Save Scumming - Interlewd - The Princess and the Rebel

Interlewd - The Princess and the Rebel

This was a bad idea.

Such a bad idea. She was laying in her bed, buried in a nest of pillows, and was keenly aware that Deadline was just one room over. 

It was stupid. The woman was a professional. She was just staying over for the night because it was more convenient. That was all. 

Sure, there might have been some light flirtations there, at the end, but she didn’t know for sure. Deadline didn’t go around waving a lesbian flag, and Francisca herself was hardly so open about such things. It behooved someone in her position to be a little more demure and polite about such things.

Demure. Calm... professional.

So, so very bothered at the moment.

She lived with two bodyguards on rotation. They often checked in on her in the middle of the night. And so she’d always found that the best time to take care of any needs was in the shower, where her privacy was assured.

Francisca needed a shower real bad. 

She groaned faintly and turned, laying on her side. It might have been the alcohol still burning in her veins or just the excitement of the day, but she was feeling far too energized to sleep, even though, objectively, she was tired.

She refrained from pulling out a phone, or connecting to any apps on her eyes. That would just keep her awake for longer.

Then there was a shift. Not a creak. Her penthouse was a little too nice to be creaky, but she heard something nonetheless and sat up in bed. 

Someone was at the door. A thin, lithe figure, lit only by the light spilling in from the windows in the living room. “Hey,” the figure said. “Can’t sleep?”

Francisca reached over to the side and flicked her bedstand light on. It illuminated the room in soft yellow light, enough to see Deadline by the door.

Deadline who wasn’t wearing nothing, as she’d claimed, but... 

The woman was in a thin camisole. The shirt only covered her from the belly button up, and was so sheer that it didn’t hide much, not in the soft light. Francisca could see every curve of her breasts, the way her nipples poked at the fabric.

She swallowed and looked down, eyes following the curve of the woman’s hips and stomach. Her panties were red and about two sizes too small. They were pinching in the skin of her hips and buttocks. They were so tight that it left a gap exposed just below the mons pubis 

Deadline was shaved.. 

Francisca darted her eyes up, trying to meet Deadline’s, but her pretty purple eyes were almost impossible to make out in the dark. Her hair was a wild, tangled mess. Artfully tangled. 

“Can... can I help you?” she asked.

“Hmm,” Deadline said. It was a throaty, almost moan-like sound that sent a shiver down her back. “Yeah. Maybe. It’s going to sound stupid.”

“No. Is something the matter?” She sat up in her bed, starting to pull the covers aside. 

Deadline glanced back, catching the light of the windows behind her. “It’s a little too bright out there. I feel like I can’t sleep without the dark.”

“Oh. that’s understandable,” Francisca said. As a good host, it was, of course, her duty to accommodate. There were blinds that could be lowered, and the glass was actually designed to darken at the press of a button. “You can sleep here,” she said instead of mentioning either option. Immediately she wanted to smack herself. It was far too presumptuous, wasn’t it? Deadline would never--

“That’s kind of you. Thanks,” Deadline said. She stepped into the room, then around the bed, walking without hesitation. 

She felt the covers rise, the bed shift slightly, and then she was very, very aware that there was someone else in bed with her. 

“Comfy,” Deadline said. She moved some pillows around, then settled in. “Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome,” she replied.

There was nothing but silence. Silence for a minute, then two, only filled with the whispering breath of the woman next to her.

Then Deadline turned, facing her in bed. She felt the tickle of her breath on the side of her face, the faint smell of whiskey. “You know... from everything I’ve seen of you, you’re the kind of woman that takes charge. You push ahead, get what you want. Put others in their place. You’re the boss, or something like that, right?”

“It’s what I want to be, yes,” she replied. The comment had derailed her train of thought, which was probably for the best. She was working hard not to squirm.

“Hmm... strange that it never seems to be that way when I’m here,” Deadline said. She reached over, her hand gently, carefully, caressing the side of her face. Her fingers trailed down to her neck, and she found herself unmoving. “Beautiful.”

“Deadline?” she asked.

Deadline rolled, shifting her hips closer, and Francisca felt herself going still and stiff as Deadline’s leg touched hers. And then Deadline rolled and was atop her, straddling her. 

In the dark, all she could see was a pale hint of the woman’s face, the curve of her chest, the wild mop of her hair.

“What are you--” she began.

Deadline grabbed her hands by the wrist and placed them onto her hips, near her upper thighs. Then she lowered herself.

