Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

You open the door and, of course, she’s already standing there. With the coyest of smiles playing on her lips, she’s waiting for you to invite her in.

You do.

As she enters the house, you take a good, long look at her, only now realizing that she’s biting her lip, never quite looking back at you. Avoiding your gaze, even when you’re trying to catch it.

It makes her seem somewhat innocent. Shy.

And, well, part of you does think of her as innocent. Part of you does remember her as shy. Namely, the part that met her in the restaurant last Saturday, the part that caught her nervously glancing at you out of the corner of her eye every so often. The part that saw her stand on your front porch.

But then there’s another part of you. The one that knows she’s anything but; the part that had a text conversation with her today; the one that distinctly remembers reading about her long, manicured fingers having sunk into her cunt many, many times these past few days while images of you flashed in her mind.

It’s irrelevant, truly, which part of you is dominant. Both parts equally want to make her yours. You, Miranda Priestly, are dying to kiss her, to taste her, to fuck her. All of you. Every single inch of you is starving; and only she can put an end to your hunger.

And she’s right here. In your house.

And, well; you, being but a woman, cannot possibly resist her. Not any longer. Not after what’s happened between you. She doesn’t want you to, either. You can tell from the look in her eyes, despite them never quite meeting yours. She’s anticipating your reaction to her. She doesn’t want you to resist this, to resist her.

Perhaps the whole acting innocent thing is her game. Perhaps she planned this—to look all girlish, all shy; knowing that you will have already seen another side of her altogether. Maybe she’s secretly getting off on the fact that you know what she’s really like underneath that façade.

Your gaze, which she still hasn’t reciprocated, strays from her eyes, and wanders to her lips, instead. You immediately find yourself wondering what they taste like. You don’t find out just yet. You simply continue downwards, now mentally undressing her. God, you really need to know what her she looks like underneath this horrible cerulean sweater she’s wearing; and your mouth waters at the prospect of feeding off of the wetness underneath that skirt.

You desperately want to know what her walls feel like, wrapped snugly around your intruding fingers.

You need to know. You need to find out now.

Your blink rapidly as your eyes finally, finally meet her dark, hooded ones, and you blindly reach out to grip her waist, to pull her into you.

“No more wasting time,” you murmur before shoving her into the wall closest to you. She, in turn, wraps those beautiful, strong arms around your neck and starts reciprocating this wild, hungry kiss you’ve initiated with abandon.

“Fuck, yes,” she whispers into your mouth. Her throat gives way to a long moan, her hot breath mingling with yours; and you know you’ve just soaked through your underwear like a horny schoolboy. No time to dwell on this, however, as she voices the same sentiments, panting out, “God, I’ve wanted this—you—for days, Miranda. I’m so wet.”

You’re barely ever speechless, but you cannot think of anything to say.

Even though until earlier in the day, you did not even know this about yourself, you find that she’s the epitome of everything you’ve ever wanted in a lover: she’s wanton, vigorous, dedicated, fierce; and despite your sudden inability to voice your thoughts verbally, you find a way to converse; simply letting your hands do it for you. They disappear beneath her ugly shirt, and you instantly dig your nails into her yielding flesh, gripping her tighter and tighter as you continue exploring her mouth with your tongue; a tongue which has been aching to play with hers since you first saw her; a tongue which may never tire of eliciting delicious sounds from Andrea.

Your hands travel lower, soon, clawing at every inch of skin you encounter along the way. You hope to leave marks: that way, she will be reminded of being with you for quite a while. Once again, you’ve never felt like this, so possessive, but this woman… she brings it out in you. Makes you want to keep her. You want to claim her; you want her and everyone who sees her on the street to know she’s yours. You decide that you will have to paint her neck, too, eventually. And her thighs, so that she feels you in every step that she takes. Everybody will know. The entire world. And she, too, will understand. That you’re it. That you’ve claimed her.

You smirk, but keep fucking her mouth very thoroughly with your tongue; until you think you may perish if you do not rid her of this awful thing she’s hiding her torso underneath. You yank at it. She understands what you are trying to do, ends the embrace so that you may tear the garment off and throw it very, very far away, into the other corner of the hallway. Your lips find hers again as soon as that is done, and then you get to working on her skirt.

It needs to go. You need to feel those amazing thighs.

