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"Smother him, and I’ll think about it," Wednesday's voice slices through the room with surgical precision, low and measured, as if she were doling out instructions for the operation of some sinister machine, not directing you in this moment of depravity.
You sit astride Xavier’s bare chest, both of you stripped bare, vulnerable in your shared nudity, while Wednesday, in her ever-dismal garb, remains fully clothed, an impassive sentinel to the perverse display unfolding before her. The stark contrast between her dark, severe attire and your exposed skin feels almost obscene, a visual reminder of her detachment from the carnal acts that you and Xavier are enmeshed in.
You laugh, a little embarrassed that Xavier can feel the pool of wetness on his chest, “c’mon, why’d you have to say it like that?”
Xavier, for his part, remains silent, his focus entirely on you, his hands gliding with slow, deliberate strokes up and down your trembling thighs, offering comfort without words. He isn’t objecting, nor does he seem unsettled by the gravity of Wednesday’s command. If anything, the quiet insistence of his touch signals his acquiescence, even anticipation. He curls a hand around your leg, urging you forward with subtle pressure. You comply, lifting yourself slightly, then lowering your hips onto his face, feeling the immediate, wet heat of his mouth pressing a languid, open-mouthed kiss against your drooling pussy.
Wednesday says nothing at first, her eyes flitting to where you had previously been seated and then back to your eyes. Discontent takes precedence and her tone shifts into something pinched, adopting a scythe-sharp edge to presage wrath concealed in an apathetic disposition. “What are you doing?”
“What you told me to do…?”
“Tell me, does he look smothered?”
You chance a glance at Xavier — he’s staring up at you intensely, pupils dilated and eclipsing any color.
You roll your eyes. Wednesday notices, inclining her head curiously at you. Uh-oh, that can’t be good.
“You want the poor guy to stop breathing?”
“Precisely.”
You huff, then close your legs around Xavier, gripping his hair and forcing him closer to you. Your thighs rub against his cheek, making his brain hazy and you see his eyes glaze over and roll to the back of his head despite the lack of oxygen. Your mouth drops open when he lets out a broken moan. He’s fucking into it.
Your head snaps up to look at Wednesday who is already looking at you, lip curled up imperceptibly.
“Fuck.” It’s muffled against you, but you hear it as clear as day, the vibrations of his voice traversing through you and settling into your core.
You breathe out a laugh, disbelief tingeing it. “And I thought Wednesday was the freak,” you get a black look at that from her but continue anyway, “but this really takes the cake, Xavi.”
An exaggeration; you know Wednesday’s proclivities are much more intense and this didn’t even hold a candle to what she was into, but you couldn’t lie and say you didn’t enjoy degrading Xavier when you were presented with the opportunity (and Wednesday gives you an avenue for many).
You press your thighs tighter to his cheeks. “You gonna pass out on me already or are you gonna use that tongue to fuck me? I’m sure Wednesday’d love to take over. Do a better job too.”
You earn yourself a glare for that last comment, and as much as you want to check for Wednesday’s reaction, you can’t take your eyes off Xavier’s flushed face and angry expression. He takes umbrage at your comment and nips at you with his teeth, not hard, but enough for it to elicit a yelp from you, and in turn your grip on his hair turns painful and he groans against you.
“Yeah, you didn’t like that, did you?” you taunt, your voice breathy, hovering somewhere between teasing and challenge.
Wednesday, who had been a silent spectator, intercepts any attempt at retaliation on his part, “on the contrary, he likes it a little too much. A shame. I was angling for something along the lines of torture.”
You look at her and she nods to the lower half of his body. You turn your head, following her gaze, and grin at what you find.
“You’re fucking filthy, Xavi.”
Xavier responds by lapping at you, slow at first, tentative, then building in intensity, his mouth working against your drooling pussy with increasing fervor. You moan softly, your voice breathy and unrestrained. “Shit. Wanna fuck you so bad,” you murmur, grinding down harder against his face as his tongue moves in perfect rhythm. Xavier moans against you, his approval clear in every movement of his mouth.
“No,” Wednesday snaps, voice taut like a cello string. “ Focus.” The firmness is enough for you to settle back onto his face.
The command is enough to still you, and you settle back onto Xavier’s face, your body quivering with an insatiable need that ignites every nerve ending. The sensation is immediate and overwhelming, the warmth of his breath washing over your wetness, mingling with the intoxicating scent of arousal that hangs thick in the air. His tongue, a deft instrument of pleasure, resumes its torturous pace, teasing and coaxing your sensitive clit as his lips envelop you with a fervor that makes your head spin. Each flick and swirl sends tremors through you, unraveling the very fibers of your resolve. You can't suppress the moans that escape your lips; they’re a raw reflection of the pleasure spiraling through your core.
As the heat builds, your breath comes in ragged gasps, desperate and uneven, a testament to the exquisite sensations threatening to consume you whole. Your thighs tremble involuntarily, tightening around his head, pushing him deeper into you, demanding more of that sweet, electric friction. It’s as if the world around you has fallen away, leaving nothing but the pulsating rhythm of his tongue and the exquisite pleasure it ignites. The connection between you two becomes primal, a wild dance of need and surrender, where each movement reverberates through your body, heightening your awareness of every slick touch, every gasp of breath.
“I can’t. Oh, fuck! I can’t, I can’t!” The words spill from your lips, high and desperate, a chorus of your mounting ecstasy that seems to fill the space around you, blending with the sounds of your own body’s response to his relentless ministrations. Each syllable is punctuated by the fluttering of your heart, echoing the rising tide of sensation that threatens to pull you under. You feel the edges of your awareness fray, the boundaries of pleasure stretching and expanding, the world beyond Xavier’s face fading into a blurred backdrop of desire. The rush is almost dizzying, and you find yourself teetering on the precipice of bliss, caught between the need for release and the delicious torment of delay.
His lips curve into you. Asshole. You want to hit him. You doubt Wednesday would have any grievances but knowing Xavier he might end up liking it.
“You can,” she urges, her soft albeit firm hand settling at the small of your back and you jolt like you’ve been electrocuted and grind your pussy down on Xavier’s face. “I enjoy his inability to speak.”
You press your lips together in frustration, a cute petulant little quiver of your bottom lip at being denied the satisfaction you crave. You know full well that Wednesday could be far more sadistic if she wished, and this—this—was mercy in her eyes. Still, you can’t help but push. “Kiss me now,” you insist, obstinately, “I want it now, and then I’ll do whatever you want.”
Her gaze narrows slightly, her eyes flicking between you and Xavier, as though weighing her decision, her lips parting to issue a simple warning: “A single complaint out of you after this, and I’ll make sure you get nothing. Not from me or from him. Do you understand?”
Without hesitation, you nod, your desire outweighing any sense of defiance.
Her lips twitch, a barely perceptible movement. “Good.”