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There was something inherently ridiculous about giving a keynote on Net Zero while arriving in a company car. Caitlyn had made that point, repeatedly and with increasing force, until her board relented and agreed that yes, fine, public transportation would suffice. And no, the CEO of the IT company Piltover Systems did not need to be ferried to the conference in a leather-seated electric SUV with tinted windows and a carbon offset certificate printed on recycled paper.
The train station was twenty minutes’ walk, and the autumn air was brisk enough to wake her fully by the time she arrived. She had packed the night before – laptop, slides, chargers, cue cards, oat protein bars – so the morning routine passed in silence, just her footsteps on the wood floor and the low click of light switches. She showered, tied her hair back, and dressed with precision. She chose her navy Noxian wool suit, a white shirt, a tie with a navy base and a barely-there paisley, the kind of pattern one only noticed if they were standing quite close, which most people didn’t.
The cufflinks were round, holding a Pride flag in enamel, gleaming when caught by the hallway light. The matching tie clip held it in place. She hadn’t worn them to make a point, not precisely, but she wasn’t not making one, either.
The coffee machine stuttered slightly, as it always did when she preloaded it the night before, a mechanical hiccup she hadn’t yet found time to fix. The mug she chose was watercolour ceramic, heavy-bottomed, a gift from her sister-in-law Powder, last Christmas with a silly text printed in plain font: 'I remember I had fun once... It was awful'. Caitlyn found it infuriatingly sentimental and refused to use any other.
She drank her coffee slowly, watching the sky lighten by degrees through the window over the sink. There were no birds yet, no traffic, the city was suspended and caught in the breath before everything resumed.
And then she returned to the bedroom. The door creaked slightly, enough to register but not enough to wake Vi, who lay sprawled across the bed like someone who’d barely made it out of the wreckage. Which, Caitlyn supposed, was not an exaggeration. The fire in Bluewind Court last night had run through most of the third floor of the building, and Vi had texted around 1:30am that they'd pulled everyone out. There were no casualties, but the smoke had been bad, and the heat worse.
She was still in her tank top, half-twisted, one arm flung under the pillow, hair damp from sweat. Her face was pressed against the fabric, mouth slack, and a pink curl of hair clung stubbornly to the corner of her lips. She was snoring softly, one leg kicked out like she’d collapsed mid-fight. A faint stain on the pillowcase where she'd been drooling was evidence of how deeply she'd passed out once the adrenaline wore off.
Caitlyn watched her for a long moment, taking in the soot-smudged fingernails, the faint smell of ash and medicated ointment still clinging to her skin. It wasn’t graceful. Vi, when asleep, had the posture of a body flung from a great height and left where it landed. But there was something almost unbearably tender about the total vulnerability, the way her muscles had finally slackened. The exhaustion was not the kind that vanished with a nap, but the one that laid into the bones – call after call, night after night, the body running on fumes and duty until one gave out. And Vi, ever the stubborn martyr, would never admit that she needed the rest. She hadn’t even woken Caitlyn when she got in. Had just slipped into bed, a warm body radiating fatigue.
They hadn’t had the chance to spend a lot of time around each other in the past week. Hadn't been able to have dinner or go to bed together. And they also didn't have the time for the kind of slow, aching closeness they both got particular about when schedules thinned and bodies missed each other’s rhythms.
Caitlyn sat down on the edge of the bed, slowly, careful not to jostle the mattress. She reached out and let her hand hover for a moment, then brushed her fingers lightly over Vi’s shoulder.
“I’m leaving, darling,” she whispered. “You’ll sleep through it, I hope.”
Vi didn’t stir, just shifted deeper into the pillow, a soft breath escaping. Caitlyn watched her for another minute. The minute then turned into two. She thought about all the things she might say – I miss you, or I’ll be back by six, or Don’t forget to eat – and said none of them. They would hang too heavy in the stillness, and besides, her wife wouldn't hear it.
She stood, picked up her briefcase, and stepped out of the room, her heels soft against the hardwood floor. The train would be on time, she would make her speech, she would smile when prompted and shake the correct hands and make clever comments about “future-proofed accountability.” And later, later if she was lucky she’d come home to the same bed, and maybe this time Vi would still be awake.
The conference was being hosted in a structure that looked less like a civic building and more like a tech private sanctum – all sweeping glass façades, precision-cut angles, and high-design arrogance. It rose from the pavement in sharp lines and radiant curves, the kind of architecture that didn’t whisper innovation so much as scream it in platinum and backlit LED. Inside, the lighting was cool and deliberate, everything touched with the warm sheen of filtered sunlight bouncing off tempered glass. Walls of sandblasted panels flowed in fluid arcs, and even the potted plants seemed algorithmically placed. The air smelled of ionised water and money. Lobby art – kinetic, digital, and constantly shifting – looped abstract renditions of sustainability slogans.
Caitlyn signed in at reception with a professional smile and an economy of words. The badge printer stuttered before producing a laminated tag that read: CAITLYN KIRAMMAN, CEO – PILTOVER SYSTEMS. The font was sans-serif and unreasonably large. She slipped it into her pocket rather than clip it on.
