Chapter 2
The room feels so much smaller now, the space between you and Taylor shrinking until it’s just heat and breath and the pounding of your heart.
You don’t think. Just move.
The comforter slips off your lap as you shift, straddling her thigh before you can second-guess it. The baggy grey sweatpants she’s wearing are soft against your skin, but it’s her muscle, firm and steady beneath, that makes you gasp.
“Taylor-” you start, voice trembling, but it turns into a whimper as you roll your hips, grinding down on her.
The friction’s immediate, electric, and you’re so wet already that you can feel it soaking through the fabric, leaving a slick patch on her thigh. She groans low in her throat, hands flying to your hips, gripping you through the flimsy fabric of the nightie. Her fingers dig in, guiding you, rolling your hips and you can’t stop. Won’t stop chasing that edge as tears prick your eyes.
“Shit,” she mutters, her voice rougher than you’ve ever heard it. Her pupils blown, blue eyes dark. Locked on where you’re moving against her, and she shifts her leg, pressing it harder between your thighs.
“Look at you. So needy.” Her hands slide up, slipping under the nightie, and when her palms cup your tits, it’s like they were made for her. They fit perfectly, soft and full against her calloused fingers, and you cry out, arching into her touch.
She squeezes, thumbs brushing over your nipples, and you’re moaning now, loud and desperate, tears spilling down your cheeks because it’s too much.
“Taylor, please,” you sob, grinding faster, soaking her sweatpants until the wet spot’s undeniable. She doesn’t care. Doesn’t even flinch. Just keeps playing with you, rolling your nipples between her fingers until you’re shaking.
“Fuck, baby,” she breathes, and then she’s moving, strong arms lifting you like you weigh nothing.
She lays you back on the bed, the mattress dipping under her as she climbs over you. She can’t help but latch onto your neck as you lie there. Just so pretty. Ready for her.
The nightie’s bunched up around your waist, and she pushes it higher, exposing your chest completely. Her mouth’s on you again in seconds, lips closing around one nipple, sucking hard. You yelp, hands flying to her hair, tangling in her curls as she groans against your skin.
“I’ve always been obsessed with these,” she says between licks, her voice muffled, almost reverent. She pulls back just enough to look at them, wet and glistening from her mouth, then dives back in, sucking the other one while her hand kneads the first. “Your tits. fuck, they’re perfect. Been dreaming about this.”
You’re moaning, loud and shameless, tugging at her hair as her words sink in. She’s relentless, teeth grazing you just enough to make you squirm, and then she’s talking again, low and dirty, her mouth still pressed to your chest.
“Wanna fill you up, baby. Put babies in you. Make you my little wife.” Her tongue flicks out, circling your nipple, and your whole body clenches, heat pooling between your legs.
“Taylor” you gasp, barely coherent, but she’s not listening-not really.
Her eyes are rolled back, lids fluttering shut as she loses herself in you, muttering half-formed thoughts against your skin. “Gonna keep you forever. My girl. All mine.” She’s not even looking at you now, too caught up, her focus entirely on your tits, on the fantasy spilling out of her. “You don’t need anything else. Just me. I’ll take care of you. Fuck, I’ll breed you, keep you full…”
Your eyes widen as her words spill faster as she presses sloppy, open-mouthed kisses across your chest.
You’re trembling, overwhelmed, your fingers tightening in her curls as her obsession feeds yours. The idea of her claiming you like this, locking you down, it’s filthy and wrong and hot, and you’re so turned on you can barely breathe. “Yes,” you whimper, pulling her closer, urging her on. “Please. Keep me. Do it.”
She moans, loud and broken, like your begging flipped a switch. Her hands grip your hips again, yanking you down the bed so she can press her thigh back between yours. You’re dripping, slick and messy, and she feels it, curses under her breath as she grinds against you. “That’s it, baby,” she mutters, voice shaking. “Gonna make you mine. Forever.”
Her mouth’s back on your tits, sucking harder, and you’re crying again, moaning her name as she keeps muttering about babies, about ownership, about never letting you go. It’s wild, messy, and you know she’s going to regret the fuck out of it later but you’re both too far gone to care.
Taylor’s hands are still on you, big and warm, sliding from your hips to your waist as she shifts lower. Her lips trail down your body, leaving a path of soft, deliberate kisses across your stomach.
