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“It’s very interesting, the R Corp tech. And as you know, Faust has no way of investigating it in-depth.”
“So you’re asking for me to be your guinea pig.”
“Yes.” Faust was extremely direct, as she always was with matters that didn’t concern herself. Ishmael scoffed. The idea of being her little test subject pissed her off. Faust’s ego was inflated enough—she hardly needed Ishmael’s assistance in making it bigger.
“Sure, why not.” Hey. Hey. What the hell? Why was she agreeing? That certainly was not the rational decision she had intended to make; what was the reason? Faust was not a particularly fun person to be around, so it couldn’t be that. She always had something to talk about, but it’d be a one-sided conversation, and Ishmael rarely cared to listen to her scientific lectures. She couldn’t gain any information from helping Faust, so it couldn’t be that either. After all, Ishmael was the one here who knew more in regards to the Fourth Pack’s technology.
Maybe… Faust was just interesting. She was always distant, but in a way that kind of drew you in. Ishmael hated to admit it, but she wanted to know more about her, break past that stoic facade of hers and see her actually act like a person for once. She had a feeling though that if she pushed past all those layers to find the truth inside, she’d be met with… just nothing. But she was quite nice to look at. Ishmael was never the kind of person to know anything about skincare, but even she could tell that Faust’s skin was on another level, clear but… bright? Dewy? What the hell did those kinds of people say to describe it? Anyway, her face was round, but her features angular, creating a pleasing contrast. And her hair was pretty, and every time she truly properly looked at Ishmael she could feel herself melt a little bit—
God, she’s a fucking disaster. Ishmael pushed those thoughts away. Best to deal with them later, meaning ideally never. Faust gestured to the edge of her bed, and Ishmael sat there. She’d been helping with her migraines for a while now, so they’d developed a sort of wordless song-and-dance. Faust sat on the bed as well, shuffling into position behind Ishmael.
“The horns are connected to the brain, and convert regular brainwaves into electric waves, yes?” Faust’s voice was airy and flat, as usual. Ishmael nodded. At the tip, Faust seemed to whisper to herself, and Ishmael jumped at the feeling of a finger on the tip of one of her horns.
“Hey, what the hell’s with that.” Ishmael didn’t even make it a rhetorical question, allowing no room for avoidance.
“Does it hurt?” Faust pressed her finger to the tip again. Ishmael’s breath hitched.
“No, it…” She couldn’t say the truth. At least, not this fast. “It’s fine.” Faust began to apply pressure, making her gasp.
“…Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Turn around. I want to make sure I’m not causing any unnecessary pain.” Shit. Shit! Ishmael resigned herself, and obeyed. Faust stared at her, observing the dusting of pink on her cheeks. She blinked slowly, like a cat, and hummed to herself in contemplation. “Interesting. Faust knows you don’t react like this to all physical contact against your antlers, so what’s different?” She’s insufferable, Ishmael thought. She looked away, suddenly very interested in the blank wall next to them.
Clearing her throat, she mumbles it out as if it’s just a cough. “It’s because it’s you.”
“Pardon?”
“You heard me.”
“I see.” I see. What kind of response was that?! Ishmael’s indignation quickly was interrupted when Faust trailed her fingertip up and down her antler, unable to stifle a whine at the sensation. Shit. Ishmael bit down on her tongue, scrambling to get her self control back together. Faust spoke up: “Don’t try to stop your noises. They’re…” She trailed off, narrowing her eyes, as if she’s doubting her own words. “Charming.”
Sure, whatever that means. Has she ever complimented someone? Like, on anything? Nonetheless, the tips of Ishmael’s ears burned red as she stared at Faust, wide-eyed, caught in the headlights of her thorough attention. They’d been messing around with each other for some time now, but Faust had never said anything nice-adjacent to her like that. It had all been expressionless teasing trying to dig under Ishmael’s skin; this served the same purpose too, but it startled her. Hand positioned at the bottom, Faust massaged the area of Ishmael’s scalp around the horn, and Ishmael shivered, mouth opening wordlessly. Her thumb rubbed against the base of the appendage, and desperation crawled up Ishmael’s chest, letting out a little ah at the feeling.
“Is that good?”
“Yeah,” Ishmael breathed, trying (and failing) to hide how affected she was. Though her head was tilted down in embarrassment, she could feel the other woman’s eyes on her, pinned under her scrutiny. The bed creaked as Faust moved. The motions of her occupied hand continued, bringing up her free hand to steady herself on Ishmael’s shoulder and push her downwards. Faust’s tongue licked up the tip of her other antler, causing Ishmael to yelp and jolt away. Electricity was coursing through her body, making her feel hot all over.