She had twenty minutes before the private committee meeting, which she used to locate coffee that wasn’t powdered machine sludge and to reply to exactly three emails with terrifying efficiency. She reviewed her notes again, though she didn’t need to, the points had already arranged themselves neatly in her head like soldiers before a parade. What she needed, perhaps, was a better metaphor. 'Future-proofed accountability' had tested well with the press team, but Caitlyn found it nauseating.
The committee room was small and badly ventilated. Five members were already seated, a sixth arrived two minutes late. The chairman – a man whose glasses seemed to steam up at the edges every time he spoke – launched into his introduction, a spiralling mess of rhetorical asides and excessive throat-clearing that Caitlyn endured with practised patience. She clasped her hands, nodded at the appropriate moments and mouthed agreements without committing to them.
And then her phone buzzed once. Then again, three seconds later. She had no reason to check it. She should not have checked it. But her hand moved before thought intervened, sliding under the table and retrieving the device with the kind of stealth taught by years of board meetings and benefit dinners. The screen lit up and there was a photo.
Vi, clearly just out of the shower, standing in front of their bathroom mirror. Her hair was damp, darkened at the roots and curled lazily where it dried. She wore nothing but a towel slung dangerously low across her hips, and even that looked like it had been a last-minute concession. Water still clung to her skin, catching light along the slope of her collarbone and the sharp, obscene cut of her abs. Her biceps flexed slightly from where she was holding the phone. She was grinning – no, smirking – and Caitlyn could practically hear the unspoken 'miss me?' written all over her face.
Her mouth went dry instantly. She lowered the phone to her lap, took a discreet breath, then looked up to see that the man with the foggy glasses was now repeating the same anecdote about solar integration for the second time, as if repetition itself would elevate the story into insight.
Another buzz revealed a series of texts this time.
Vi: Morning, cupcake
Vi: I’ve got the whole day off. Whole. Day.
Vi: Why are you not home?
Caitlyn did not respond. She couldn’t. She crossed her legs, slowly, and made a mental note to murder Vi later. Or thank her. It was a fine line. The phone buzzed again, a longer message this time.
Vi: I know you’re in that boring-ass meeting. I’m sorry, truly. But I’m also *so* fucking horny. And *so* needy. And sending you these? Knowing you’re sitting there in your stupidly hot suit trying to act composed? Kinda makes it worse 😈
Caitlyn exhaled very quietly through her nose and adjusted the way she sat. She looked once at the sweating committee chair and wondered – philosophically – whether he would have a heart attack if she simply stood up and left. Surely someone would understand. Surely climate change could wait until she went home and backed her hot wife into a wall.
Another message.
Vi: Just thinking about your hands. What they *do* to me and how I woke up with them on my back. And then you were gone. Rude...
Vi: Do you know how wet I am right now?
The phrase alone sent a jolt through her. Caitlyn pressed her thighs together, subtly, but unmistakably. She finally typed back, jaw tight with effort.
Caitlyn: You know I’m in a meeting. I *cannot* do anything about this.
Vi: Maybe that’s the point.
Caitlyn: You’re playing with fire, darling.
Vi: Firefighter, remember?
Caitlyn swore under her breath, lips unmoving. She waited a beat then typed again, committee meeting be damned.
Caitlyn: Touch yourself. I mean it. Use your fingers and make a mess if you want. But know that if I were there, I’d make you beg to finish. And tonight, when I *am* home, you won’t come until I say so.
She hit send. Regretted it. And immediately didn’t.
Vi: I’m already in bed
Vi: I’m going to take another picture.
She didn’t open the next one, not right away. The speaker finally wrapped up his thoughts with the kind of self-satisfaction usually reserved for Nobel laureates and toddlers who manage to tie their own shoes. There was polite clapping from the other members. Caitlyn joined in belatedly, still gripping her phone, her palms too warm.
The committee dispersed slowly. She stayed behind under the pretence of needing to take a call, retreating to a corner office with frosted glass and exactly one houseplant that had already begun to fade. She didn’t call anyone, instead she opened the second photo. Vi was on their bed this time, flat on her back, towel gone, hand already between her thighs. Her hair was loose, lip caught between her teeth – a still taken mid-moan, mouth open and flushed.
Caitlyn stared for a very long time. Her heart raced, steadily, persistently, like it was trying to make a point. She put the phone away and then she stepped in front of a room of one hundred and thirty-eight people, all waiting for her to speak.
The lights were bright. The stage was sterile. Her suit felt too warm, her collar too high. She adjusted the mic and smiled at the audience. There were executives there, and students, and two representatives from the Ministry of Development who would later fight about carbon footprint in the upcoming policy brief. She cleared her throat. The mic buzzed once, then settled.
“Good morning,” she began, voice steady. “Let’s talk about the future.”
In her pocket, just against her hip, the phone began to buzz again, one vibration after another. Of course Vi had memorised the exact time of her keynote. Of course she had. Caitlyn didn’t check it. Didn’t dare while she was on the stage. She simply gripped the podium a little tighter, smiled with slightly too much restraint, and told the room about net-zero compliance goals while fantasising about pinning her wife’s wrists to the mattress.
