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Misty is a sensitive little thing. A girl so touch-starved, the slightest brush of Nat’s fingers is enough to make her blush. A chaste kiss will draw her in for more. A kiss to the cheek will make her lean against Nat’s side. Their knees knocking together is enough to make Misty crawl into her lap. The way she craves affection would make one think she can’t breathe without it.
It’s a subconscious way, Nat thinks, for her to make up for the lack of attention she received growing up. She still doesn’t have much now, seeing as she and Nat tend to flutter in and out of each other's lives like butterflies. Her only friends are the other Yellowjackets, none of which really like to be around her (Nat can’t really blame them). And any hookups she has while Nat is away are not that fulfilling, if her current desperation is any indication.
That’s why Nat tries to make up for lost time whenever they have their little run-ins. She tries to use those fleeting meetings to fill Misty up with so much affection, she’ll become sick with it. She wants Misty overflowing with love until she physically cannot take it anymore, until she no longer needs it. Then she’ll shove Natalie away, demanding no more. One of these days, she might even turn Nat away for good. She’ll be fed up with attention, and seek out something more sustaining.
Nat doubts that’s going to happen anytime soon, but a girl can dream. She can dream of a day when she’s free of Misty Quigley. A day when she’ll no longer feel strangely indebted to her. When she has to, yet again, decide between kissing her and punching her teeth out; only when that day comes, she’ll choose the teeth.
She’ll have to wait for a day when Misty isn’t rutting against her thigh.
“Nat…” she whines out, always so fucking loud. “Please…”
Nat only sighs, like she has better things to be doing. As if there’s anywhere in the world she’d rather be. Maybe there is. She just can’t think of it at the moment.
“Please what?”
“Please do something.”
She was smart enough to repeat the please, but not to know better than to ask.
“Already told you, don’t feel like it,” she rests a hand on Misty’s waist, feather-light. “If you want to get off tonight, you’ll have to do it yourself.”
She lets out a sob, uselessly rocking her hips back and forth. She’s dressed only in a thin pair of cotton panties and a t-shirt, per Nat’s instructions. Nat herself stays fully clothed, an old pair of black jeans and a shirt she cut the sleeves off of. They’re on the bed in Misty’s dorm, Nat’s back against the wall and Misty in her lap.
She’s only here for the weekend, so they have to make it count. But that also means Nat has three full days to drive Misty crazy. She’s tired as hell from her drive up here, and Misty never wants to take control, so if she wants to go slow then she’s well-within her right to do so. They’ll move at a turtle’s pace before Nat inevitably gets bored of that and decides to fuck Misty until the sheets are soaked. It’s their usual routine, and so far Misty hasn’t had any complaints. All the more reason for Nat to abuse her power.
“Can you at least use your fingers?”
Nat grabs her chin, forcing Misty to meet her eyes. “You finish on my thigh or not at all.”
“But-”
“One more complaint and you won’t be getting off at all this weekend.”
“Nat!”
“Problem?”
Her lower lip quivers, but she concedes. “No, ma’am.”
The ma’am is a cute touch. They’ll have to explore that further in the future.
Nat smiles, deceptively. “Good girl. Now keep going.”
Misty does exactly that, gripping Nat’s shoulders for better friction. Next time, Nat should tie her hands behind her back. Or maybe make her hump her shoe instead. They could do that later, if Misty isn’t too worn out. She’d probably agree anyways, if Nat asked.
She could also make Misty touch herself. She likes to do that sometimes, just to see the humiliation on Misty’s face as she’s caught in such a vulnerable position. Have her put a dildo in and wear it while they cuddle. She could fuck her with it the next morning, while Misty begs her to get the strap. She’d deny her until she couldn’t resist anymore. Then she’d call her a whore for begging so much.
So many options…
She palms Misty’s tits through her shirt, hands rough and unforgiving. She revels in the way the tender flesh gathers beneath her palms, and the sound it elicits from Misty. Her hips stutter at the contact, but she doesn’t stop.
