#Mission Impossible Dead Reckoning Part One | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jolenes-doppelganger · 7 months ago

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Gentle Hands (Part Three)

Stalker Ilsa Faust x Fem! Reader

NSFW 18+- MINORS WHO INTERACT CAN AND WILL BE BLOCKED.

Summary: Fights, make-ups, another fight, a badly arranged foreplay and cameras. What does good for Ilsa really look like? And what cost does it come at?

Warnings: Allusions to a physical fight between R and Ilsa, angst, losing Mario Kart because of Toad, brief panty sniffing (Ilsa you creep), bad foreplay that results in hurt feelings (brief), consensual SMUT (oral Ilsa recieving, masturbation via partner (Ilsa touches R), sweet talking, breast fondling, Ilsa being a creep with cameras).

A/N: Took a break mid-smut sequence to complete tasks for the big green bird. He is sated (for now).

Word Count: 5.4k (Eat up gremmies)

It had been a week since Ilsa had abducted you. Ilsa, not Lisa. She insisted that you call her by her ‘correct’ name now that it was just the two of you. Ilsa was horrendously efficient at erasing your past life. She sent in your urgent notice of resignation the morning after she’d taken you into her apartment. She’d also installed brand new locks inside your home, all electronic, finger-print coded locks. They were high-tech, you couldn’t fake it with a thumb print on a piece of tape. She allowed you to move between her house and your home, mostly to move your things into her town home. You were never allowed outside without her knowledge. You also couldn’t open any windows without an alarm going off. Every single exit in the home was barred, and every single moment of your life was spent with Ilsa.

“Darling, can you make us a cup of tea?” Ilsa asked, brow furrowed as she cracked into another bank account.

Ilsa’s new hobby was re-establishing her wire transfer network. By this point you knew she was a former intelligence operative, or more likely a seasoned criminal. She had connections and skills that didn’t make sense otherwise. Your new hobby was Mario Kart and baking. You cooked incessantly, as it was the only thing that felt ‘normal’. That and making lattes. You could really only make two for yourself in a day. Ilsa wasn’t fond of you increasing your caffeine intake more than what she deemed ‘healthy’. She was so fond of ‘healthy’ endeavours. So you worked out with her in the mornings. She was teaching you how to box. It was therapeutic, getting to take out all of your frustrations on the person who was the root of them. Mostly. Ilsa had a nasty habit of getting too into it and treating you too roughly.

“Darling?”

“Sorry, yeah. I’m on it.”

You moved into the kitchen, turning the kettle on and preparing the two mugs. Ilsa liked her coffee bland. Cream. Zero sugar. In Ilsa’s mind, sugar was the devil. Mostly because she made up for it in alcohol. With the cup of black tea with just a splash of cream, Ilsa was back at work. You left her side, hoping to skip out on the mandatory ‘morning couple time’.

‘Ah, ah. Not so fast. You come back here.” Ilsa chuckled.

You sat back down next to her.

“Why so frigid, hmm? Come, sit in my lap for a bit.” Ilsa gave a sly smirk.

You remained put, and Ilsa sighed, giving a playful pout.

“You’re no fun.”

Crossing your arms and ignoring her comments felt like second-nature at this point. You were upset with her, as was reasonably so. She’d abducted you and disconnected you from the outside world. It was infuriating, watching her snip off the connections you had to society, to your family bit by carefully timed bit. But last night was the worst. Your Mom had called. You’d tried to send her some sort of message that things weren’t fine, that you were being held against your will, but Ilsa wouldn’t have it.

‘Are you still upset about Bella?”

At the sound of her name, the cat let out a soft ‘meh’ sound, stretching out her fur-encased arms.

“Why wouldn’t I be? Holding a knife to my cat’s throat? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Isa sighed softly, giving you a soft glance that said, ‘I know, I know’. Her eyebrow and lip were still taped up.

“I paid for it, I knew that it wasn’t fair to you, and I paid for it.”