The rest of the day blurred. There were meetings, panels, briefings, and just enough handshakes to trigger a mild allergy. She fielded three questions about international carbon frameworks that she knew full well would end up buried under committee apathy. Someone approached her by the refreshment table to ask whether Piltover Systems had plans for offsetting credits in Zaun, to which Caitlyn responded without hesitation that carbon offsets were the bare minimum, and that one of the company's departments was already piloting direct air capture initiatives near the Sump to address particulate density head-on.
Between sessions, she did not think about Vi. She told herself that she wasn’t thinking about Vi, which of course meant that every breath was an exercise in restraint. She kept her phone on silent on purpose. Kept it in her inner blazer pocket, not the side one, too accessible. Not the back one, too obvious when she reached. She had discipline and trained her body to perform under pressure. Had spoken before presidents and press vultures.
And yet, in the restroom on the third floor, near the executive breakout room, she locked herself in the far cubicle and pulled out her phone with a reverence usually reserved for her family’s weapons. There was an unopened video waiting for her, timestamped 14:12. She had six minutes before her next briefing. Caitlyn thumbed the screen, muted it by instinct, and pressed play.
Vi was naked, that much was immediate. She was lying on her stomach this time, camera propped at an angle that framed her from head to thigh. Her pink hair was tousled, eyes low-lidded and deliberate. She looked into the camera like she knew exactly what she was doing. Like she had taken the time to find the angle, the light, the exact moment where her skin glowed and her hand trailed between her thighs like a threat. The towel was gone, the sheets a mess. Her legs shifted, flexed, parted slightly as her hips rocked forward.
Caitlyn watched. Her heartbeat stuttered, then fell into a rhythm more appropriate for running. She wanted to turn the sound on. She didn’t. She could imagine the sounds well enough – the breathy moans, the low hum of her name, the wet drag of fingers – all of it so vividly conjured it was a miracle she didn’t flush scarlet right then and there.
Vi didn’t finish in the video, that was the cruelest part. The footage cut off just before she could. Caitlyn sat in the stall for thirty seconds longer than necessary. When she finally stood, she looked at herself in the mirror and hated the way her suit still fit perfectly. She wanted it wrinkled, removed, useless. She washed her hands and returned to the world.
And then, eventually, the day ended. By the time the train departed from the conference hub, the sky outside had darkened, all soft clouds and passing silhouettes of farmland made unreal by the motion blur. Caitlyn found her seat – window side, upper class, privacy partition raised – and finally allowed herself to sit back with a breath that could only be described as loaded.
Her tie was loosened and the top button undone. Her hair, pinned up all day with elegant severity, was finally released in a single motion. She looked down at her phone. Ten unread messages from Vi. Three more images. Two gifs. One voicemail she didn’t dare listen to in public. The ache behind her eyes had sharpened into hunger, which was impressive, given that she’d consumed nothing since the water and an extremely dry salad at lunch.
She closed her eyes and let her head rest against the cool glass. Her mind, however, was anything but still. When she walked into the penthouse tonight, she would not greet Vi with a kiss. No, she would press her against the wall before the door even clicked shut. She would pin her wrists firmly above her head. Her mouth would find the corner of Vi’s jaw, the place that made her shiver, and she’d take her time working downward. She wouldn’t undress her completely at first – no, Vi didn’t get that yet. Not until she apologised for being so reckless, for tempting her, for knowing the exact kind of spiral she’d ignite.
Caitlyn would make her wait. Let her hands wander but never linger. Let her legs shake with anticipation. She’d draw it out like she always did. Let Vi beg in that breathy, frustrated voice that always made her feel a little less human and a little more holy. Let her come apart in pieces. Then, and only then, would Caitlyn consider being merciful.
The train sped forward, smooth and unbothered by the storm gathering behind Caitlyn’s eyes. The rest of the passengers read reports, stared blankly, scrolled through social media apps. None of them knew. None of them could possibly imagine what awaited on the other side of the tracks.
Caitlyn smiled slowly and dangerously, and finally responded.
Caitlyn: Hope you’re still in bed. Don’t move, I’m forty minutes out.
Caitlyn: I’m going to ruin you.
Vi knew exactly when Caitlyn’s train would pull into Piltover Central, at 18:32, on platform 7, southern line. She’d even checked the timetable twice to account for delays, as if the rail gods would dare test Caitlyn’s patience tonight. From there, twenty minutes door to door, depending on traffic and lift speed. Which gave her just enough time. She lit two candles in the living room and turned off every other light. Not for ambience, not really.
Just so that when Caitlyn opened the front door, her eyes would be drawn directly to the couch. Where Vi waited naked and kneeling, hands folded behind her back, spine straight, chin lifted. Her muscles were on quiet display, the litany of her labour carved in each line, in every scar and curve honed by years of dragging bodies through flame and chaos. Her thighs flexed to keep her steady. Her arms rested against the small of her back with a restraint that was entirely deliberate. She did not check her phone, she did not fidget, she just waited.
And when the lock finally clicked and the door slid open with that low mechanical sigh, when Caitlyn stepped in from the dark hallway and into the apartment, Vi exhaled softly.
Caitlyn stopped dead in her tracks. There she was, Vi, laid bare in the half-light, gaze locked upward, mouth parted in something between welcome and surrender. Her body, usually a blur of motion, heat and speed, now still – offered, not subdued, because Vi didn’t know how to submit except by choice. And Caitlyn, gods help her, felt something low in her spine go electric.