They stared at each other for a while like that: Faust’s face near-imperceptibly blushing, and Ishmael frozen, flush spreading down her neck. Faust, who had been kneeling, began to crawl towards Ishmael. She started to panic.
“Tell me what you want, Ishmael.” What was she supposed to say? Humiliation burned inside her. This was ridiculous. She covered her face with her hand and looked away.
“…More. Please.”
“If you want more, I can’t have you running away like that. Not that you can’t change your mind, of course.”
“I’ll… I can handle it,” Ishmael mumbled, which was not very convincing, but nonetheless showed she was willing to continue.
Faust, seeming quite pleased with herself, moved to hang her legs off the side of the bed. “Lay down.”
Ishmael did as she was told, and Faust straddled her, sitting on top of her lap. How many times by now had they found themselves in this position? How many times would they continue to do so? That train of thought was cut off by Faust’s hand cupping Ishmael’s face, gently. It had an affection to it that wasn’t present in their prior encounters. She moved in and bit Ishmael’s lower lip before kissing her. Faust’s tongue was in her mouth already, making Ishmael’s head spin. To feel her warmth all over, being underneath her like this—it made her mind go blank. And when Faust’s other hand moved to rub at one of her antlers again, she moaned, loud and needy, arching her back up to get even the slightest bit closer to Faust. Speaking of—she had separated, sitting back with upright posture, and Ishmael was overwhelmed with desperation for more. She wanted Faust to let go of her inhibitions, pin Ishmael down and be rough with her, wanted to be entirely at her mercy. She craved the heady drug of pure submission, all at Faust’s control.
Faust’s hand that had been on Ishmael’s face trailed down her neck and chest, feather-light touches making her tremble as she continued down her abdomen. At her lower stomach, Faust paused to trace side to side, knowing Ishmael was more sensitive there. Ishmael squirmed underneath her, whimpering.
“…You’re feeling needy, aren’t you?”
“You’re the one who wanted to toy with me.”
“That doesn’t mean Faust knew the effect it’d have on you.”
“This happens every time we come here, one way or another!”
“Hm.” Faust paused, contemplating. “Maybe you’re just needy all the time.” Ishmael punched her in the thigh. Faust seemed amused. She was easy to tease, as usual. Leaning back down, she licked all the way up the length of an antler. Ishmael keened and grabbed onto Faust’s hips in desperation, raising her own to meet them in tandem. Insufferably smug, she moved down to nip at the shell of Ishmael’s ear. “Clingy too?” Faust continued down to her neck. All she could do was squirm and gasp when Faust bit hard, soothing the skin by sucking on it.
“Faust, please…” Ishmael whined, hands gripping at the canvas-like material of Faust’s uniform. Her hands traveled down to unbuckle Ishmael’s belt for her, continuing to leave marks on her neck. Helpless, Ishmael tilted her head to the side to allow for better access. Faust liked observing the way her muscles tensed in reaction to stimulation, finding what made her flinch or melt into her touch. Ishmael was fun to toy with, or play like an instrument, that was all. And if sometimes Faust felt something twist in her chest when Ishmael said her name like that, it wasn’t something she let bother her. She didn’t have the time to concern herself with interpersonal relationships like that. Definitely not, she told herself, sitting back to unzip her work-issued jumpsuit. Ishmael blinked, unmoving. She was a smart woman, so why couldn’t she pick up on cues in moments like this? Was that really just how strong of an effect Faust had on her?
“Undress.” …And at her prompting, Ishmael did so. Sitting up, she lifted her shirt over her head. She certainly had a nice body. Faust shifted off of her lap to allow for easier movement. She couldn’t help but stare at her bare arms, and her shoulders, and her abdomen—every part of her body was toned, with a smattering of freckles across her shoulders and chest, and miscellaneous scars all over. Overall, she was obscenely attractive. From an objective standpoint, of course.