Francisca was keenly aware that Deadline was sitting on her, butt pressed into her hips, the woman’s weight pushing her into her mattress, at least somewhat. Her hands felt impossibly warm and clammy against the uncovered skin of Deadline’s hips. She could feel where her panties squeezed the flesh in.

“Deadline?”

Deadline leaned down, and then their lips met.

She had some experience kissing. She was no blushing virgin, of course. A few experiences in college, a night or two with an escort afterwards. This kiss felt better than that. Deeper. Deadline pressed down on her, almost aggressively. Francisca opened her mouth, and that only encouraged the woman who tilted her head a little more, tongue reaching out. 

Involuntarily, she tightened her grip on Deadline’s hips.

Deadline moaned into her mouth.

That may have been the single hottest thing she’d ever experienced, and yet it didn’t seem as if Deadline was done with that. She wanted more. 

The kiss broke, and she became aware of Deadline’s arm planted on the bed next to her head, the other hand lightly touching her stomach through the thick material of her pajamas. “The safe word is cuddles,” Deadline said.

“Oh,” she said. She wasn’t sure what else she was supposed to say to that.

“And don’t you dare think about reciprocating,” Deadline said. “This is me... call it returning the favour.”

What favour? 

Then Deadline was undoing the buttons on the front of her shirt, one at a time. “Deadline,” she said, hands reaching up to stop her.

Deadline grabbed her wrists, hard, almost painfully. She moved her hands up, gathering them together so that she could pin them above her head with one arm. Her eyes were glowing in the dark. “No,” Deadline growled.

Ever animal instinct in her body told her to protest, to fight back, and they weren’t alone. Her entire life she’d been trained to take charge, to lead, to be the one in the know, to give orders. This was wrong, this was--

Deadline undid the next few buttons on her pajamas with one hand, easily flicking them open. Cool air slipped in, brushing across her exposed chest, her breasts. She was breathing hard.

Deadline flipped her shirt aside, exposing her fully. Then she leaned in, capturing her lips again while her free hand reached down and squeezed. 

It hurt. It felt great. She gasped and Deadline stole that breath, then used the moment of vulnerability to deepen the kiss. 

She fought a little, tried to pull her hands free, but Deadline’s grip tightened, and seemingly as punishment, she rolled her nipple, pinching it. “Ah,” she squeaked. Her body tensed, she found her knees bunching together, her upper thighs pushing into Deadline’s rear, tipping the woman forwards, but really, she was just giving in to the baser instinct there, rubbing her legs together, her soft pants feeling restrictive.

“So, you want more, then?” Deadline asked.

She didn't recall saying or asking anything of the sort.

Deadline planted a kiss on her cheek, then she squeezed again and Francisca’s upper body straightened, exposing her neck. More kisses, along her jaw, then the side of her neck, down to her collar.

“Deadline,” she said. “Stop.”

“That's not the safeword,” Deadline purred. “It’s cuddles, remember?”

Deadline bit her.

She felt teeth, carefully putting pressure on the muscle of her collar, pressing into her skin, a wet mouth--

Francisca exploded, seeing coloured for a moment. She felt a tremendous, dizzying pressure build and immediately release from her, with it came a choked-off sound, something she’d miraculously kept to little more than a gasp.

“That’s one,” Deadline said. 

Francisca couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe herself. She’d orgasmed so easily. It was humiliating.

She moved, then, lowering herself, pulling Francisca’s hands down until they were pinned to her chest, as though in prayer. Her legs were spread wide, to accommodate Deadline being there. “What are--?” she began to ask.

Deadline chuckled, then whispered. “Don’t move.”

It was an order. Francisca hesitantly obeyed. 

Deadline moved to the side, laying next to her, head resting on a hand. The other reached over and took one of Francisca’s, her left, fingers grabbing her hand from behind. She guided her hand down, along her stomach, to the band of her pajamas. “Deadline?” she asked.

Deadline moved her hand lower, deftly raising her panties, then her leg hooked onto Francisca’s and pulled, spreading her legs open slightly, allowing her to bring her own hand, still held, down over her sex. 

“What are you,” she began.

“Show me how you like it,” Deadline said. Her fingers spread, one over each of Francisca’s. Her hands were so much warmer. Her own digits over her sex was... not unfamiliar, but this situation certainly was.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

Deadline chuckled, each breath a tickle. “C’mon, Fran. Touch yourself. I’m sure you know what you’re doing. You’re a big, competent woman. You can do this much, can’t you? Here, I’ll help.”

Deadline moved her hand for her, pushing her fingers down, then swiping them up. 

She gasped a little. It was her own touch, but guided, controlled by another, it was... she didn’t know what it was. 