Vi had not been kidding. Need radiated off her in waves. Not the performative kind, not bratty provocation, but real, raw want. The kind that stripped Vi down from all the swagger, all the deflection.
Caitlyn inhaled once, long and deep, and stepped inside. The door hissed shut behind her. She did not remove her shoes. She did not unbutton her jacket. Instead, she let her heel clicks echo across the wood floor as she walked forward, the image of control, of quiet, seething precision. Her fitted suit still clung to her like it had been sewn in place. The trousers cut sharp along the hip, the blazer framing her shoulders in bold angles. Her collar had softened slightly from the train ride, but her jaw was cut clean as marble, her mouth unreadable.
She set her briefcase down slowly. The clack as it met the floor was louder than it needed to be, and then silence. Vi’s gaze dragged up Caitlyn's body, over the cut of her trousers, over the open shirt collar, over the way Caitlyn’s hair – normally tucked – now spilled loose down her back in soft waves. Her lips parted a fraction further and her breath hitched.
“You’ve been busy,” Caitlyn said, finally.
Vi didn’t answer. She wasn’t meant to. Caitlyn circled her once, not touching, just orbiting, the gravitational centre undeniable. She leaned in, just barely, until her words brushed against Vi’s ear like silk drawn over a blade.
“You touched yourself,” Caitlyn murmured. “You came for me.”
Vi swallowed, her shoulders tense.
“But it wasn’t enough, was it?” Caitlyn’s voice dropped, satin and smoke. “Because it wasn’t me.”
Vi whimpered, softly, barely audible. Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, like the truth of it cut deeper than she expected. Caitlyn smiled.
“I thought so.”
Then she turned, just as Vi’s eyes opened again, she walked slowly into the downstairs bathroom and ran the water. It was the principle, always had been, her hands – precise instruments of her will – were never laid on Vi without intention. Not after fire calls, not after long days in the office. And not when Vi was kneeling for her like that. So Caitlyn washed them thoroughly and dried them on a linen towel. She checked her reflection once, hair wild around her shoulders, lips just a shade too flushed. She returned and found that Vi hadn’t moved, she was still kneeling and waiting.
Caitlyn approached, closer this time. And then, at last, she touched her, a single warm hand cupping Vi’s cheek. Her thumb brushed along the cheekbone. Vi leaned into it instantly, eyes closed, a sigh escaping her lips like tension bleeding from a wound.
Caitlyn let her have it for a second. Then her fingers slipped down and tilted Vi’s chin up, firm and commanding. The next moment she leaned in, gaze heavy-lidded, and kissed her. Soft at first, just a press of lips. A claim. But the second Vi made a sound – that small, bitten-off mmm of relief – Caitlyn growled low in her throat and kissed her again, properly this time. She devoured her, her hand sliding behind Vi’s neck, fingers weaving through damp pink strands. She clenched a fistful of hair and pulled downward sharply.
Vi gasped, but Caitlyn didn’t let her up. She moved to her wife’s neck, mouth dragging down, open-mouthed and unforgiving. She bit hard – hard – just beneath the ear, where the skin was warm and vulnerable. Vi jolted and cried out, and Caitlyn did it again, slower this time, feeling the tremble ripple through her knees.
When she pulled back, there were already faint marks rising along Vi’s skin, beautiful and damning. Caitlyn exhaled, slow and deliberate.
“You wanted this,” she said, voice cool but cracking just enough to show her hunger. “So now you’ll take everything I give you. You’ll thank me for it and you won’t finish until I say so.”
Vi’s breath came in quick, shallow bursts.
“Yes, daddy.”
Caitlyn’s smile was razor-thin. She stepped back only far enough to slip off her blazer. She did it slowly, sliding the dark wool from her shoulders with a precision that was almost cruel. Not a single movement was rushed. She folded it – neatly, of course – and placed it over the back of a chair. The rest she left on, the shirt, tie and trousers. Her cufflinks still gleamed with colour under the low light. The silk knot at her throat remained perfectly centred. The suit didn’t restrict her authority, it framed it. But the jacket would’ve limited her reach, and Caitlyn intended to use every inch of herself.
Vi’s breath hitched when Caitlyn returned to her. There was a moment of silence, and then Caitlyn’s hands slid forward and cupped Vi’s breasts, full and warm beneath her palms. Her thumbs rolled slowly over each nipple, coaxing them into peaks with a pressure that was far from gentle. Her fingers kneaded into the muscle behind them, and when Vi arched forward, desperate for more, Caitlyn only leaned in further, mouth ghosting along her ear.
“This is what you wanted?” she murmured. Her voice was all satin and steel. “You spent all day fucking yourself into the sheets, and it still wasn’t enough, was it?”
Vi whimpered, breathy and guttural, her restraint fracturing at the edges. “No, daddy.”
Caitlyn smiled indulgently and tugged, sharp and deliberate, at both nipples. Vi choked on a moan, her thighs pressed together involuntarily, a tremble shivering through her spine. Caitlyn’s mouth moved lower. Past her jaw, across the collarbone, biting lightly, then not so lightly, teeth dragging with intent. Her hands never stopped massaging, teasing, circling, pulling – until Vi was squirming in place, her hands still locked behind her back like she didn’t trust them to behave.