“Well?” Nat says, expectantly. “Aren’t you gonna thank me? I’m touching you just like you asked.”
Misty whimpers. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Was that a complaint?”
“No, ma’am!” She repeats. “Thank you for grabbing my tits.”
Fuck. Her words go straight to Nat’s core. She can’t help but wonder who taught Misty to talk like that. It certainly wasn’t her, Nat’s rarely the blunt type. She prefers to talk vaguely, suggestively. Not that she minds it when Misty’s straightforward. Nope, she doesn’t mind that one bit.
Still, her chest seizes at the thought of Misty talking that way to anyone else. She squeezes harder.
“Who do these belong to?”
Misty pauses. “My tits?”
“Yes, who do they belong to?”
“Um,” she hesitates, as though it’s a trick question. “They belong to you, Nat.”
“That’s right,” she mutters. “Keep moving.”
Misty slides back and forth, a steady weight against Nat’s leg. It’s probably going to cramp later from holding it in this position for so long. Totally worth it, but the thought still isn’t pleasant.
“And your cunt?”
She inhales, sharply. “It belongs to you, Nat.”
“Good,” she praises. “Don’t forget that.”
She’s sure Misty will read into this later. She’ll convince herself that Nat’s possessiveness is proof that she’s in love with her and- fuck, maybe she’s right, Nat doesn’t know. It makes no difference, even if she wasn’t she wouldn’t be able to escape this fucked up situation she’s in with Misty. Encounters that are hardly satisfying in the long run, that only leave them both wanting more. If they keep going like this, she may never be able to wash her hands of Misty. She’ll keep coming back, keep falling into Misty’s traps, and then she’ll leave thinking about the next time they get to see each other. She’ll love and hate her, and neither will make a difference because they both lead to the same place.
She should quit this, but she won’t. She’s never been good at dropping things that are bad for her. Misty’s just the cherry on top of those vices. Misty might even be her favorite.
“Just like that.”
She knows praise is Misty’s weakness, so she makes sure to give her just enough to keep her wanting. A trail of breadcrumbs that will leave her eating out of the palm of Nat’s hand. They inspire a desperation to do better, to work harder, to please her queen. It might be a little evil, but Nat thinks it’s cute how Misty is willing to bend over backwards just to earn her approval.
She leans in to kiss Misty’s neck, open-mouthed and wet. “My good girl, you’re doing so good.”
Misty openly whines at that, grinding harder and faster. “ Natalie…”
“You can beg, if you want. I won’t give in, but it’s cute to see you try.”
“Please,” she responds to the implicit order with no trace of hesitation. “Please, Nat, please touch me.”
“Not a chance, princess.”
“Please,” she moans. “I need it so bad…”
“Need what so bad?”
“Please let me cum.”
Nat chuckles against her neck. “That was fast.”
“Natalie, please.”
She pulls back, meeting Misty’s eyes. She pretends to contemplate it for a minute, pursing her lips.
“I’m not sure, do you think you deserve it?”
“Please!”
“Fine,” she caves. “But don’t forget to thank me.”
“Thank you, Nat,” she gasps. “Thank you, thank you, thank you-”
Misty truly is a sight to behold like this. Every time she cums, she throws her head back, always the dramatic one. Her whole body trembles, and she squeezes her eyes shut. Her pink lips hang open, face flushed. She almost looks like a painting, a woman in the throes of passion. She brings herself as close to Nat as possible, as though trying to connect their souls. Constantly seeking Nat’s affection, her approval. She’s a disaster.
Yeah. Definitely Nat’s favorite vice.
Her head falls on Nat’s chest when she’s done, breaths coming out shallow and rapid. It’s a quiet moment between the two of them; not an embrace, but something close to it. Her curls tickle Nat’s face. Nat brushes a few of them out of the way.
“You did good,” she says, conversationally. “Wanna go for round two?”
Love and hate, they both lead to the same place.