Moreso, she’d let you hit her. You’d lost count of how many punches you’d given before she finally restrained you. There was a bruise on one of your knuckles. You didn’t feel vindicated, the contrary. Hitting her felt weak. She was stronger than you, quicker, skilled in a thousand ways that you weren’t, and she’d taken the punches until she deemed that it was enough.

“I’m angry.” you huffed. “Why couldn’t you have used a different method.”

“Like what? Holding a knife to your throat? We both know I’d never mean it. I couldn’t intentionally harm you, but if it came down to it, I’d do a lot of awful things to keep you around.”

“I thought you liked Bella!”

“I do, princess, I do. It’s just that I needed you to not raise suspicion.” Ilsa sighed.

“Yeah, not tell the fucking truth about what’s going on.” you spat back.

“I know you don’t like this life, but I have given so much to ensure it’s better than your old-”

“Better how? It was my life before! Mine! It wasn’t perfect, but at least I was working towards a better future with honest work!”

Ilsa laughed.

“Oh, and what I do isn’t honest?”

“I don’t steal.”

“No, you were stolen from. You were spending hours working one of the most difficult, draining jobs for sub-par pay and zero safety net aside from the government’s shitty one.” Ilsa scoffed. “I steal, sure. But it’s from people who steal from people like you. And I steal a small amount from a lot of wicked, evil people. And I’m using it to protect something good.”

“Exhausting, isn’t it.”

“Oh come off it.” Ilsa groaned.

“Your personal fable is maintained at the cost of morality-”

“Do you really think I have what society considers to be ‘morals’?” Ilsa cut you off.

“No.”

“Then stop wasting your time. You’re upset, you’re angry, and I’m not doing anything to make it better. You’re not getting your old life back, accept it and move on.”

Ilsa reached for her desk, grabbing a cherry vape and inhaling slowly. She pushed out a series of rings, momentarily focusing on vape tricks.

“I’m not in the mood for couple time.”

You made it about three paces out of the office before Ilsa’s arms were around your waist and restraining you. She pulled you back into her office, attaching a handcuff from her chair to your wrist.

“This is supposed to make me hate you any less?”

“Forced proximity does wonders for the mind.” Ilsa mused, taking another hit off of her vape.

“So Stockholm syndrome?”

Ilsa chuckled, reaching over to ruffle your hair.

“The academic.”

You rolled your eyes.

“And look where it got me? Working at a damn coffee shop.”

Ilsa hummed, amused by the interaction.

“You know what you need?”

“My freedom.” you cracked back.

“Day drinking.” Ilsa rolled her eyes. “This little mood swing would just fade away with some alcohol.”

“I’m not getting drunk so you can fuck me.”

The former agent groaned, turning off her computer. She wouldn’t deny it. She did want that, but not while you were intoxicated. She had some morals.

“I can’t work in such a hostile work environment.”

“Wasn’t your entire thing working in hostile environments?” you smirked, poking at her ex-operative past.

“And I’d never go back.” Ilsa sighed.

She was nice enough to unfasten your cuff, giving you free reign, or so you thought.

“No, no, no.” Ilsa chided, pulling you back into her body. “You and I are going to do something fun.”

You were out of one-liners at this point. In all honesty, it was exhausting being angry with her. That’s all you were, angry with her. She led you through the kitchen, and then she opened the door to the garden. It was a decent day, but chilly. Ilsa shoved a sweatshirt over your head, which you begrudgingly put on all the way. The fresh air felt good.

“Bella, goddammit!” Ilsa swore, the fat tuxedo evading the dirty blonde before she could catch her once more.

“Just let her outside. She deserves it as much as I do.”

Ilsa sighed, shaking her head.

“Only because you’re upset with me.”

“Kills you, doesn’t it?” you snarked back on instinct.

But the barbed jab you expected in return never came. There was just silence, which Ilsa broke by clearing her throat. You’d inadvertently hit the nail on the head. She was upset, and she was anxious. You’d forgotten how much she did care. Ilsa didn’t just abduct someone because she could. She wasn’t a ‘because I can’ person. And the arguments you’d been having all morning, all week really, they were upsetting.

“I’m not going to feel bad just because you’re playing the victim card.”