She squeaks as you rip it off, again losing the contact between your lips momentarily. Then, once it is completely gone, you push her up even harder against the wall, instantly fortifying the connection between you two.

You start attacking her lower lip with your teeth like there is no tomorrow. (And while there might not be, you doubt either of you will be able to stay away after today.) She moans at the ministrations you bestow upon her; you, in turn, bite harder. She finds your scalp with her nails, sinks them into the sensitive skin.

It’s your turn to moan. Or groan. Whichever noise it is you’re making, it is coming out of you entirely automatically, with no way for you to hold it back. Oh, you need to have her. Now. Right now. You’ve never needed anything as badly as you need to be inside of this woman. You desire it, desire her. You want to take her, hard, until her juices coat your hand. Ideally, you’d taste her; but there is no time to get upstairs. No, you want her now. Here. Right next to the front door.

And you will. You’ll have her. You cannot wait another second. Judging by the way she’s squirming beneath your touch, neither can she.

Your hands settled on her ass while you were lost in another heated embrace, and you realize only now that you’re focusing on the fact that you’re finally about to get your hands on her pretty little cunt that the minx isn’t wearing underwear.

You cease the kissing at once, and you lean back, blinking. You look at her—no, stare at her, take her in: her long chestnut hair is entirely disheveled now, screaming I’ve just been wrecked by someone’s tongue, her pupils so blown you can barely make out the lighter irises anymore. It’s the most gorgeous you’ve ever seen anyone look. Her eyelids are hooded.

She must be beyond turned on. And she must have been since she left, considering how slutty her outfit has turned out to be. God. This hypothesis is confirmed when you remember how she’s been actively searching for more contact between you, how she chased after your lips when you withdrew. And, now, her lower body is pressing into you.

“It’s like you’re in heat,” you observe breathlessly.

She whimpers in response. Well.

You gently, teasingly slowly, bring your hands to the sides of her hips, letting them linger there for a moment while you whisper, “The way you’re trying to rub yourself against me. And then the fact that you walked here without panties. It’s the end of October, the thermometer’s barely showing over fifty degrees out there, yet here you are, wearing a skirt with nothing underneath. You’re really naughty, Andrea, aren’t you?”

“Fuck,” she groans, and her head hits the wall. Her eyes close. She looks like she’s already been fucked.

Dear Heavens. What is she going to look like once you’ve actually— “So naughty.”

“I wanted—oh, God—I want you so much. And I’m glad I haven’t put any—fuck—any on, because now we don’t have to waste time taking them off.” Her hips are still rocking into you, desperately looking for friction. Anything.

“I knew you were a clever little thing, Andrea.” With this, you slightly adjust your position and bring your right hand to meet her sex. You cup her, and her lower body bucks almost violently to meet your touch. “So responsive,” you mutter, entranced. She really is; she’s so damn receptive to everything you do; it’s enticing, flattering, perfect.

“I’ve wanted you for—for days. Inside, please. I need you, Miranda,” she whines. “Fuck me already, please, please, pl—”

You can’t deny her anything, anyway, but your resolve is especially thin when she speaks in that high-pitched tone. You unceremoniously thrust your two middle fingers into her wetness, and, after your earlier text conversation, you’re really not surprised at all to discover that she’s dripping for you. “Oh, my, Andrea, how wet you are,” you purr. “I knew you would be, but my God.”

“All for—oh, God—all for you, Miranda. You’re so good. Fuck! So good.”

You make sure to come all the way out before going back in, giving her everything you’ve got. The length of your fingers is soaked in her already. She looks so good for you, sinking down onto your hand every time you enter her, meeting your thrusts halfway. “Does it feel good?” you prompt. “To finally have me inside?” Your words have turned into mere pants near the end, as your head comes to rest beside hers. You bite her earlobe, then go on to nibble on every millimeter of flesh that you can reach: the side of her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. Her upper chest.

She’s cursing and moaning and groaning, clawing at the skin underneath your shirt. “Yes,” she whispers shakily. “Fuck. I’m so close. So fucking close, Miranda, please. You’re so fucking good. So good, but I need more. More, please—”

More. You have no problem giving her that. Without warning, you take your fingers out, absolutely loving the way she whines at the sudden loss.