And Ishmael was staring at Faust as well. The bra she had on… was cute. For some reason, this was something Ishmael couldn’t get past. Pale pink and lacy, the thought that she wore something like this while doing her work… it was endearing, somehow. It was just a normal bra; it wasn’t particularly impractical. Still, she found the fact that Faust was the kind of person who owned something like that charming. Moving on, she was gorgeous. Not as rough as Ishmael, all soft edges and curves. Less scars, as well—if W Corp employees had any augmentation procedures on them, they must’ve been discreet and well done. She must have lived a less labor-intensive life prior to becoming a Feather, too. Ishmael took Faust’s wrist, pulling her back in and kissing her hungrily. She bit her lip hard, and Faust let out a little squeak. Desperate to hear more, Ishmael unclasped her bra, one hand settling to grab her waist and the other pinching her nipple. Faust whined into Ishmael’s mouth, and promptly pushed back. Her usually unreadable face was more expressive than usual—she was mortified. Shame burned hot inside her, and she was frantic to regain control. After properly shrugging off her bra, Faust tilted up Ishmael’s chin, positioning her thumb at her lower lip.
“Open up,” Faust ordered, back to her cold and calculating act. Ishmael immediately faltered; her proverbial upper hand had practically been smacked away, from Faust’s demand as well as the sight of her bare chest.
“Has anyone told you you’re insufferable?” She was glaring, but it was obvious that she’d do as told—just not until she had made a snarky comment. Already embarrassed, she closed her eyes and opened her mouth.
“Does it upset you that you’re not the first?” Faust seemed quite pleased with herself as she pressed down on Ishmael’s tongue, prying her jaw wider open. Sneaking underneath the muscle, she prodded at the sensitive floor of her mouth, toying with the web of her tongue. Ishmael’s breathing hitched, trembling hands moving to grasp at Faust’s thighs. “You really do drool a lot, don’t you?” Unable to reply, Ishmael whimpered.
Faust removed her thumb, placing her index and middle fingers inside instead. “Close.” She obeyed, sucking on her digits. It amused Faust how much this affected her. How much had Ishmael fantasized about this since they had first done it? (She conveniently ignored the amount of times she thought about it herself.) Ishmael was somehow blushing more than before, which was almost impressive. Faust’s other hand scratched lightly at the nape of her neck. “Good,” she whispered, and the noise of Ishmael’s stifled moan vibrated around Faust’s fingers. She seemed to be weak to praise, though she was coy about it. Faust pushed to the back of the wet heat of her mouth, feeling Ishmael’s throat tighten on reflex to try and push them out. Cute. Faust pushed again. She gagged again, but obediently stayed in place. “Do you like being used like this?” Ishmael, once again, punched her harshly in the thigh. That seems to have struck a nerve, she thought, taking mental note of it. She removed her fingers, nonchalantly wiping her wet hand on Ishmael’s chest, much to her displeasure. “Lay down again,” Faust said, “I’m not done with your mouth yet.” Ishmael gives her a quizzical look—an awfully ominous statement—doing it anyway. In the corner of her vision, Faust was shifting around in a way that suggested she was probably taking off her underwear. Ishmael panicked. She was by no means inexperienced, so why did Faust make her so nervous? Assuming she should make the grounds a bit more even, Ishmael took off her bra and tossed it to the side. Faust crawled back over to her and lifted Ishmael’s head up to her chest. Eagerly she began to suck, and Faust sighed, fingers tangling into Ishmael’s hair. She rolled her nipple between her teeth, and Faust moaned. Moving upwards, Ishmael bit down hard and sucked, latching onto the skin for an extended amount of time. Faust was panting, pushing her head closer, hot breath tickling Ishmael’s scalp. She pulled back, admiring the dark bruise that started to bloom on that infuriatingly perfect skin.
Ishmael looked up at Faust, smirking. “You like being treated rough?” Her teasing was met with ignorance as Faust repositioned herself, straddling over Ishmael’s face. …Not even going to reply. Well, it’s not like it was necessary. She turned to one of Faust’s thighs, kissing and nipping at the skin there. Faust was warm and soft all over, she thought. Strong, but not hardened from a lifetime of heavy physical labor like Ishmael. She moved her head to lick from Faust’s entrance up to her clit, and heard a whine when she began to suck on it. A quiver set in Faust’s thighs; Ishmael’s hands crept up to hook around them and bring them down onto her face properly. Faust lost her balance and yelped, one hand landing behind her, and the other landing on one of Ishmael’s antlers. Ishmael moaned against Faust, and circled her tongue in a way that had the other woman trembling, hand rubbing the tip of Ishmael’s antler with her thumb. She began to grind against Ishmael’s mouth, head falling to the side and panting. So she’d only allow herself to be vulnerable like this if she’s still in control, Ishmael thought. If it was really that rare, she might as well make it worth her while. Ishmael dragged the flat of her tongue up, working her way under the hood to where she was most sensitive, and doubling her prior efforts there.