“Stop. Just fucking stop.” Ilsa’s voice broke. “Get your ass back inside.”

“Ilsa, I’m-”

“No, nope. Inside.”

You walked inside the house, shutting the door behind you. You never did get a good glance at Ilsa’s face, but you didn’t need to. Through the screen door, you saw her slump to her knees on the back door steps, and her shoulders heaved. And there was that guilt again. Bella had slunk inside with you again, pawing at the door in confusion.

“I can’t let you out.” you whispered.

“Meh.” she protested.

“It was your own fault, you should’ve stayed outside.”

The walk upstairs to yours and Ilsa’s room felt a lot harder than was reasonable. You knew that it wasn’t all that rational to feel guilty about tormenting someone who was equally, if not exceeding you in torment. But you could empathise with her pain. She was doing a lot for you. And even though you couldn’t go outside without her, even leave the garden, she was doing a lot for you. The food in the fridge, you didn’t pay for. The furniture and games you wound down with hadn’t been out of your pocket, and the skills she was teaching you, the boxing, the german, the little tricks for hacking, those were all things she’d given you for nothing much, other than a few small requests.

Out of the second story hallway window, you could see Ilsa leaving the garden, slipping into her Benz. She’d be gone for hours, probably. And your time felt… Hollow. Mario Kart was repetitive and infuriating. Language learning with help from the green bird didn’t amount to shit, even with Ilsa’s super membership. Nothing you did was fulfilling. So you did as your cat did, slumping into the bed and taking a nap. But still, that didn’t feel right. With great mortification and a small degree of realised irony, you picked up Ilsa’s pillow and buried your face into it. Then, and only then, did you sleep.

<->

Ilsa didn’t do anything but drive. She ended up in a farmer’s field, sitting behind a hedge and just fucking fuming. She was mad. Mad at herself, mad at you, mad at her life. In another life she could have pursued you normally. In another life where she could walk into a supermarket at rush hour without fear of an anxiety episode, she could have struck up a conversation with you there. But she wasn’t normal. And so she’d resort to abnormal methods to get you, because something with you was better than nothing.

“Bella, you silly girl.” Ilsa sighed as she walked into the house, blocking the fat tuxedo from getting out.

It was quiet, too quiet for Ilsa’s tastes. She rushed through the house, looking for you in every room until she eventually burst into the bedroom. You were curled up, sleeping. Ilsa slumped against the doorframe, letting out an audible sigh of relief. And… Was that her pillow? Jesus Christ, you were precious. Ilsa took off her shoes and her overcoat. She was wet from the rain, so everything came off, aside from underwear and a sports bra. Slipping into bed with you felt so right. Ilsa needed that physical contact with you, and she’d sneak it where she could. The pillow was replaced by her arms, a delicate act of shifting. You smelled so good to Ilsa.

“Oh… Princess.” Ilsa whispered, almost ready to cry again.

This week had been the most infuriating week of her life. You almost never touched Ilsa, unless it was in a boxing set-up. Training you had been a lovely way to break tension. She could guide your posture, adjusting your body with her hands. Showers were the best thing for Ilsa. She’d let you finish up a few exercises while she showered, using the head to relieve the ceaseless aching that came when she was too close to you for too long. And the emotional whiplash. Ilsa was fatigued of the constant bickering, arguing and overall tension between the two of you; not the sexy kind. Drugging you again was a thought that flicked through her head daily. Just long enough to cuddle you, to breathe in the smell of your skin without the threat of you waking up.

“Mmph.” she heard you softly complain.

You shifted your body, wiggling deeper into her arms. With every exhale, your breath would ghost over her neck and it was driving her insane.

“Princess, don’t tease, I know-”

“Shut up.” you mumbled, clumsily pawing at her face to get her to stop talking.

Ilsa let out a startled laugh. She’d forgotten you were a light sleeper.

“Shh… Let me sleep.” you continued to complain.

Ilsa rolled her eyes, holding you closer, half-listening to your complaints.

“Let me hold you.”