Caitlyn pushed her just enough. Vi shifted backward, spine meeting the plush of the couch’s backrest, knees still tucked beneath her in that obedient, ruined posture. Caitlyn kissed her again deeper this time, slow but fierce, claiming her mouth with a hunger that had built all day long. Vi moaned into it, and bit back a groan when Caitlyn caught her lower lip between her teeth and tugged, just enough to sting. Then her mouth dropped lower. Down Vi’s neck, over her chest, and then, finally, to her breasts, where she bit.
Vi gasped, a raw, needy, unguarded sound ripped from her throat like breath stolen. Caitlyn didn’t let up. She latched on, pulling, sucking, biting. Her teeth left crescents, her tongue circled and tormented. Every noise Vi made, every twitch and shudder, only spurring her on.
“Please,” Vi whispered. “Please, Cait. I need–”
“You’ll get what you need,” Caitlyn said against her skin. “When I decide that you’ve earned it.”
Then her hand slipped between Vi’s thighs. Not inside, not yet. Just the lightest touch at first, fingertips brushing through the slick heat, finding the swell of her clit with infuriating precision. Vi jolted and tried to rock into it, but Caitlyn’s free hand pressed her back down with ease.
“I said still.”
Vi’s breath caught.
“But–”
“No. You don’t get to chase. Not tonight.”
Caitlyn circled her clit again, soft at first, then with more pressure, building a rhythm. Vi’s hips twitched. She tensed her core, trying to obey, trying so hard to stay still. But it was maddening, every nerve ending alight, every instinct begging her to thrust into those fingers, to take what was so cruelly close. She bit her lip, moaned and managed to stay still for all of forty seconds. Then she broke, her hips rolled forward – small, involuntary – just enough to try and catch Caitlyn’s fingers where she needed them most. Caitlyn stopped instantly.
Vi’s head snapped up, eyes wide and devastated. “No– please. Don’t...”
But the contact was gone. The warmth, the promise, gone.
Caitlyn leaned back slightly, one brow raised, her breath entirely unaffected.
“Oh, darling,” she said. “I warned you.”
Vi’s entire body trembled from frustration, from hunger, from the awful weight of knowing Caitlyn had meant it.
“I’m sorry,” she said, breathless. “I– I couldn’t help it.”
“Then you’ll learn,” Caitlyn murmured, eyes dark and sure. “And I’m going to teach you.”
She stood. And Vi, naked and flushed and still trembling, looked up at her – the woman she’d married, the storm she’d beckoned – and knew, in her marrow, that she was absolutely fucked.
Caitlyn didn’t speak at first. She simply moved and sat down on the couch, legs spread slightly, one hand braced against her own thigh. Her other hand reached out and curled two fingers beneath Vi’s chin.
“Up,” she said.
Vi obeyed. Her limbs moved like they weren’t quite hers, shaky, flushed, and desperate for permission. Caitlyn guided her gently but with utter precision, turning her body, folding her forward, easing her down until she was bent over Caitlyn’s lap – face down, ass high, hands still tucked obediently behind her back. She looked wrecked already and Caitlyn hadn’t even started.
Her hand slid across the curve of Vi’s ass, smoothing over the firm muscle, the heat rising from skin that had already flushed with anticipation. She ran her nails lightly down both cheeks, watching the way Vi’s thighs tensed in response. Then she pulled her hand back and struck.
The sound cracked across the room – clean, sharp, unmistakable. Vi hissed and jumped, but managed to stay in position.
“That’s one,” Caitlyn said calmly. “Count for me.”
“One,” Vi gasped, breath tight, already shaking.
Another sharp slap, this time to the other cheek.
“Two– fuck. Two.”
Caitlyn alternated, each strike precise. Her palm stung after the fourth, but she didn’t flinch. She watched the pink bloom into red, watched Vi squirm against the ache, watched her breath catch and release in whimpers and moans that made something in Caitlyn throb with want.
“Three.”
“Four.”
She made the fifth land lower, the edge of her palm catching just beneath the curve of Vi’s ass. Vi cried out, not in protest, but in something deeper, something desperate. Her toes curled and her back arched.
“Five, please... five.”
By the seventh, Caitlyn’s own hand was red but she didn’t slow. If anything, she measured the next three, the final set, with brutal intensity. Her discipline didn’t falter, not even when Vi’s moans slipped into full-bodied shudders and her thighs clenched tight with need.
Crack.
“Eight!”
Crack.
“Nine– ah, Cait!”
Crack.
“Ten!” Vi whimpered. “Thank you.”
Her ass was flushed, burning beneath Caitlyn’s touch. The skin was hot and blooming with handprints, each cheek marked with evidence of the punishment Vi had begged for and more than earned. She was panting now loudly, trembling in Caitlyn’s lap, but not from pain. From want.
“I’ll be good,” Vi whispered. “I promise I’ll behave. I’ll do anything you want, daddy.”
Caitlyn let her hand rest lightly on Vi’s back, tracing soft touches for a moment. Then she leaned down, lips brushing the shell of Vi’s ear.
“I know you will,” she murmured. “You’re mine.”
She smoothed her hand over Vi’s hip, slower now, but no less in control.
“And now,” she said, her voice dropping to something velvet and dangerous, “you’re going to show me just how good you can be.”