“Turn around,” you command. “Put your hands on the doorframe. That way, I’ll have a perfect view of your ass. And the rest of the world gets to see your face. I’m sure they’ll love watching you come for me, the woman who’s made you like this so many times already without even touching you.” It’s a risk, you suppose. In a way—because you’re not sure she’s into being watched. Likes the idea of being watched, rather; considering it is, in fact, almost impossible for anyone to see past the stained glass of the front door. So, for a few seconds, you hold your breath, wait for her answer, praying to the Heavens you haven’t just ruined it all.

But then she eagerly complies, moaning as she does.

“Oh, Andrea. What a good girl. What a good fucking girl…” You trail off. Contemplate your next step. You take a breath as you put your warm hands on her backside. It’s cold from the air, but you don’t pay attention to that. All you care for is how firm the skin is. How good she feels. She’s so young. And so pale! You wonder, briefly, whether you could get away with leaving your hand print there, nice and red…

But no. You shake your head. She may have agreed to one thing, but that doesn’t mean—

Don’t scare her off, Miranda, you mentally scold yourself and, instead of continuing this particular train of thought, you slowly let your hands wander down towards her wetness. Right when you’re about to sink your fingers into her cunt again, however—when you’re right there, circling her entrance, getting ready to fuck her—

She cries out, “Miranda—oh! Your hands feel so—oh, God. Fuck. Spank me. Please! I need you to, please. Fuck. I know you’ll do it right. Please.” Oh, a begging Andrea is such a treat that you’re left absolutely speechless. You will crave her like this time and time again, you just know it.

What a pleasure she is. And so brave. Such a brave, brave girl. So much braver than you. Because where you wouldn’t have admitted to wanting this very same thing, she did. For a long moment, you simply stare at her. You swallow, you breathe, you blink, in wonder, in awe. You cannot even begin to grasp just what this means. What you will get to do to her in the future.

The two of you will play a lot. You will have no choice, now that there is an understanding, an agreement on how compatible you are. Oh, the possibilities.

But for now, you dig your nails into her taut flesh, and she groans, her hips automatically rolling into you once again. “Andrea…” you murmur. “Oh, Andrea, I’m going to give you exactly what you need. God, you have no idea how much it pleases me to know you want this, too. To be taken. To be used. You naughty little thing.” You bury your nails deeper, and she growls. “You need to be punished for being such a whore, don’t you think? New Yorkers are disgusting. And yet you chose to show yourself like this. You chose not to wear underwear out there. Just imagine if someone…” had had their way with you.

She groans at the implication. At where your sentence was going. You swear you can hear her soaking herself further. “Fuck, Miranda. Yes. I—God, say it. Please say it. Keep talking. Oh, God!”

You swallow. God, this girl… she’s just like you. No wonder you found one another. You take a step forward, put your hands on either side of her hips, and you rock forward, right into her. “Such a dirty little bitch you are.” Fucking filthy. Your right hand leaves her waist, and then you give her what she’s asked for—you slap her, as hard as the angle will allow. She whimpers. A high-pitched sound, so desperate. “I can’t believe you’re getting off on someone out there doing what I’m doing to you right now.” You chuckle, then continue, “God, I bet you’re not just wet for me at all. I bet you’re wet for every single person out there who looked at you on your way here. Tell me, Andrea, when I touch you, will I find your thighs completely sticky? Will I be proven right, then, hm? I’m sure you’re going to absolutely fucking love having your pretty little face pressed up against this door as I fuck you harder than anyone’s ever done.” Your hand comes down on her ass again, the other cheek this time. A shudder goes through her. You smirk. Good. She needs this. Badly. “I bet none of your exes have been able to satisfy you, am I right?” You laugh humorlessly. “I know I am. You’re squirming like you’ve never, ever been fucked before. I know I’m going to be the only one to actually do it right. You need to be filled, don’t you? To be abused? To have someone tear you apart? I will do that for you, Andrea. Don’t worry. You don’t have to fuck any small dicked men anymore.”

“Never,” she promises.

You know she’s telling the truth. You may say these things, about her fucking random people she sees in public, but she needs you. Only you. Oh, but she has such a filthy mouth. And for that alone…

You smack her cheek again. Fuck. The sounds coming from her are just so filthy. She moans out repeatedly, even when you’re not doing anything. You wouldn’t be surprised if the girl came just from being spanked. “You’re so much worse than I thought, Andrea. So dirty, so needy. So… depraved.”

“Just—just like you,” she whispers shakily.

