Too Hot To Handle
Too Hot To Handle...
RATED R- NC17 - Smutty -M+...and whatever
M-I-R-A-N-D-Y
I don’t own the movie or the book or any of the characters, most depressingly, Miranda is not mine. I play in the Runway universe, and sometimes it is kind to my fantasies
Too Hot to Handle
Andy minced into the kitchen, her Blahniks clacking cheerfully on the hardwood.
“Hi,” she breathed, leaning into kiss her girlfriend on the mouth. She sniffed appreciatively. “You smell different.”
Miranda scowled and drummed her fingernails on the countertop. “I’m sweaty. Thank you for noticing.”
“Oh yeah?” the young woman asked playfully. “What’ve you been doing, all by yourself?”
“Having hot flashes, if you must know.” Miranda pulled at the collar of her blouse with irritation.
“Really?” Andy inquired, her face the picture of surprise.
The editor rolled her eyes and took a sip from a glass of iced Perrier, which had been resting at her elbow.
“I’m fifty-two, Andréa,” the older woman groused.
Andy pouted.
“I thought we’d kinda moved past that whole ‘Ahn-drey-ahhh’ thing,” the reporter complained. “It’s like you just said my first, middle and last name all at once.”
“Are you insinuating,” began Miranda testily, “that I am reminding you of your mother?”
Andy winced, not realising until now how much of a sore spot Miranda‘s age had become. “No--no-- you’re putting words in my mouth. I just meant,” she continued carefully, “that it kind of hurts my feelings when you revert back to the whole ‘boss from the ninth circle of hell’ thing.”
“I thought you liked it when I play boss,” Miranda husked, softening towards her sensitive girlfriend.
Andy licked her lips and sidled closer to the editor, running her hands down the older woman’s neck and over her collar bone to rest on her chest. “I do baby,” she murmured into Miranda’s ear. “But this is a little different.”
“Jesus,” Miranda moaned. “Your hands are freezing.” Andy quickly slid her wind chapped hands out of the editor’s blouse. “No- god- put them back,” Miranda begged a little frantically. “That’s the coolest I’ve been all day.”
Andy hummed sympathetically, delving once more under Miranda’s silky top, down further to brush over the swell of her breasts.
“Oh, honey,” Miranda began apologetically, “I’m not really in the mood for this. I feel like I’m on the verge of spontaneous combustion.”
“Really?” Andy murmured, unfazed. “Because I have an idea.”
The young woman dunked two slim fingers into the glass of sparkling water, and selecting the largest chunk of ice, she popped the cool cube into her mouth and spun Miranda around on her stool until she stood between the older woman’s parted legs.
Wordlessly, Andy began to flip the button’s of her girlfriend’s shirt open, pressing chilling kisses down Miranda’s sweat-sheened chest, into the deepening valley between her flushed breasts.
“Oh my god, that’s good,” the older woman groaned appreciatively, slipping her fingers through Andy’s hair.
The young woman looked up at Miranda from under a fringe of dark lashes, ice held playfully between her teeth; she took off the editor’s blouse, a feral glint sparking through her eyes when she didn’t encounter a bra.
“Took it off,” Miranda explained breathlessly. “One too many layers.”
The young woman offered an appreciative purr, and used her mouth to slip the melting ice in soothing circles over Miranda’s breasts, bumping teasingly over hardening nipples.
Miranda shivered deliciously, arching into the frosty, slick, torturously pleasurable sensations.
“Cold?” Andy inquired quixotically, cheeking the ice for a moment.
“I wish,” muttered Miranda distractedly.
“Pass me another ice cube,” the younger woman asked, before crunching the first between her teeth. Miranda acquiesced hastily, passing the ice over Andy’s plump lips, glossing them before the reporter allowed the cube to be pushed into her mouth; she sucked the editor’s fingertips, nibbling softly until, with a parting caress, Miranda withdrew.
Andy’s eyes smiled up at her lover, as she pressed her fresh ammunition along the delicate crest of the older woman’s ribcage, slipping down over her gently rounded tummy, which quivered with lust and anticipation.