Vi was still across Caitlyn’s lap, her breath unsteady, her thighs trembling, her ass red and glowing from the punishment she’d earned. Her forehead pressed into the couch cushions, eyes fluttering shut. Her entire body felt like it had been rewired: all heat and urgency and raw, exquisite ache.
Caitlyn slid her hand between Vi’s thighs once more, the way one might draw a bowstring – slow, deliberate, lethal in intent. Vi gasped when the first finger pushed in, slick and easy, her body far beyond ready.
“You’ve been soaked since my first text,” Caitlyn murmured. Her voice was velvet, but did not lack the command. “You didn’t even try to hide it.”
Vi nodded, frantic, lips parted with need. “Didn’t want to,” she whispered. “I wanted you to know.”
Caitlyn smiled, cruel and fond, and pushed a second finger in.
Vi’s back arched. Her legs twitched with the strain of staying still. She moaned, loud and unfiltered, hips rocking down into the rhythm Caitlyn set without warning. She was tight and so, so wet, and Caitlyn didn’t tease this time. She fucked her, fingers curling just enough, dragging over the spot that made Vi keen and shiver. The couch creaked beneath them.
Vi clung to the armrest, barely able to hold herself upright.
“Please,” she whispered. “I’m close, Cait. I’m gonna–”
Just as her muscles began to tense and her moans caught in her throat, Caitlyn pulled her hand away. Vi cried out, a strangled, broken sound ,high and wrecked and punched out of her chest.
“N-no, fuck. Cait!”
But Caitlyn was already shifting. She stood and guided Vi with her, one hand steady on her hip, the other catching her before she could stumble. Then she settled back onto the couch, legs spread wide, and pulled Vi down into her lap again, this time facing out. Vi’s back pressed to Caitlyn’s front. Her body fit there like it had been made for this, her bare skin meeting the structured silk of Caitlyn’s shirt and tie, her thighs splayed and trembling.
Caitlyn’s right hand found her again without preamble. This time she used three fingers, no slow entry, no warnings – just a steady, wet slide inside that made Vi sob. Her head dropped back onto Caitlyn’s shoulder. Her hands clutched at Caitlyn’s knees for support. Her entire body quaked.
Caitlyn’s left arm came up across Vi’s front and her hand found Vi’s throat. Her fingers wrapped around it, thumb resting beneath her jaw, firm and possessive. Her forearm cradled Vi’s chest, pinning her against Caitlyn’s body.
“You’re going to come for me now,” Caitlyn said. Her voice was low, right at Vi’s ear, vibrating through her. “And you’re not going to hold back.”
Vi whimpered. “Yes, daddy. Fuck, please–”
Caitlyn started to move. Her right hand fucked her slow, then fast, three fingers plunging in deep with a rhythm that made Vi shake, gasp and cry out. Her palm rubbed perfectly against her clit with each thrust. The sound of it was obscene, wet and rhythmic and so loud in the quiet apartment that it almost felt criminal.
Vi was gone. Her mouth hung open, her hands scrambling for purchase, her hips grinding down to meet Caitlyn’s thrusts. Her back arched again and again, her thighs tensed, her stomach clenched.
“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Fuck, Cait, I…”
“I’ve got you,” Caitlyn breathed. “Come for me. Now.”
And Vi shattered. It wasn’t quiet, it was a full-body collapse – moaning, shaking, crying out her wife’s name with something between reverence and desperation. Her muscles locked, then gave out, her orgasm ripping through her with brutal clarity, her body jerking against Caitlyn’s with every wave. Caitlyn didn’t let go. She held her and kept her pinned, kept her full, kept her grounded even as Vi came undone in her arms. Only when Vi finally sagged back, utterly spent, breath ragged, did Caitlyn ease her hand from between trembling thighs. She wrapped both arms around her, kissing the sweat-slick skin at her temple.
Vi’s body was twitching. Her eyes were wet. Her mouth curved in a dazed, bliss-drunk smile.
“Fuck,” she breathed. “You’re unreal.”
Caitlyn chuckled softly, lips brushing against her hair.
“You’ve got a few more in you.”
Vi groaned, and Caitlyn smiled. “Maybe we can move to the bedroom?”
Caitlyn agreed and helped Vi stand up. The walk down the hall was measured. Caitlyn didn’t rush it. She kept a firm arm around Vi’s waist, grounding her, steadying her. The soft pads of her fingers pressed into Vi’s hip with each step, as if mapping the way her muscles moved, how far they’d been pushed, how much farther they could go.
They reached the bedroom and Vi sat at the edge of the bed with a soft grunt, legs falling apart instinctively, head tilted back. She watched, utterly rapt, as Caitlyn began to undress.
The suit came off piece by piece. Caitlyn’s fingers slid to her buttons. She worked them free slowly, without flourishing. Her shirt fell open first, then off. The tie was loosened with one sharp tug. Her trousers pooled around her ankles with a rustle of fine wool. She folded each item neatly, placing them with absentminded care on the chair by the vanity. Her mind tracked the scent of sweat and arousal clinging to the fabric. ‘The suit would need to be dry cleaned’. A fleeting, practical thought, one reserved for later. Now, there was only Vi and the heat pulsing between her own thighs like a second heartbeat.