And this time you didn’t push her off. She was warm, body temperature raised from her run, or wherever she’d been. She smelled like hay, for whatever reason. Bella, sensing the cuddle puddle, hopped up on the bed, sniffing around the two of you, turning about four or five times before she slumped into the bed, yawning.

“Are you still upset with me?” Ilsa eventually asked.

“A little.” you admitted. “It would be hard not to be. I don’t like feeling guilty for making you upset.”

“Because you want to hurt me for what I’m doing to you?”

You let a frustrated sigh. When she put it like that, it made you sound like an asshole. It was complicated.

“I don’t like that I can feel myself starting to like you. Because you’re not mean, you don’t hurt me, and you take so much of my shit. I’d be lucky to find someone like you, but you’ve taken my entire life.”

Ilsa hummed, shifting you in her arms. She took another deep breath, and you felt her thigh graze your pant leg.

“Are you just in a bra and panties? Seriously?”

And just like that, whatever understanding you were going to reach disappeared. She was a constant voyeur. When you baked, when you read, and you suspected when you were changing. You’d never seen one of the cameras, but you were sure they were there somewhere. Hence you hadn’t been masturbating at all. It was infuriating, the lead up to your period didn’t make it too difficult, but still. A week with nothing?

“Hey, hey, hey.” Ilsa sat up, trying to pull you back. “Stay on the bed, I’ll go change. My clothes were wet, Jesus Christ.”

Ilsa grabbed a change of clothes, shutting the bathroom door behind her. She stripped completely, mumbling something under her breath about ‘not catching a damn break’. That’s when she saw them. You never left your clothes out anymore, shoving them in the hamper. You were religious about home cleanliness with nothing else to do, so most laundry was collected and washed. You’d left your panties out after your morning shower, probably because you still had Bella on your mind.

“I think I’m just going to take a shower, my hair’s all wet.” Ilsa called from inside the bathroom.

“Yeah, whatever.” you called back.

Ilsa turned on the shower, stepping in the water for a moment, then stepping right back out. She needed her body wet to maintain the lie, long enough for her to enjoy the remnants left in your panties.

“Oh my.” Ilsa whispered to herself.

Her body heated up almost immediately, nasty thought after more damnable nasty thought flicking through her head. She wanted to pin you to the bed so badly. What would you smell like at the source? And the taste? How rich it would be, how debaucherous and unsoiled. Not these cloth remnants. She dropped the cloth garment to the floor, staggering back into the shower. She needed to focus, to breathe, to run her fingers over the dripping wet seam between her labia. It wasn’t enough. When had this stopped being enough?

<->

You hadn’t seen Ilsa since she’d gotten in the shower. You were fully awake by the time she had left the bed, and there was no sense hanging around. Not for her, anyways. By this point in the mid-afternoon, day drinking seemed excusable. So you slipped into the basement and found one of Ilsa’s wine bottles. You weren’t a wine drinker. Especially dark wines. But alcohol was alcohol. A glass of wine and Mario Kart on a weekday afternoon? The lap of luxury, truly.

“Hey.” you heard a breathy sigh near your ear.

“Hi Ilsa. I’m busy.”

The woman sat next to you. She smelled nice. Vanilla cashmere lotion. How long had she been grooming for? Not that you cared.

“Can you be a little less busy for me?” Ilsa asked.

You turned, looking at her full on as you paused the game. You opened your mouth to snark at her, but she looked… Good. Her hair was a little damp and she’d taken pains to get herself clean.

“Umm, what is this about?” you gestured to her sweats that were just a little too tight.

Ilsa took a deep breath in.

“I want to spend some time with you. Do you mind if I pour myself a glass of wine?”

“It’s your house and your wine, don’t ask me for permission.” you shrugged.

Ilsa chuckled, a breathy sound. What was up with her. You didn’t care, you just unpaused the game, returning to the high stakes race that was ‘Rainbow Road’. Ilsa busied herself, pouring herself a glass of wine. She settled beside you, eyeing the glass of wine you’d barely touched.

“I keep thinking…” Ilsa whispered in your ear. “About that night you came over with my friends…”

She was distracting, and you had to fight to stay on course.