You rock into her again, humming. “Well, darling, you have a point.” Before she has the chance to talk back to you, again, you adjust your position behind her so you can slap her harder. And then you do. You get to spanking her for real. Your hand comes down on her right cheek, then her left. Five times. Ten. Fifteen.

Again. And again.

She’s grunting at first, then moaning. She takes your punishment beautifully, never asking you to stop. And she makes all these delicious sounds; and you know she has become a mess beneath your hands. She’s gasping, and she’s trying to hump you even more desperately than before. And she’s fucking drenched. You’re sure you heard her wetness come out of her cunt more than once.

You just—you cannot believe that this is the same woman who stood on your front porch earlier with such an innocent look on her face.

After twenty slaps, you stop, instead focusing on soothing the area with soft, gentle caresses over her backside. “There, now, Andrea.” She looks so pretty. Like you imagined; with lovely red marks all over her pale skin. You wish you could take a picture and hang it inside of your bedroom somewhere.

Maybe someday.

For now, you realize that she’s sobbing. Rocking her hips back and forth, with no way to relieve the tension inside of her.

You resume your initial position behind her and bend down to kiss her back. You mutter against the flesh, “I think you deserve to be fucked like the good little slut that you are. Don’t you think?”

She whimpers.

“You took me so well.” You stand back up, and your fingers finally start tracing a path from her ass to her pussy, and you cannot help but gasp when you reach your destination. “Good God, Andrea.” You circle her clit a few times. She cries out, chasing you when your fingers withdraw again. “I don’t think anybody has invented a word for how insanely wet you are for me.”

She nods, slumping forward, her head sinking onto her arms. She keeps nodding, too, clearly has no other way of conversing at the moment. Her brain seems to have shut down. It’s just her body, now, her intense need to come.

“I think a slut like you can probably handle three fingers,” you voice your thoughts out loud.

She does talk, then. “Yes, Miranda, I—please. Please!” she growls against her upper arm.

You swiftly enter her with the three fingers you’ve promised—before she comes entirely untouched—watching, listening, enthralled, as she cries out at the stretch. Before you know what’s happening, one of her arms disappears between her legs, and her fingers quickly find her clit, while she continues holding herself up against the doorframe with the other.

She starts rubbing herself hard and fast, and all you can do is continue your thrusts and watch her undulating body in awe. You listen to her ragged breaths, her pants. Her tiny gasps whenever you hit her G-spot.

Your right hand is fucking her at an almost animalistic pace. She takes you right down to the knuckle, and you withdraw your fingers almost completely from her aching channel before slamming them back in, intent on taking her better, faster, harder—deeper, especially—than anyone else has. Eventually, you think, she deserves a bit more, and your left hand snakes around her waist and then up to take her breast to pinch a hard nipple. The way she cries out and clenches around you lets you know that, yes, she loves her tits being played with. You make sure to remember this for later. “That’s it, beautiful. Look at you being taken from behind. Right by the front door. Rubbing your clit for me while the entire street is watching. You just couldn’t wait, could you? Had to have me the second you saw me again. God. I can’t believe it. What I do to you. Can you hear it?” Yes, she can. So can you. The squelching noises are absolutely obscene. But she can’t even nod at this stage. You simply continue. “You got so wet you had no choice but to fuck yourself dozens of times since you met me. And now… now you’re dripping onto my floor. And, fuck, you wanted—want—me so much you forewent panties to see me. In New York City.”

A choked sound leaves her mouth.

“You’re such a whore. But you’re my whore, and, God, do I love it. I love how well you’re taking me. God, Andrea. You’re so good. I can feel all of you, and you feel absolutely perfect. Though I think next time, you may need four fingers. Or even my whole hand. Because I don’t think this is quite enough for a desperate little slut like you.”

Her body starts quivering. You feel her clench.

“My, you’re so close. I can feel your cunt flutter around me.”

You don’t need her to say or do anything in order to know you’re right.

“I’m so glad you’ve decided to come over. So glad you showed me your true self. How filthy you are. How good it feels to be that way with someone. And now, I can’t wait to have your ravenous mouth on me. To cover your beautiful face in my cum. I’m so ready for you. You want to drown in me, Andrea, don’t you?”

“Ah—Mir—”

“Ah, ah, darling. Hush. Right now, I need you to come for me. I know you need this. We both do. Now that you’re having me, you don’t want to deny me, do you?”

