she wasn’t going to be able to keep her goddamn mouth shut and who knew what would come flying out of it then. Alastor snickered breathlessly just at her moderately normal surface thoughts, what would she do if Vinciane chattered about molding her to the shape of her hand and dressing her in the softest sheer fabric on the market and kneeling at her feet at the end of every day to taste every inch of her inside and out-
“Oh-...!”
Alastor’s knees tried to rise and Vinciane slammed one to the mattress like a woman possessed.
“Don’t close up. Let me see your clit twitch.”
The pretty little pile of skin and pleasure spasmed beside her stroking thumb, wedged between protective lobes to expose its clandestine activities, her fingers working as furiously as they knew how as Alastor arched, her eyes rolling, wheezing with effort after so much pleasure had wreaked its havoc on her body.
She collapsed and Vinciane hummed in satisfaction, got an oddly nervous look from Alastor with the sound that accompanied a strong clench around her fingers and a shiver unlike any that had overtaken her all night. It tempted her strangely to go back on her word, pin thin wrists to the bed and force her to come until her fingers gave out, see how she begged- but no, that wasn’t good, right? Not like that look was permission. Right?
She shook herself. She didn’t know Alastor. She couldn’t read her that well. Probably. Better not to do guesswork right out of the gate with someone so amazing. She was doing damn good with her guesswork, but she wasn’t the type to let her luck ride until she lost big. So, reluctantly, she pulled out instead of pushing when Alastor’s touch alighted on her forearm, even though Alastor had shown how she hit when she really wanted something to stop and this definitely wasn’t the same.
Vinciane dropped to her elbow over her, drank in her fuzzy stare, her swollen lower lip and the gleam of sweat beaded on her skin, her wet fingers sliding to her own clit. Their scandalized audience could have an eyeful of what she’d do if she were them, she thought, her hips thrusting between Alastor’s spread thighs, powered by the muscles that’d made her so easy to maneuver.
“Showy,” Alastor quipped quietly.
“They’re here for a show,” Vinciane whispered back, her eyelashes lowering as her built-up pleasure was finally worked toward resolution. Hanging above Alastor’s prone breasts, she couldn’t resist one last taste. “Let me borrow these for a second.”
Alastor gasped loud at the pull of her lips, bent up around her head with her hands shooting to yank her messy hair again.
“Don... ah…”
Another mewl went up as Vinciane’s arm shifted to multitask, squeezing the other pert swell as she whited out at speeds she hadn’t achieved since she was thirteen. Alastor was one hell of a drug. She gave her nipple a parting worry, shocked a jolt and an adorable protesting cry from Alastor’s lovely throat. Found her quivering, pouting faintly, when she regained enough of her senses to draw back.
“What?”
“You said one more.”
“Huh?” Alastor’s alluring lips bunched into a full pout. Vinciane glanced down at her protective hands not resting quite on her nipples, then back up in shock. “Just from that?!”
Alastor glared at her.
“Brute.”
Vinciane bounced upright, her hands hovering uselessly as she stammered. She let it ride too long after all, fuck. Now what? Think of something, Whittman!!
Alastor rose languidly while she floundered, fetched her robe from the floor and slung it around her elbows, which gave Vinciane the great idea to do the same. She slid her arms to hesitantly encircle Alastor’s slim waist, nuzzled her neck, pressed gentle apologetic kisses along her shoulder. Alastor tipped her head to let her, so she doubled down on the groveling, since it seemed to be the right track.
“Sorry, sorry gorgeous, didn’t know you were that sensitive.”
Alastor turned and Vinciane went for her lips only to be stopped by an index finger jabbing into her forehead. She blinked at Alastor’s faintly abashed, scolding squint.
“Brush your teeth before you kiss me again.”
Oh.
She snapped her fingers. The waiter stumbled on his way over.
They got a free drink and a free meal with their fat paycheck, so she figured she was allowed to steal the shot of bourbon off his tray. She drained the contents, swishing the burning liquid around her mouth and letting it wet her lips before she swallowed it.
“That should do it, right?”
Alastor laughed lightly, tugging her robe up over her shoulders, and gave her a look through her lashes that could only mean she accepted bourbon as a substitute for toothpaste. Vinciane’s palm settled on her cheek, and she drew her back into the gentlest kiss she’d ever managed. Alastor’s tongue slipped out to taste her lips, but she leaned away before Vinciane could do anything about it, humming in amusement.
“That was some very fine bourbon you just made off with.”
“Funny, you tasted finer.” Vinciane beamed hopefully. Alastor rolled her eyes.
“Charmer.”
Worth a shot. She plopped her chin on Alastor’s shoulder, looked up at her with the big pleading puppy eyes that sometimes worked on the town boys before her final growth spurt.
“Can I do something to make it up to you?”
Alastor chuckled. “This is the first time I’ve had someone beg forgiveness for giving me an orgasm.”