“Ilsa, please, I’m trying to get a trophy right now.”

Ilsa had other plans. Better plans. Plans that involved you paying attention to her. So she scooted closer, using the distraction of your hands on the switch controller to place her hands on your waist.

“Just wait, I’m almost fini-”

The former spy leaned in, her mouth meeting your neck. Wet, sinful kisses placed one after the other on your rapidly accelerating pulse, tongue slipping out just past her lips, tracing lines and patterns over the sensitive skin.

“I can’t get your taste out of my mouth, I can’t unhear your little moans.” Ilsa whispered, a distinct reediness to her voice, like she was speaking with a sore throat.

“I have one more lap, please, Ilsa.” you groaned, searching for anything to get away from the woman, even briefly.

But was it her you were trying to get away from, or yourself? You couldn’t deny how hot it had been to makeout with her, how sexy and commanding she had been. And her hands were slipping lower, squeezing and releasing your hips in time with those kisses trailing up your neck, to your jaw, to your ear.

“You said you didn’t do hookups, but I think we can both agree that it wouldn’t be a one time thing.”

There was a lump in your throat. You had to cough to dislodge it. You were in first, you could let down your guard for a-

“Fucking toad!” you growled, all of your senses back in gear to win rainbow road.

“Toad can wait.” Ilsa growled.

She swung her leg over your lap, settling her pelvis in the space created by your crossed legs. This time her mouth was hungry, nipping, sucking licking. Over your neck, your jaw, biting and sucking your earlobe into your mouth. The grip on the controller grew lax, and you shut your eyes, not even caring that it caused your car to slip off the race track right before the finish line.

“I’m listening, I’m listening, Jesus.” you swore.

Ilsa looked into your eyes, nibbling on her lip with mixed desire and anxiety.

“One night.” Ilsa begged. “Just one.”

You opened your mouth to say no. But that look in her eyes… One night couldn’t hurt. She was a good kisser, she’d treat you right… And then you could go back to hating her in the morning. But a little steam. Just letting loose a little.

“... Okay. Just one night.”

Ilsa didn’t delay. She didn’t wait. Her mouth was on yours, and she let out a sound in between a hum and a huff, like she was relieved and yet still frustrated that it had taken this long. Placing your arms around her waist felt right. She had a firm, muscular backside, but in the jumper she was wearing, she had a softer feeling. And though her mouth was demanding and needy at first, Ilsa slowed down, pressing her lips against yours slowly, tongue lightly gracing your bottom lip with every soft smooch. You opened your mouth just a little, gracing your tongue with the feeling of her bottom lip, her tongue. Ilsa held your head steady, leaning in and drawing your tongue out, just long enough to divert it so she could slip her tongue in. She tasted like red wine, and… She’d been chewing that cherry tobacco again. She tasted like sin. One of your hands slipped beneath her jumper, tracing those abs that were always peeking out below her sports bra. She had a soft layer of tissue above the muscles, like a padded layer making her harder points comfortable.

“Princess, take off that t-shirt for me.” Ilsa whispered.

You chuckled.

“I will, but you’ve got to tell me why I’m ‘princess’ in the first place.”

Ilsa smiled, kissing your jaw softly.

“Innocent, gentle, and those hands.” Ilsa smirked, cupping one of your hands against her bare waist. “Princess hands, so dainty and gentle.”

You blushed, and you didn’t resist as she brought one of your hands to her mouth, gently kissing your palm, your knuckles, and then eventually, enveloping your fingers in her mouth entirely.

“Mmm…” Ilsa hummed, a wrinkle relaxing around her eyes. “Finally.” she whispered, kissing your hands again, one after the other.

There was a gentle beat, and then she reached for your t-shirt, pulling it off as you raised your arms. Ilsa spent a good minute just looking at your bare chest. She reached out, aiming to touch one of your breasts, but she paused.

“May I?”

There was irony here in her asking consent, but you weren’t focused on that. You were focused on those soft eyes and how they twinkled with excitement.

“You may.”

