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She had been begging for quite a while now. She knew they liked to hear it.
It was all written for the part she played in a detailed script, and she nailed every time it was her turn to deliver the lines. She would beg with her words and her hands and every inch of her skin under Alanna’s fingernails, like she had been caught under the claws of an animal. Ilsa would breathe in sharply, hissing every time Grace moaned and her body twisted over the bed. Hissing like she was the one being touched. She tried to make an argument with her lips on Alanna’s neck, and thigh shoved between hers, because one thing Grace prided herself on was being a woman who’d try all the tools she had. Still, it was to no use. Alanna’s fingers were resting still inside her — after working her all the way to the very edge for the hundredth time that night — and every time she managed to open her eyes and look for Alanna’s they would be pointed at Ilsa.
It was all part of the game.
One thing Grace found out really quickly was that, between Alanna and Ilsa, there was a magnetic pull — they were positive and negative parts of an object that would crush anything to clear the path to each other. She would never let herself be standing between them once they came crashing down, but by God did it feel good getting caught in the middle of it for an hour or so every odd night. When she caught Alanna looking at Ilsa while she was under her, coming absolutely undone over sensations she could never picture herself feeling before, she would buck her hips even harder. She would scream and squirm and scratch Alanna’s pristine marble skin, and let herself get drunk on whatever fucked up erotic tension built up in the air between them. She was there for their amusement, but mainly she was there for her own.
“Have you had enough, love?” Alanna whispers as she kisses her temple, grinning widely as her eyes shoot back up to look at Ilsa again. “I don’t recall her ever lasting this long.”
“Oh fuck you two…” Grace’s back arches off the mattress, trying to push her hips up into Alanna’s hand, and her head rolls over her shoulders, sore muscles tense and worked up under Alanna’s slender silhouette. “I’ll say it, whatever you want, I give up, just… fucking get this over with before I go insane…”
“If it was up to me, you know I’d be ready to give you all your little dirty heart’s desires, Grace…” Alanna’s thumb presses into her clit, a little soothing treat to go with the usual good-cop to Ilsa’s bad-cop act, and Grace moans into the curve of her neck. From the couch, Ilsa sighs both at the sound, and the fact that Alanna is so obviously enjoying this even more than she is. “you know how much I love making a mess out of you…” her tongue traces a line between Grace’s breasts, and she looks as devilish as she sounds once they actually lock eyes. “but you want me to stop? All you have to do is ask Ilsa. Nicely.”
Grace smiles. The spotlight’s on her.
“Ilsa?” she breathes out, turning her face toward Ilsa. “Pretty please? I am so fucking done…” she speaks deliberately, stressing every word in a steady rhythm she knew made her voice sound like pure silk to Ilsa, but Alanna’s smile doesn’t seem convinced yet.
“Oh Grace” her thumb picks up a pace on Grace’s clit, setting her body into motion again, and her hazel-brown eyes roll back into her skull. “You know how to do it properly. Come on.”
“Fuck…” Grace grunts. At this point, Grace’s body is covered in bare wires from all the work they have put her through so far, igniting at the slightest touch, and she caves in to Alanna’s touch as soon as she flicks the switch. “I’m sorry… fuck, Ilsa? Please… oh… please, just tell her…” her nails dig into Alanna’s arms, eyes waywardly looking for Ilsa’s as soon as they open back up, and Ilsa’s mouth is hanging half-open like she could taste Grace herself. “...tell her to make me cum… already…”
Both pairs of blue eyes meet each other halfway, and the smile they share could never mean something good.
“What do you think? Should I put her out of her misery?” Alanna nibbles at Grace’s nipple, and Grace could laugh at her choice of words, because at this point finally orgasming would certainly compare to the release of being euthanized. “Or should I torture her a bit longer?”
Alanna pulls out her fingers. Grace audibly groans just above her head once she is left empty, and she is way more eager than she would like to admit when she looks over at Ilsa to hear her verdict.
Ilsa stands up, and takes a few steps toward the bed that seems, in Grace’s mind, to take hours. She rolls one strand of Grace’s damp brown hair around her finger, but no matter how much lust Grace can hold in her eyes — looking up longingly at her like one would do at their hangman — Ilsa’s face is unmoved. “Let me watch you make her grovel.”
Alanna’s laugh is filled with keenness and excitement when it echoes against Grace’s chest, like she has just been given 5 more minutes to play with her favorite toy, and Grace herself lets her head fall back into the pillow in frustration, eyes tightly shut. “Oh, just fucking kill me already.”
“Don’t worry, darling…” Alanna crawls her way down Grace’s body, her lips running along her skin to mark her path with a trail of kisses, and Grace flinches at each one of them. “That’s precisely our plan.” With both hands on each one of Grace’s knees, Alanna spreads her legs wider apart, and Grace grunts when she is left exposed, as at their mercy as she has ever been. “But only because you’re so much fun to play with…”
“Isn’t she?” Ilsa runs her fingers along the side of Grace’s face, feeling the droplets of sweat and the burning heat of her skin, and a third thing she can only identify as need under her touch.
There was something, Grace felt, in the way Ilsa touched her that much resembled the way one might touch a sacred object — and object still, but one that was the target of so much adoration it could burn a hole through her skin. Alanna enjoyed the thrill, she could feel it in the way she mapped out her body as whole, putting mental pins in every one of her weak spots, but Ilsa was absolutely devoted to it. Even though the power was in her hands, Grace knew she couldn’t resist her tricks any more than Grace herself could fight against the way Alanna had her whimpering and tearing up with a simple touch. Grace knew that, and she knew just how and when to use it to her favor without running her power dry.
“Please, Ilsa… I need to come so bad. Please, let me come…” Grace whimpers as Ilsa studies her face, her voice breathy and deliberately hoarse. She holds one of her own breasts, and Ilsa’s eyes shoot down for a second, now closely watching the way Grace’s fingers trap one perky nipple between them. “Will you be nice to me, please?” turning her head to reach Ilsa’s fingers with her lips, she sucks two of them into her mouth, and the way Ilsa’s eyes sparkle could start a fire on its own.
Still, she is not falling for it this time.
“Nice?” she smiles and shakes her head slightly, shoving her fingers deeper into Grace’s mouth. “You don’t like ‘nice’, dear.”
Alanna all but giggles at their exchange, always their most enthusiastic audience, feeding off the electricity between them like a lust-fueled machine. She opens her mouth, and Grace bites down on Ilsa’s fingers when she feels a slow, long stroke of Alanna’s tongue, sliding inside her cunt with such ease, Grace feels like blushing in embarrassment for the way her body is begging.
“Go slowly.” Ilsa locks eyes with Alanna, who smiles between Grace’s thighs like a Cheshire cat. “I want her ruined.”