“But,” she didn’t mean to. Alastor’s pretty pout and the tears glittering at the corners of her eyes were gonna follow her forever if she didn’t pay restitution for the beautiful sight. “Come on, let me do something for you. Anything, doll, anything you want.”
Alastor lounged against her chest, her lips quirked, amused with her if nothing else and apparently taking advantage of her offer to be cushioned by her breasts.
“Would you go to Europe and retrieve someone for me?”
Vinciane’s brow furrowed. Yeah, she could maybe do that with three more nights here. She wouldn’t mind three more nights with Alastor, but anyone would be fine if it meant she could do what Alastor asked.
“Where in Europe?”
Alastor’s real laugh was even better than her little snickers.
“My, you do like me quite a bit, don’t you?” She extracted herself from Vinciane’s hold to stand, her stance gratifyingly wider than it was on her arrival, and tied her robe on. “Why don’t you get the delightful cherry pudding with your free meal and give it to me. How’s that?”
“Ok.”
Vinciane pawed around for her robe, almost lost the glasses that’d been tucked in the pocket, and rushed to shove both bits of apparel on to follow Alastor as she started to glide away.
“A thousand bucks if you let me put it i-iieeee!”
Something had moved between her and Alastor and her hand had shot out to kill it before she remembered they had forty people watching them. Thankfully all but this one were stuck to their seats doing their best impressions of ripe tomatoes.
Fuck it. She kept twisting the invading fingers away from Alastor’s alluring but now off-limits ass.
“You’re fucking welcome for that much, creep,” she threw him aside and trotted up alongside Alastor, who’d paused to raise her eyebrows at the scene.
“And chivalrous, too. You’re quite a marvel.”
“Not half as much as you.”
Score, finally. Alastor took this compliment with a little downward tilt to her eyes, the faintest darkening dusting her cheeks, and a strange glitter in her eyes that had Vinciane reaching to worship her all over again. And she might’ve, if not for the continued invasion of the outside world.
“You tw-” the manager, having slunk through tomatoes to accost them, cleared his throat to fix his awkwardly squeaky voice. “You two raked in tips with that performance. Just about doubled your pay. Have a seat in the back and I’ll be around shortly to get it sorted.”
Doubled? Hell yeah, she’d be sitting pretty once she got to-
She froze. Her ears shut off. Alastor’s lips moved to thank the manager, and the manager nodded and shuffled off like his pants were too tight, Alastor disappeared into the back to wait, and they were done. The night was over, and Vinciane was headed to New York, and Alastor would go wherever she was going. Might stay, since it sounded like she’d done this show before. Might let somebody else touch her, which was the fucking worst.
One step at a time. It wouldn’t do to spook her.
Her biddable waiter returned immediately at her third snap, stared flushed and unblinking as she extracted the pen and paper from his pocket and raced after Alastor’s trailing red silk.
She found her dressing behind a standing curtain set up in the corner of the dingy kitchen and averted her eyes on instinct before remembering where her tongue had been a few minutes ago.
“Hey,” she said, ducking behind the screen herself. She scrawled an address and number on her stolen pad of paper, tearing the page out and offering it hesitantly to Alastor. “If you ever need anything, o-or just want to get coffee... this is where I'll be staying.”
Alastor took the page as if it were totally normal to have a conversation in nothing but an oversized white shirt that didn’t hide the mussed thatch of hair between her legs. That Vinciane had mussed. By-
“New York City?”
“Yeah,” she rasped.
She was not flashing back to the events of the evening already, nope. Alastor folded the little paper up and tucked it into a pocket in the shirt, then distracted Vinciane by bending to slip her underwear on.
“I'm afraid I stay somewhere different each night, so if you want to see me,” she straightened, tossing a smirk over her shoulder that said she knew what she’d done. “You'll have to come find me.”
“Wanna come?” Popped out of Vinciane’s mouth before she could stop it. Alastor’s piercing eyes settled on her a bit meanly and fuck fuck fuck that was definitely spooking material. “Uh.” She scrambled to save the moment, scratching at the back of her neck and chattering at the cobwebs in the corner of the ceiling as nonchalantly as she could manage. “I just mean. This job paid more than enough for two tickets, and there's probably better work up there, and it's more fun to travel with friends, right?”
“Are we friends?” Alastor inquired with false levity. Vinciane was counting down the seconds to her semi-public evisceration when, instead of gutting her metaphorically in their very appropriate kitchen location, she shrugged. “Why not.”
“Huh- r-really?”
“I've grown rather tired of this place, and you're amusing enough to follow for a week. And if I'm especially lucky, I might get to sneak into a Broadway show.”
Vinciane would make sure she had a front row seat to the most expensive show playing within the month, if she stuck around. Speaking of sticking, she hoped somebody oiled her soon so she could take the hand Alastor held out for her to shake.
“It seems we'll be seeing even more of each other for a while, Vinciane.”