She reached out with both hands, cupping your breasts, humming softly. She didn’t stay in one place for long, massaging your sides and gently kissing your collarbone. It was easy to relax, even as she lowered you to lay sideways on the couch, it was easy to relax. You helped her take off your pants and your panties, and Ilsa was quick to pull off her sweats, leaving her in nothing but a sheer, see through bra and panty set.

“I didn’t know we were dressing up.” you flushed, trying to hide your arousal.

“It doesn’t matter. I’d have ripped off whatever you were wearing anyway.” Ilsa husked, settling atop your hips, crossing her arms.

“... Do you know that Ankah meme?”

Ilsa rolled her eyes, not giving two shits about you and your little memes. Her lips attacked your neck again, urging you to just get lost in the moment. Her hair was soft under your fingertips, and her back… You wanted to take a moment to just admire every curve of her spine, of her trapezius, her deltoids, her latissimus dorsi. She made you smarter, you realised. It was her training, her attention. She’d taught you the names of these muscles, and she’d teach you more, you realised.

“I can’t be slow, honey, I’m so sorry.” Ilsa whispered.

You met her eyes. She looked so…

“What do you need?”

Ilsa tugged off her panties, then the bra. You watched in shock as a literal string of arousal extended from her entrance to the cloth of the panties, before eventually snapping back.

“Oh.. My go-”

Ilsa wasn’t in the mood for talking, rather only in the mood for one thing. She shoved the soiled panties into your agape mouth, nearly causing you to gag.

“No talking, none.” Ilsa huffed.

She slipped one leg over your hip, the other leg slipping beneath one of yours on the opposite side. Ilsa was going to press your bodies together, but the shocked look on your face gave her pause.

“Sorry, I’m not thinking.” Ilsa sighed, pulling her panties out of your mouth. “Do I have your consent?”

“Can we maybe slow down?”

Ilsa let out an angry noise. You weren’t expecting her to just… Get up and leave.

“Woah, woah, this isn’t effective communication, you’re not telling me what you need!” you ran after her, noting how her ass would jiggle a bit with every step.

“I’m too frustrated, and it’ll be better for me if I just do it myself.” Ilsa spat.

Now you were confused. She’d begged you to have sex with her, and now she didn’t want it.

“Hey, hey, let’s talk about this.” you tried, snagging her elbow.

Ilsa had tears in her eyes. Now you felt like an ass, and it must have showed on your face, because Ilsa blubbered out reassurances immediately after.

“I just… I am so frustrated, it hurts.” Ilsa stammered.

It was those eyes. It had to be those eyes, because you wouldn’t have done what you did next without some explanation. Taking her hips, you pushed her against the hallway wall, falling to your knees in front of her, hooking one of her thighs over your shoulders.

“Just let me take care of you, hmm?”

Ilsa groaned, tangling her hands in your hair, tugging at the roots. The tension in her body evaporated as your arms glided up her thighs to rest on her hips. Your eyes looking up at her, so glassy and reassuring. Your mouth open, wet, hot, air ghosting over the mess that was her core. And then those lips, closing over her entrance, tongue parting her labia, drawing steady strokes up and down, igniting pleasurable sensations that slithered up and down her spine. Ilsa relaxed, letting out a long, satisfied moan. All these months of stalking, of monitoring, of tirelessly working to get you here… And now you were on your knees, gently servicing her with those wet, warm lips. She nearly cried when you wrapped your lips around her clit, licking and sucking, drawing steady circles over the buzzing nerve.

But for you… This was a different experience. You were nervous, anxious to please, anxious to bring her relief, and almost too focused on the process… That was until her fingers drew up and down your scalp in little scratching motions. You moaned into her, to which she gasped, and whimpered. It was the sexiest thing you’d ever heard. You trailed your hands down, parting her outer labia and pulling the clitoral hood up, only to let out a deep moan around the nerve.

“Fuck!” Ilsa cried out, her hips bucking. “Oh my god, pleaseeee.”