“Ah— there, Ishmael, mmh, that’s— ah, good,” Faust’s voice rose in volume and pitch, desperate to encourage Ishmael. Her hand was entirely wrapped around Ishmael’s antler now, gripping hard, and the sensation of that combined with the fact that Faust was unraveling like this because of her… it was intoxicating. Faust’s thighs clamped around her head. Ishmael tried to continue what had elicited positive reactions so far, licking and sucking as Faust continued to roll her hips, whining and spewing incoherent praises as she did so. Every noise she made sent another ripple of white-hot need through Ishmael’s body, encouraging her to continue. She savored the feeling of being used for Faust’s pleasure, eager to satisfy her expectations.
The movements of her hips started to become sloppy and desperate. Faust was barely keeping it together, slack-jawed and hands shaky. Her uncontrollable noises were humiliating, but the humiliation was thrilling, shame and desire twisting together inside her. Ishmael was diligent and unrelenting, continuing at the same high intensity. Faust’s head was going blank, unable to think about anything except how good it felt, and how badly she wanted more. Her other hand, which had been balancing herself behind her, grabbed onto Ishmael’s scalp, digging her fingers in. Ishmael hummed underneath her. It was tragic that Faust couldn’t properly pull on her hair without giving her a migraine. She’d love to do it and make Ishmael yelp and tear up—the thought of it excited her more. Ishmael dragged the flat of her tongue up her clit, eliciting a needy moan that trailed into a whimper when Ishmael sucked. Her legs trembled as she tried to press herself closer, needing more, mind clouding as she reached the edge.
The force of Faust’s orgasm crashed onto her, crying out Ishmael’s name as her entire body tensed up. Ishmael continued through her peak, gradually slowing down to bring Faust back to earth. Her breathing was heavy, and her body weak. Grabbing onto the meager headboard with both hands, Faust shifted off of Ishmael’s face, legs shaky and unstable. She sat there for a moment, overwhelmed. Ishmael needed a second to recharge as well, wiping her mouth off and massaging under the hinges of her jaw.
Looking at her lying there, Faust was hit once again with the urge to make her tremble and pant underneath her. She began to trail a hand up and down her side, like she was trying to soothe an animal. Ishmael’s eyes fluttered closed. Faust pinched her nipple, and Ishmael keened, back arching. Rolling the bud between her fingers made Ishmael’s hips lift up off the bed with a shaky sigh. Faust moved to straddle her thighs.
“Do you want Faust to use her mouth?” Faust asked, hand creeping underneath the waistband of Ishmael’s boxers. Her hips lifted up, trying to get closer to Faust’s touch.
“Yeah. Please,” she breathed, hand resting at the back of Faust’s neck. At the approval, she shifted backwards and laid on her stomach. She pushed Ishmael’s thighs open a bit for the sake of easier access, hands splayed over her hips, her hot breath through the fabric making Ishmael squirm. Faust guided Ishmael’s hips upwards, allowing for the removal of her underwear. Her breathing stuttered when Faust’s hand wrapped around her cock, thumb rubbing at the tip. Ishmael watched her as she moved her wrist with calculated even movements, tucking her hair behind her ear and gripping at the base. It occurred to Ishmael how pretty she looked even doing a casual gesture like adjusting her hair, but that thought quickly was interrupted by the feeling of Faust’s tongue.
Ishmael gasped and grabbed Faust’s hair, but let go shortly thereafter, worried about hurting her. Instead, she gripped at the sheets and let her head fall to the side, breathing hard. Faust dragged her tongue up along the length, long and slow and wet—it took a ridiculous amount of Ishmael’s willpower to stop herself from bucking her hips up directly into Faust’s mouth. The mental image of doing that, though, made her feel warm all over. She belittled herself for having such fragile self control that she could get worked up over a mere thought. At the tip, Faust swirled her tongue and Ishmael’s legs tensed up, and she let out a low shaky groan. She wasn’t even looking at Faust, but she could feel that infuriating self-satisfaction practically radiating. Ishmael grit her teeth in frustration, but her jaw fell loose again when Faust took her into her mouth.
When Faust reached the bottom and Ishmael was at the back of her throat, she paused, staying there for a moment. Ishmael turned back to her. Faust was making direct eye contact. The cloudy look in her eyes combined with her mouth made Ishmael’s whole body feel as if she were running a fever. Fuck. She really was gorgeous, even like this.