Miranda had to braced herself against the counter as her girlfriend started undoing her pants; lifting her hips helpfully when Andy tugged the material down her thighs, then over her ankles and feet. The reporter tossed the abandoned couture over her shoulder.
“You’re getting that dry-cleaning bill,” Miranda panted as the younger woman mouthed over the curve of her hip, along the lacy band of her underwear.
Andy saucily flipped her lover the bird and moved the ice down the damp, sticky scrap of silk between the older woman’s legs, circling her clit very deliberately with the smallest corner of the cube.
Andy had just pulled aside what appeared to be a pair of entirely destroyed panties, when Miranda trembled again, and the telltale chattering of teeth filled the kitchen with staccato clickity-clacks, punctuated now and then by strained whimpers of arousal.
“Okay,” Miranda admitted finally, when she almost fell off the stool, trembling. “Now I’m cold.”
Andy stood lithely, a devious grin widening across her cheeks. “That’s good.”
The older woman raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Good? I’m not going for thermal opposites here, my darling.”
“It’s good,” Andy qualified slowly, “because now I get to warm you up. I also have a brilliant idea for that, by the way.”
Miranda allowed a bright peal of laughter to leave her body as her lover picked her up bodily and transferred her to the granite-topped island.
“Someone’s going to have to disinfect this counter,” the editor warned, the desired edge removed from her comment by the fact that Andy had currently just bisected Miranda’s lingerie in order to attain coveted access to the older woman’s sex.
“Put it on the list with the dry cleaning,” the reporter offered as she tongued her way up and down Miranda’s slippery slit. “And you might as well tag the thong on as well- or what’s left of it.”
Miranda’s answering laugh quickly turned into a gasping, quivering sigh of bliss as her girlfriend’s lips latched onto her clit. Reaching over her head and clutching the edge of the counter, the editor ground herself onto Andy’s talented mouth, panting as her orgasm hovered like a bright light on the horizon.
“You should know,” Miranda breathed, “that I’m about to come, incredibly hard.”
Andy smiled, the older woman’s pubic hair tickling her nose. With oral dexterity born of many hours of practice, she sent Miranda flying off the edge into the spectacular abyss.
The reporter pulled her girlfriend up by her hands and Miranda wrapped her legs weakly around Andy’s waist.
“How are you now?” Andy asked, tickling the fine hairs on the older woman’s neck.
“Just right,” the editor sighed gratefully, resting her cheek against Andy’s shoulder.
“You know,” the young woman began thoughtfully. “I think I’m really going to enjoy this whole menopause thing.”
Miranda bit down sharply on her lover’s collarbone. “Andy?”
“Hmm?”
“Shut. Up.”
RATED R- NC17 - Smutty -M+...and whatever
M-I-R-A-N-D-Y
I don’t own the movie or the book or any of the characters, most depressingly, Miranda is not mine. I play in the Runway universe, and sometimes it is kind to my fantasies
Too Hot to Handle
Andy minced into the kitchen, her Blahniks clacking cheerfully on the hardwood.
“Hi,” she breathed, leaning into kiss her girlfriend on the mouth. She sniffed appreciatively. “You smell different.”
Miranda scowled and drummed her fingernails on the countertop. “I’m sweaty. Thank you for noticing.”
“Oh yeah?” the young woman asked playfully. “What’ve you been doing, all by yourself?”
“Having hot flashes, if you must know.” Miranda pulled at the collar of her blouse with irritation.
“Really?” Andy inquired, her face the picture of surprise.
The editor rolled her eyes and took a sip from a glass of iced Perrier, which had been resting at her elbow.
“I’m fifty-two, Andréa,” the older woman groused.
Andy pouted.
“I thought we’d kinda moved past that whole ‘Ahn-drey-ahhh’ thing,” the reporter complained. “It’s like you just said my first, middle and last name all at once.”
“Are you insinuating,” began Miranda testily, “that I am reminding you of your mother?”
Andy winced, not realising until now how much of a sore spot Miranda‘s age had become. “No--no-- you’re putting words in my mouth. I just meant,” she continued carefully, “that it kind of hurts my feelings when you revert back to the whole ‘boss from the ninth circle of hell’ thing.”