Caitlyn moved to the drawer, retrieved the hexstrap – sensation transmitting – and pressed it into place. Her body was already wet, already pulsing, so it locked easily against her. A low vibration shivered through her pelvis the moment it made contact, a flicker of neural feedback triggering deep, intimate pathways that lit behind her eyes.
Vi watched her like a woman starved. Mouth slightly open, pupils blown wide, her hands braced on the edge of the bed, arms taut, legs already pressing together like they didn’t trust themselves. Every inch of her was coiled with need. And then she dropped to her knees without prompting, just an instinct as intense as gravity. She knelt between Caitlyn’s legs and looked up – her mouth wet, her chest still heaving, her hair a wild mess of pink curls. She bit her bottom lip, eyes locked on the length of the strap, then up to Caitlyn’s face, waiting.
Caitlyn felt the fire crack open inside her. She cupped Vi’s chin, fingers under her jaw, thumb brushing over the bow of her lips. After she offered her wife a nod, Vi didn’t hesitate.
Her tongue met the tip first – slow, reverent – and Caitlyn groaned, low and involuntary. Her eyes fluttered shut. Her head tilted back. The sensation mapped through muscle memory and real-time response, flooding her system with heat and pleasure that rolled down her spine in shuddering waves. Vi licked again, slower this time, from base to tip, then sealed her mouth around it. Caitlyn’s breath stuttered, her knees locked and her hands clenched at her sides.
And Vi began to take her deeper, inch by inch. Her throat relaxed around the shape, her jaw steady. Caitlyn opened her eyes just as Vi took her to the hilt and held there, eyes wide and locked onto hers, desperate and needy and full of worship. Then Vi gagged and had to pull back, coughing once, hand braced on Caitlyn’s thigh. Caitlyn let her readjust her breathing.
Vi sucked in a breath and went back again. This time, faster, messier and more desperate. Her moans vibrated around the shaft, sending pulses through Caitlyn’s core. The feedback sent Caitlyn reeling, heat flaring through her belly, up her spine, curling in her fingers until she reached forward and grabbed Vi’s hair. She held her there firmly, and started to thrust.
Small movements at first, rocking into Vi’s mouth, controlling the depth and the speed. Vi groaned, eyes watering, jaw slack. Her hands gripped Caitlyn’s thighs for balance.
“You take it so well,” Caitlyn gasped, voice shaking. “You love being on your knees for me. Love having your mouth claimed.”
Vi moaned in response, a raw, helpless sound, and Caitlyn fucked her deeper. Her hips rolled. Her control frayed. She was close. Gods, she was close.
“Look at you,” she hissed. “So fucking needy. You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you? My perfect little mess–”
Vi choked, swallowed, pulled back just enough to breathe, then dove back down with reckless abandon. It was enough. Caitlyn’s whole body locked as pleasure tore through her in shattering waves, her hips grinding forward, thighs shaking, hands gripping Vi’s hair like it was the only thing anchoring her to the earth. She came with a cry that would’ve embarrassed her in any other context, but not here, not with her.
Vi held her through it, mouth full, eyes closed, breath trembling. And Caitlyn, undone and pulsing and still inside her wife’s mouth, whispered a single word.
“Mine.”
Caitlyn let herself linger there for just a moment more, her breath uneven, her pulse still pounding through her veins in waves that blurred thought and sensation. Vi remained kneeling, lips parted around the hexstrap, her jaw slack and her cheeks damp with effort. Her hands trembled where they rested on Caitlyn’s thighs.
Gently, Caitlyn drew herself free. A thin string of wetness stretched between Vi’s mouth and the tip before it broke. Caitlyn’s fingers cupped her wife’s jaw, thumb brushing once over her cheekbone. Then she leaned down and captured Vi’s lips in a kiss that tasted like salt and sex. It was the kind of kiss meant to reclaim breath, to speak a promise without needing language. She broke away with a slow exhale.
“Up,” she murmured.
Vi rose shakily to her feet, and Caitlyn guided her backward with one hand braced against her sternum, walking her the few steps to the bed. Vi’s knees hit the edge, and Caitlyn gave her a single, firm push. She fell back with a soft grunt, body open and waiting.
Her legs instinctively parted again, but Caitlyn didn’t give her the time to spread them further. She stepped between them, reached down and grabbed Vi’s thighs, strong and slick and already twitching with anticipation. She bent them inward, folding Vi into herself until her knees were nearly touching her shoulders, thighs pressing up into her own chest. Caitlyn slid her forearms beneath them, locking them in place.
And then she thrust. The hexstrap slid in deep, aided by how thoroughly soaked Vi still was – from earlier, from the denial, from the mouth-fucking, from being told she was owned. Vi’s hands flew up to Caitlyn’s back, nails digging in hard enough to leave marks. Her hips jerked, her body straining against the pressure of being held so completely, so tightly, as Caitlyn started to move.
Each thrust was slow at first, exploratory and indulgent, but deep. The angle allowed Caitlyn to drive forward until the tip kissed Vi’s cervix, and the contact made Vi whine. Her hands curled, her voice caught in her throat.