“God, you’re so…” Ishmael had begun to speak without thinking, but couldn’t finish that sentence without embarrassing herself. She covered her eyes with her hand. Being kept in stasis like this was dangerous, made her think things she’d rather not. She shifted her hips and groaned weakly.
Faust drew back. “You can be rough if you want,” she commented, tone casual as if this were small talk with a stranger.
“So you do like a bit of pain, yeah?” Ishmael once again was ignored, Faust choosing to reply by taking all of her in her mouth. Ishmael’s hand carded through Faust’s hair before gripping at the back of her head. Experimentally, she pulled Faust’s head back, eliciting a muffled moan. Ishmael pushed Faust all the way down as her hips moved up, careful not to start too intense.
Having Faust in her hands like this… Ishmael couldn’t stop herself from getting drunk on power. She savored the feeling of control, bringing Faust’s head back before slamming her hips upwards, her nails scrabbling against Ishmael’s thighs. “You told me I could do this, but you weren’t very ready, huh? Cute.”
Frustration simmered inside Faust. She gives up her lead for a second, and Ishmael’s already giving her an attitude! It was working, though. This kind of confidence was something she rarely showed. Her head was spinning from oxygen deprivation, and she must’ve been delirious from it, because she loved when Ishmael pulled on her hair again, whimpering around her cock. Before she could breathe in through her nose, Ishmael pushed her all the way down again, and the edges of Faust’s vision blurred. She felt truly and thoroughly used, and she tried to ignore how she adored it. She couldn’t stop herself from making little noises as Ishmael began to fuck her throat, wet sounds of her own mouth echoing in her ears. It was obscene, filthy… it made her legs feel weak, even when laying down like this. Ishmael gave her a moment to breathe.
Faust’s eyes were bleary and red-rimmed, and excess saliva was dripping down her chin. She was blushing and panting open-mouthed, hair mussed up, and Ishmael felt need burn inside her. Faust was already pretty, but the sight of her like this, disheveled and used… it was…
Ishmael ran her fingers through Faust’s hair, scratching at the nape of her neck. She felt a sense of indignation at being treated like a pet, but it was soothing. She gathered the spit in her mouth and drooled onto Ishmael’s cock, relishing in the way something in Ishmael’s gaze darkened. Her fist was back in Faust’s hair again and her hips snapped upwards into her. Faust gagged, throat tightening in a futile attempt to clear the space there. Ishmael whined at the sensation, pressing Faust closer into her body though there was very little space left between them.
Ishmael’s breathing had become erratic, and she was desperate to chase after her own pleasure, rutting into Faust’s mouth like some kind of untrained animal. Idly she thought that Ishmael would look cute with a collar around her neck. Though she had been acting tough a moment ago, she was a needy little thing now, letting out small whimpers and swearing under her breath.
Her voice became shakier and her thrusts more intense, desperate to push Faust closer and closer and closer into her and, with a strangled moan, her body tensed up and she came in Faust’s mouth, hips weakly squirming to ride through the aftershocks.
Once clarity dawned on her, she realized what she had done.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry, I should’ve warned you—” Ishmael stammered as Faust moved to sit back up again. She inhaled sharply through gritted teeth when Faust grabbed onto one of her antlers hard, the stimulation overwhelming her in her post-orgasm hypersensitivity. She moaned shakily when Faust used that grip to pull her in close so they were face to face. At this distance, Ishmael could see how dilated Faust’s pupils were. Her other hand tipped Ishmael’s chin up, and she kissed her. It was gentle at first, and once Ishmael relaxed into it, Faust’s tongue entered her mouth, with… something else. When Ishmael tasted it and realized it was her own cum, she whimpered a bit—the debauchery of the act was dizzying, and in that haze, she swallowed without complaint. One of her hands moved to Faust’s waist, and the other went to her chest, thumb brushing over her nipple. Faust moaned into her and rubbed her antler again. Ishmael melted into the touch, trembling from the overstimulation. She was beginning to run out of oxygen, but continued to kiss Faust, possessed by a desire to please her. Breathlessly Ishmael licked into her mouth, and Faust let out a little squeak before drawing back, hazy-eyed and panting. Her lips were glossy with spit, chin still messy. Ishmael, without thinking, wiped the excess saliva away for her.
They sat there, staring at each other, both spent from all the energy they had used.
Ishmael broke the silence. “…Well, did you learn anything?”
“The beauty of experimentation is that there is always more to be learned.”