You hummed again, licking and sucking at her clit with full abandon. Her hips canted in circles, grinding herself into your mouth, against your chin. You felt a mix of saliva and her own arousal slipping down your chin, to your neck.

“Just like that, oh goddd.” Ilsa whined again, struggling to stand.

She grabbed the hallway cabinet to her left for leverage, her muscular thighs rippling as she focused on the sensations of your blessed mouth tracing patterns over her hyper-sensitive clit. You pressed your face deeper into her, spelling out sentences with your tongue, letter by letter, suckling in between the messages. ‘Lover’, ‘Sexy’, ‘Needy baby’. Whatever you could think of, whatever her whines and moans stirred in you, that was what you wrote.

“Oh.. Oh.. Oh, oh oh!” Ilsa panted, the motions of her hips growing desperate.

You knew better than to stop, so you doubled down, drawing your tongue in steady circles, even as your jaws ached, as your head buzzed, as your neck screamed. Both of her hands flew to your head, shoving you into her. You moaned as she tugged on your scalp again, and that is what sent her over the edge. Ilsa’s back bowed, her thighs tensed, and she threw her head back in a silent scream, followed by intermittent pants. She held on for as long as she could, but her legs were too wobbly to safely remain standing.

“Coming down.” Ilsa warned, sliding down the wall and into your arms.

She was panting and flushed, you were panting and massaging your jaw which ached like a bitch. Ilsa took several moments to just commit the image to memory.

“Turn around.” Ilsa rasped.

You sat down on your back, giving your sore knees a break. You’d have tender bruises there soon, visible or otherwise. Awkwardly shuffling around, you managed to slump into her back, to which Ilsa let out a sound that almost sounded like a purr.

“Hike your legs over mine.” Ilsa cooed.

You flushed, placing your knees on either side of her bent ones. Her lips returned to your neck, her hands sliding up and down your front. One of her hands found a breast, gently toying with one of your nipples again.

“Ilsa…”

“Shhh, princess. Let me make you feel good too. You deserve it after loving me so spectacularly.” Ilsa murmured, pressing slow kisses to your jaw.

Her other hand travelled lower, parting your glistening labia. Two fingers held your labia taught, the middle finger drawing slow circles over your clit, a gentle stimulation.

“... Oh.. Ohhh.” you hummed.

It felt better than when you touched yourself. She wasn’t doing anything unusual or otherwise groundbreaking, but it felt so good when it was her hand. Ilsa smiled against your neck, gently kissing over your neck. Her lips attached themselves right above that flickering pulse of your artery, sucking, leaving her mark. You shut your eyes, letting her just work you over.

“Moan for me, let me hear how good it feels.” Ilsa whispered, kissing your ear.

The spot on your neck where she’d sucked an angry hickey throbbed, electrifying the other senses her hands were creating on your body. You let out a tentative moan as she sped her fingers up just a little.

“Can you talk to me?” you whispered.

Ilsa chuckled, nibbling your ear.

“Of course I can, princess. I’ll tell you all about how wet you are for me, hmm? And how good you’re doing, sitting so pretty with your knees in place…”

You whimpered again, and you were rewarded with a bit more pressure from her finger.

“Oh, good girl. It feels so good, doesn’t it? Having your body loved like this?”

A head lean into her and another needy moan was enough assurance that Ilsa was doing what she needed to do.

“Mhm, just like that, are you feeling yourself getting close?”

A shuddering breath and a soft head nod was enough for Ilsa. She gently sped up her fingers, drawing harder circles over your clit until your thighs trembled and your hips bucked.

“Ilsa!” you moaned, arching your back against her hand.

Ilsa cooed softly, continuing to roll her fingers at that steady pace until your hips relaxed, and her hand with it. Her arms wrapped around your sides, and she kissed you up and down your face, your jaw. She smiled, cuddling you to her. In the dark light of the hallway, Ilsa looked up, noting the little red dot that flashed. Once was enough for now. She could replay this on her laptop as many times as she wanted to now, she could see the angle of your body from the front as you bucked into her arms. She’d recorded this, after all. And she’d save it for as long as she needed to.

This was just the beginning.

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