“Oh fuck, Caitlyn–”
“Shhh,” Caitlyn whispered, voice low, her breath a ghost against Vi’s ear. “You can take it. You want to take it. My perfect girl, so desperate, so wet, you’re practically pulling me in.”
Vi moaned, full-throated and wrecked. Caitlyn fucked her harder. Her hips moved in powerful rolls, rhythm steady but brutal. Her grip never loosened. Every time she thrust in, she angled slightly upward, dragging against the front wall, then bottoming out with the full weight of her body behind it.
Vi was sobbing now. Not from pain, from pleasure, from the unbearable fullness, from the way every breath caught on the edge of a scream.
“You love this,” Caitlyn growled. “You love being ruined. Love it when I fuck you so deep it hurts. You’d let me split you open and thank me for it.”
Vi’s reply was a broken gasp. Her head thrashed side to side on the sheets.
“Say it,” Caitlyn demanded.
“I love it, fuck. I love it. I want more. Please don’t stop–”
Caitlyn smiled, vicious and loving all at once, and snapped her hips forward. Vi shattered. Her orgasm hit like a storm surge – loud, choking, her entire body seising. Caitlyn kissed her then, devouring the cry from her mouth, swallowing it like a gift. She didn’t stop moving. She fucked Vi through the climax, through the convulsions, her cock pushing deeper, her arms tightening around Vi’s thighs to hold her open.
“I’ve got you,” Caitlyn whispered against her lips. “That’s it, come for me. Just like that.”
And Vi did, she came with a sob, her body breaking in Caitlyn’s arms, sweat slicking their skin. Her nails raked down Caitlyn’s back, breathing a ragged mess of vowels and whimpers. But Caitlyn didn’t let up. She slowed a little but kept thrusting. Kept fucking her deep, steady and relentless. The cock moved with ease, perfectly synced with the rise and fall of her hips. Her arms cradled Vi’s legs open, held her in place with force and affection. Her own body was trembling, heart hammering from the strain of holding back.
Vi moaned, hoarse and desperate, and shook her head weakly.
“I can’t, Cait, I just–”
“Yes, you can,” Caitlyn murmured. Her breath was hot against Vi’s cheek. “You’re going to come for me again. I’m going to feel you do it.”
Vi whimpered not from protest, but from need, as Caitlyn began to grind forward harder. Her cock hit the same devastating angle with every roll of her hips, and Vi’s breath hitched. It took longer this time. Her muscles were already raw, her nerves overstimulated, every touch sent shivers through her, every drag of friction pushed her further. But Caitlyn was relentless.
Her lips found Vi’s ear.
“Such a good girl,” she whispered. “Taking everything I give you. Letting me fuck you open. You want to come with me, don’t you?”
Vi nodded, feverish. “Yes– yes, please.”
Caitlyn’s voice dropped, heavy with command.
“Then wait. Stay with me, I want us to come together.”
That was almost cruel. Almost impossible. Vi cried out again, her hands scrambling at Caitlyn’s shoulders like she could ground herself in bone and muscle. Caitlyn was right there with her, her own body humming with urgency, her stomach tight with heat, her thighs shaking with the effort of control. Every thrust sparked along the length of the strap and into her core, fire climbing higher and higher.
“Now,” Caitlyn gasped. “Come with me.”
And Vi did. They both did. Caitlyn’s orgasm hit like a shockwave, low and thunderous, tearing through her with the weight of everything she’d held back. Her hips slammed forward, one final thrust, as she locked herself to Vi, gasping, moaning her wife’s name into her shoulder. Vi screamed a ragged, overwhelmed cry that cracked in her throat. Her whole body locked, legs kicking against Caitlyn’s forearms, her breath stuttering into broken syllables. Her walls clenched tight, pulling around Caitlyn, milking her through it.
They came like that together. It took minutes before either of them could move. Caitlyn finally eased back slowly, as if afraid of shattering something fragile. She slid out gently, her hand running down Vi’s side in apology for the overstimulation. Vi flinched, then exhaled a laugh, glowing. Caitlyn smiled. She leaned forward, kissed Vi’s shoulder, her collarbone, her cheek.
“We should shower,” she murmured, voice hoarse. “Before we fuse with the sheets.”
Vi blinked at her, dazed. “Only if you carry me.”
Caitlyn chuckled, low and fond. “Deal.”
She sat up, limbs still trembling with aftershocks, and reached for her wife.
Vi groaned, all heavy muscle and boneless exhaustion, and let herself be pulled upright. Her arms looped around Caitlyn’s shoulders, clinging more for affection than balance, though balance was in short supply. Caitlyn rose slowly, easing Vi with her, their bodies sticking slightly with sweat where they touched.They moved together – a half-step, a breath, another half-step – through the quiet apartment.
Vi let her head rest on Caitlyn’s shoulder, legs still weak beneath her. Caitlyn supported her without comment, one arm firm around her waist, the other trailing gentle fingers along her lower back. Their pace was unhurried, steady, shaped by the kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled.
The door to the ensuite was already open, a line of moonlight spilling across the tiles. Caitlyn flipped on the light with her elbow and guided them inside. Steam rose as the water warmed. They stepped under it together, arms still wrapped around one another, letting the heat sink into sore muscles and tender skin. No words were spoken, just the rush of water, the press of fingertips against skin, the soft exhale of shared breath.