You squirm under her touch, a little ticklish despite the heat pooling inside you, and a giggle slips out before you can stop it. She pauses, her breath hot against your skin, and looks up at you with those sleepy, half-lidded eyes. A grin spreads across her face, softening her sharp features.
“God, you’re cute,” she murmurs, her voice rough from exhaustion and want, and the sound of it makes your chest flutter. Her curls are a mess, brushing your thighs as she dips lower, and then-without warning-her mouth’s on you, diving in like she’s starved for it.
You gasp, loud and sharp, your back arching off the bed as her tongue drags through you, sloppy and unrestrained.
She’s messy about it, no finesse, just raw hunger. Licking and sucking like she can’t get enough. Her hands grip your waist tighter, holding you in place as she presses her face deeper, nose brushing against you. “Fuck, baby,” she mumbles into you, her voice muffled and tired but dripping with awe. “Your pussy’s so pretty.”
The words hit you hard, sending a fresh wave of wetness rushing out of you that she laps up immediately, groaning against you like it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted.
You’re trembling, thighs shaking around her head, expecting her to pick up the pace, to chase your release like you’re desperate for-but she doesn’t. She’s slow, deliberate, savoring every second.
Her tongue moves lazily, exploring you like she’s got all the time in the world, like she wants to memorize every inch of you. “Wanna taste you forever,” she slurs, half to herself, her lips slick and glistening when she pulls back just enough to breathe. It’s torturous, the way she’s drawing it out, and it’s driving you insane.
You can’t take it anymore. Your hands shoot down, grabbing her face. Fingers tangling in her curls, thumbs pressing into her cheeks and you pull her closer, tilting your hips to grind yourself against her mouth.
She moans into you, the vibration making you cry out, and her eyes flick up to meet yours, dark and hazy. “God, you’re so desperate,” she says, her voice hoarse and teasing, lips curling into a smirk against your skin. “Using my face to get off. Fuck. It’s so hot, baby.”
Her words light you up, and you don’t stop. Can’t stop rocking against her, chasing that edge she’s been teasing out of you. Her tongue flattens, letting you take what you need, and her hands slide down to grip your thighs, spreading you wider.
She’s still sloppy, spit and your wetness mixing on her chin, but she’s loving it. Muttering encouragements between your thrusts, her breath hitching every time you pull her hair harder. “That’s it,” she gasps, “fuck my face, baby. Take what you want.”
You’re whining now, high-pitched and needy, the ticklish giggles long gone, replaced by raw, frantic want.
She’s giving herself to you, letting you use her, and the power of it. Her height, her strength, all surrendered to your grinding hips-pushes you closer and closer. Her eyes roll back again, like she’s lost in it too, and you feel her murmur against you, “Mine, all mine,” as you start to unravel.
Taylor pulls back from you before you get the chance to get off. You moan at the sudden cold you feel after her tongue leaves you. Her lips glistening and her chest heaving as she catches her breath. She leans down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that’s all heat and mess. Her tongue sweeping against yours, tasting yourself on her, and it makes your head spin.
She’s panting when she breaks away, her forehead resting against yours for a second, curls tickling your face. “Take that nightie off, baby,” she says, her voice low and commanding, still rough from everything she’s just done to you. “Get ready for me.”
You blink up at her, dazed and buzzing, your body still trembling from her mouth. “Ready for what?” you ask, voice small but curious, a little breathless yourself.
She smirks, wiggling her eyebrows in that playful, cocky way that’s so her. “It’s a surprise,” she says, and then she’s gone. Slipping off the bed and disappearing out the door, leaving you sprawled there, heart racing. You sit up, fumbling with the tulle nightie, peeling it over your head and tossing it to the floor.
You’re naked now, skin prickling in the cool air, anticipation curling tight in your stomach as you wait, wondering what she’s up to.
When she comes back, your breath catches. She’s standing in the doorway, all of her radiating confidence, a strap-on secured around her hips. The sight of it makes your heart race. You’ve never seen one up close. It sends a rush of heat through your entire body. Your cheeks flush, your thighs clench, and you feel warm all over, a mix of nerves and want crashing together. You’ve never done this before. Never been touched like this, never been strapped not until Taylor, not until tonight. But God, you want it. You want her.