Was she being complicit in her own undoing here? Slowly, she reached down, the tip of a digit parting herself, running across sensitive flesh, feeling the uncanny wetness, but more than anything, she was aware of Deadline’s hand, not guiding, not pressing, but there. 

She did what she’d do in the shower, or in a very private moment. moving up and down, wiggling her fingers over her clitoris to stimulate it.

“It’s cute,” Deadline said. “I didn’t know you could blush.”

If anything, that made the blood rush to her face all the harder.

Deadline moved over and pressed a kiss on her cheek. Gentle. Just a chaste peck.

Francisca bit on her lip until she tasted blood, her legs tightened together again, crushing her hand and Deadlines, and she squeezed her eyes shut. 

“That’s two,” Deadline whispered. “But you’re so gentle with yourself, so slow... Is that how you take care of yourself? No wonder you feel so tense. It lacks... energy.”

“Energy?” she asked. 

This whole thing felt wild. Inappropriate, and... intimate. It was strange. Very unlike any sex she’d had. Usually she was the one in charge, usually she was--

Deadline moved her hand around so that it was beneath hers, then she started to rub. “Oh!” she gasped. Deadline was moving fast. Too fast. She found herself tightening her calves, knees rising as the woman’s fingers rubbed her sex up and down, then her thumb moved over her clit, not with a gentle tickle, but a hard press. It hurt, and it felt amazing all at once. This would leave her sore, but for now--

Then Deadline dipped two fingers into her and pushed, spreading her quickly before pulling them out. She could hear the sound of it over her own breathing, over the shift of the sheets, a dirty squicking noise. 

“Let this,” Deadline said. Francisca’s body tensed, then she felt another release coming. It moved through her light lightning, up her coccyx and along her spine. “Three. Wow, that was fast,” Deadline said.

“”You... you are... good at this,” Francisca said.

“Mhm,” Deadline agreed. She pulled her hand out, then brought it up, trailing wetness along her stomach. “Let’s see if we can’t get to an even ten?”

Ten?!

“Turn around,” she ordered. Before Francisca could ask what she meant, Deadline had a fist balled up in the material of her pants and was tugging her around. She complied, allowing herself to be manhandled. Deadline pulled her knee up, then she caught on and moved the other, only to discover Deadline pressing some of her pillows down and across her stomach. “That’s right, Fran, this is how I want you. Face down and ass up.”

It was so crude! But then Deadline grabbed her hands, and she was no longer on her elbows and instead her face was pressed into her mattress, between her pillows, hands pinned to the small of her back. 

Deadline grabbed her arms and pulled her back, rocking her onto her knees before pushing her face down. 

By the end, she had three pillows against her lower stomach, supporting her, with her knees bunched up and her face pressed into her bed and arms pinned at her back. It was... it was a humiliating position to be in. 

“Good,” Deadline said. She repositioned herself to behind her, body pressing into her back. “Let’s get this off, shall we?”

She allowed Deadline to remove her pajama top, leaving her bare to the world, breasts rubbing against the silken topsheet of her bed.

And then Deadline pulled her wrists together and tied them. The sleeve of her pajamas! She recognized the material. “That’ll leave my hands a little more free,” Deadline said.

“F-for what?” she asked, hating the waver in her voice, but at this point, what could she do but submit. Was it not what Deadline wanted? A part of her wanted to rebel, to take back control, but... well, it was Deadline. She trusted her, and that trust... she wanted to see if ten was a boast or a real thing.

And then Deadline slowly pulled her pants down, exposing her. “Cute,” Deadline said. “You have a very nice rear. I’m a little envious. No matter how much I squat, mine never shapes up. You have good genes, you know?”

“Thank you?” she said.

“You’re welcome!” Deadline said kindly. Then she pressed her fingers into her sex, her other hand coming down to gently tickle her clit, and Francisca found herself biting into her pillow to restrain a moan.

Deadline didn’t stop, not yet. She alternated between slow and gentle and fast and hard, mounting the pleasure, playing with her in a way made her twitch and squirm. 

When she came next, it was with a moan that immediately humiliated her to her core.

“Ah, now that’s a sound I’m happy to have produced,” Deadline muttered. “And that makes four, doesn’t it.” 

She leaned down, her weight pressing down on Francisca’s back. She laid a trail of kisses up her spine, around her neck, and to the side of her head. 

She whispered into her ear, and it was almost enough to reach five. “Come on, let’s have you sit up. I haven’t finished with you yet, and we’re not even halfway.”

Francisca swallowed. Oh... oh this was dangerous. Deadline was dangerous. More than she’d ever realized.

***