Trembling harder, she shakes her head, another helpless sob accompanying the gesture. Her movements on her clit are jerkier. Her strokes less accurate. So close, you think.

She’s about to burst. “You’re so ready, Andrea, I can tell. Do it. Show me how much you’ve really wanted this. Come for me, you beautiful, dirty girl. If you don’t, I will have to assume you weren’t telling the truth and never touch you again.”

It’s not true, of course. You’d die if you never got your hands on the woman again. But the words are incredibly effective. The second you’ve finished speaking, her walls clamp down on you with an unexpected force, and you watch as her hand speeds up tenfold to a point where she must be rubbing herself raw, and then she completely stops. Her back arches. Her thighs squeeze your arm, trapping you in between them, as you try to continue your strokes inside of her, despite the grip her cunt has on you.

It proves to be the right thing to do, though, as she suddenly releases all over your hand. Her cunt gushes over and over, pulling you inside, deeper, until your fingers start feeling numb; all the while you feel her spilling onto your palm, your lower arm, and, finally, the floor.

She’s screaming, too, you realize; loudly, at first; but her voice soon dies down, her throat giving up under the constant pressure, until it becomes a relatively low whine, and, then, a sigh as she slowly comes down from her high.

You can’t help but swallow and squeeze your thighs together. You’re probably dripping onto the floor along with her by now. When she does touch you—soon, very soon, hopefully—you will make an absolute fool of yourself, probably going off like a rocket within seconds.

But it doesn’t matter. This is Andrea. You’ve established a relationship that’s deeper than the ones you had with both of your husbands. You doubt she’ll mind. In fact, she’ll probably just go again. And then you may get to feel her again, as well; perhaps, that time, you’ll get to have all five fingers inside, or maybe you finally get to use that really thick dildo you’ve never been able to try—

Oh, God. Andrea is just a thing of utter beauty. Whether it be filled with three, four or more fingers—she’s breath-takingly, blindingly gorgeous. So hot and wet and so tight as her cunt continues to contract around you. She’s… perfect. A perfect woman. A perfect whore. So eager to take, and just as eager to give. And so you tell her—promise her, “Once you’ve come down from this high, I’m taking you to my bedroom, and then you’re going to get on your knees for me. You have no idea how much more I crave your hands all over me now that I’ve seen you like this. I’ll use you in every way that I can. I’ve never been this aroused in my life, Andrea. My husbands didn’t get anywhere close to doing to me what you do. And you do it without trying. I’ve soaked through my underwear for you. Just the prospect of all the other depravities we will get up to is enough to make me go mad, Andrea.” You take your fingers out of her cunt at once, immediately licking them clean. You moan at her taste. Fuck, and your ruined thong gets flooded with even more juices. “I’m sure I dripped all the way down my thighs while I fucked you. I need you. I bet I’ll have you drowning in my cum in no time, Andrea. How does that sound, darling?”

“Ngh,” she murmurs unintelligibly. You can hear her swallow. “Jesus, Miranda. Fuck me. Yes.”

“Well,” you chuckle, “I can’t wait to do that to you again, too. But for now, you’re going to be the one fucking me.”

With her breathing still ragged, she’s just barely able to speak. Rather, she rasps, “Will I, now?” And then she slowly stands up from her bent position, leans against the door. And looks back over her shoulder.

You stare back at her, and you blink, trying to figure out where the sudden change in demeanor has come from. Why she’s talking back like this. Why, despite her still hooded eyelids, and the utterly enchanting I’ve just come harder than ever before, exactly like you promised look on her face, you can see some kind of challenge sparkling in her eyes. “Yes, Andrea,” you simply whisper through your confusion. “You will.”

She raises a brow.

And—oh. You realize what it is that she wants. You remember.

I’ve never been one to beg. Or show even a hint of desperation. But you, Andrea… you are different. And I need you to make me come undone. Please. Please…

You have to say it. You owe it to her. Despite it feeling so, so wrong before it ever leaves your lips, you say it. She’s yours now, after all. You’ve told her you’re not above begging, and you know she won’t fuck you until you plead.

You need it, though. You need to come. You need it more than you’ve ever needed anything in life. You need her. And so you whisper, “Please.”

She takes your hand and takes you upstairs, that blinding smile of hers never leaving her beautiful face.