She traded her oversized shirt for a black sports bra and her grey sweatpants have been replaced by the strap.
She steps closer, slow and deliberate, her eyes locked on you as you sit there, bare and waiting. “You like it?” she asks, voice dripping with that tired, teasing edge, and all you can do is nod, too flustered to speak. She chuckles, low and soft, climbing onto the bed. “Good girl.”
You move without thinking, drawn to her, it. Your hands reach out, tentative at first, brushing along the length of the strap. It’s smooth, cool against your fingers, and you lean in, pressing a shy kiss to the tip.
Taylor’s breath hitches above you, a sharp little sound that makes your stomach flip. Encouraged, you part your lips, taking it into your mouth. Slow at first, testing the weight of it, the feel of it against your tongue. It’s new, strange, but the way she’s looking down at you, curls falling into her face, eyes dark and intense, makes it feel right.
You start bobbing your head, finding a rhythm, your lips sliding down the shaft as you glance up at her through your lashes. Her breath stutters again, louder this time, and her hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing your jaw. “Fuck, baby,” she mutters, voice cracking slightly. “Look at you. So pretty with your mouth full.”
Her praise lights you up, and you take her deeper, hollowing your cheeks, batting your eyelashes like you’re putting on a show. Maybe you are. Years of streaming have taught you how to play it up, how to angle yourself just right, but this is different.
This is for her.
Her hips twitch, like she can feel it, and she groans, fingers tightening in your hair. “You’re a natural,” she says, half-laughing, half-awed, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine.
You pull back for a second, catching your breath, a thin string of spit connecting your lips to the strap. “I’ve never-” you start, voice shaky, but she cuts you off with a grin.
“Never what, love?” She tilts her head, all cocky and warm at once.
For some reason you immediately feel ashamed for being a virgin before this. You know you shouldn't. You remind yourself how special sex is meant to be. That you wouldn't trade this moment for anything and you couldn't imagine a better first time.
But you're also so scared. What if taylor expects you to be crazy in bed because of the camgirl thing and you can't give that to her?
What if you disappoint her?
As if she's reading your thoughts, her face softens. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”
Her hand slides to the back of your neck, guiding you back down, and you go willingly, eager to please her, to feel that hitch in her breath again.
You pull back from the strap again, lips slick and swollen, catching your breath as you look up at Taylor. She’s towering over you, her curls wild and framing her face, her chest rising and falling fast like she’s barely holding it together. You tilt your head, blinking innocently despite the heat in your cheeks, and ask, “Am I doing a good job?” Your voice is soft, almost oblivious, like you can’t see the way her hands are flexing, the way her jaw keeps clenching every time you take her deeper.
She lets out a shaky laugh, brushing a thumb across your bottom lip, smearing the wetness there. “Yeah, baby,” she says, her voice low and gravelly, thick with want. “You’re doing so good. Look like a fuckin’ angel down there, getting my cock all wet and ready for you.”
Her words hit you like a jolt, and you feel yourself clench, a fresh wave of heat pooling between your legs. You give her one last slow lick along the length of the strap, watching her eyes flutter, before she’s pulling you up with those strong hands.
“C’mere,” she mutters, guiding you back onto the bed. She lays you down gently, but there’s an edge to it. Her confidence, her need as she climbs over you, the strap swaying slightly with her movements. You’re trembling, naked and exposed under her, and when she lines it up, pressing the tip against you, your breath catches. She’s focused, eyes locked on where the toy meets your skin, and then she pushes in—slow, steady, but unrelenting.
A sharp gasp tears out of you, pain blooming as it stretches you. It stings, raw and unfamiliar, and you bite your lip hard to keep from crying out. Taylor doesn’t notice, too caught up in the sight of the strap disappearing into you, inch by inch. Her breath is ragged, her hands gripping your hips as she watches it slide in and out, slick and deliberate. “Fuck, baby,” she murmurs, almost to herself, “look at that. Taking me so well.”
The pain lingers for a moment, sharp and overwhelming, but then it starts to fade, melting into something else-something warm and pulsing. You shift your hips experimentally, testing, and the sting dulls, replaced by a growing ache, a need.
You look up at her, her face flushed and focused, eyes still glued to where she’s moving inside you, and you whisper, “Faster. Please, Taylor.”
Her gaze snaps up to meet yours, surprise flickering there, like she’s just now registering you’re fully with her. Then she grins, slow and wicked, and leans down, kissing you hard as her hips snap forward. The pace picks up, the strap thrusting deeper, faster, and you moan into her mouth, the sound swallowed by her lips.
The pain’s gone now, buried under waves of pleasure, and you wrap your legs around her, pulling her closer, needing more.
“So good for me,” she pants against your jaw, her voice breaking as she drives into you. “My little angel. Fuck, you feel perfect.”
Taylor shifts, her hands planting on either side of you as she presses down, her full weight sinking you deeper into the mattress. She’s all over you.
Muscle and heat pinning you in place, the strap moving faster, harder, filling you up until you can barely think. You cling to her, arms wrapping tight around her back, fingernails digging into the soft skin of her back as your head tips over her shoulder. Your vision blurs, stars bursting behind your eyes with every thrust, and you’re gasping, overwhelmed by her, by the way she’s claiming you.
Her mouth finds your neck, hot and relentless, leaving a trail of little bites and marks. Sharp nips that make you whimper, followed by soft kisses that soothe the sting. She’s marking you up, painting you with her, and it’s like she can’t get enough. “You’re mine,” she growls against your skin, her voice rough and possessive, vibrating through you. “Always have been. Fuck, baby, I can’t believe you’re letting me do this.”
You bite your lip, nodding against her shoulder, too dizzy to form full sentences. The words spill out anyway, shaky and raw: “I love you.”
It’s a confession, needy and unguarded, and you feel her falter for a split second, her rhythm stuttering before she recovers.
She pulls back just enough to look at you, her curls falling wild around her face, eyes dark and blown-out. A smirk tugs at her lips, sharp and filthy. “Of course you do,” she says, voice dripping with mockery and heat. “My little slut. Loving this, huh? Letting me fuck you like this?” She thrusts harder, punctuating her words, and you moan, loud and broken, your whole body trembling under her.
You nod again, frantic, clinging tighter as she presses you deeper into the bed. Her teeth graze your neck again, another mark blooming under her mouth, and she mutters, “Gonna keep you, baby. Forever. No one else gets this.”
Her weight, her words, the relentless push of the strap. It’s all too much, and you’re falling apart, stars still dancing in your vision as she takes you completely.
The world shatters around you, pleasure crashing through in waves as Taylor’s words and her relentless rhythm push you over the edge.
You come hard, a choked cry spilling from your lips as your body locks up beneath her, trembling uncontrollably. Your face is slick with sweat, strands of hair clinging to your forehead, and your big, brown eyes are wide, glassy with the aftershocks. You’re gasping for air, chest heaving, still pinned under her weight as she slows, the strap buried deep, her breath hot against your skin.
She looks down at you, her own face flushed and wild, curls a tangled halo around her head. In that moment, with your wide eyes and trembling lips, she thinks you look like a deer: fragile, caught, utterly hers.
She leans in, kissing you soft and slow as you come down, her lips gentle against your panting mouth. “Fuck, baby,” she whispers between kisses, voice hoarse and reverent. “I need you. You’re the best pussy I’ve ever had. My little princess.”
The words melt into you, soothing the raw edges of your high, and you whimper softly, still catching your breath as she eases out of you. The strap slips free, and she collapses beside you, pulling you into her arms without a second thought. Her body’s warm, solid, her back and the sports bra damp with sweat, and you curl into her, pressing your cheek against her chest.
Her heartbeat’s steady under your ear, grounding you as the world tilts back into focus.
Her arms tighten around you, one hand resting on your hip, the other splayed across your back. You reach for her fingers, tracing them with your own-thick and rough from years of guitar strings and hard work, your favorite part of her.
You love how they feel, how you finally know what it was like to have them all over you. You play with them absently, threading your smaller fingers through hers, feeling the calluses, the strength, as she starts to drift off. Her breathing slows, soft little huffs against your hair, and you can tell she’s slipping into sleep.
“Love you,” she mumbles one last time, barely audible, her grip loosening but still holding you close. You keep playing with her fingers, a quiet smile tugging at your lips, until your own eyes grow heavy. The warmth of her, the weight of her arm, the roughness of her hands. It all lulls you under, and you fall asleep tangled up in her, safe and spent.