“I thought you liked it when I play boss,” Miranda husked, softening towards her sensitive girlfriend.
Andy licked her lips and sidled closer to the editor, running her hands down the older woman’s neck and over her collar bone to rest on her chest. “I do baby,” she murmured into Miranda’s ear. “But this is a little different.”
“Jesus,” Miranda moaned. “Your hands are freezing.” Andy quickly slid her wind chapped hands out of the editor’s blouse. “No- god- put them back,” Miranda begged a little frantically. “That’s the coolest I’ve been all day.”
Andy hummed sympathetically, delving once more under Miranda’s silky top, down further to brush over the swell of her breasts.
“Oh, honey,” Miranda began apologetically, “I’m not really in the mood for this. I feel like I’m on the verge of spontaneous combustion.”
“Really?” Andy murmured, unfazed. “Because I have an idea.”
The young woman dunked two slim fingers into the glass of sparkling water, and selecting the largest chunk of ice, she popped the cool cube into her mouth and spun Miranda around on her stool until she stood between the older woman’s parted legs.
Wordlessly, Andy began to flip the button’s of her girlfriend’s shirt open, pressing chilling kisses down Miranda’s sweat-sheened chest, into the deepening valley between her flushed breasts.
“Oh my god, that’s good,” the older woman groaned appreciatively, slipping her fingers through Andy’s hair.
The young woman looked up at Miranda from under a fringe of dark lashes, ice held playfully between her teeth; she took off the editor’s blouse, a feral glint sparking through her eyes when she didn’t encounter a bra.
“Took it off,” Miranda explained breathlessly. “One too many layers.”
The young woman offered an appreciative purr, and used her mouth to slip the melting ice in soothing circles over Miranda’s breasts, bumping teasingly over hardening nipples.
Miranda shivered deliciously, arching into the frosty, slick, torturously pleasurable sensations.
“Cold?” Andy inquired quixotically, cheeking the ice for a moment.
“I wish,” muttered Miranda distractedly.
“Pass me another ice cube,” the younger woman asked, before crunching the first between her teeth. Miranda acquiesced hastily, passing the ice over Andy’s plump lips, glossing them before the reporter allowed the cube to be pushed into her mouth; she sucked the editor’s fingertips, nibbling softly until, with a parting caress, Miranda withdrew.
Andy’s eyes smiled up at her lover, as she pressed her fresh ammunition along the delicate crest of the older woman’s ribcage, slipping down over her gently rounded tummy, which quivered with lust and anticipation.
Miranda had to braced herself against the counter as her girlfriend started undoing her pants; lifting her hips helpfully when Andy tugged the material down her thighs, then over her ankles and feet. The reporter tossed the abandoned couture over her shoulder.
“You’re getting that dry-cleaning bill,” Miranda panted as the younger woman mouthed over the curve of her hip, along the lacy band of her underwear.
Andy saucily flipped her lover the bird and moved the ice down the damp, sticky scrap of silk between the older woman’s legs, circling her clit very deliberately with the smallest corner of the cube.
Andy had just pulled aside what appeared to be a pair of entirely destroyed panties, when Miranda trembled again, and the telltale chattering of teeth filled the kitchen with staccato clickity-clacks, punctuated now and then by strained whimpers of arousal.
“Okay,” Miranda admitted finally, when she almost fell off the stool, trembling. “Now I’m cold.”
Andy stood lithely, a devious grin widening across her cheeks. “That’s good.”
The older woman raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Good? I’m not going for thermal opposites here, my darling.”
“It’s good,” Andy qualified slowly, “because now I get to warm you up. I also have a brilliant idea for that, by the way.”
Miranda allowed a bright peal of laughter to leave her body as her lover picked her up bodily and transferred her to the granite-topped island.
“Someone’s going to have to disinfect this counter,” the editor warned, the desired edge removed from her comment by the fact that Andy had currently just bisected Miranda’s lingerie in order to attain coveted access to the older woman’s sex.
“Put it on the list with the dry cleaning,” the reporter offered as she tongued her way up and down Miranda’s slippery slit. “And you might as well tag the thong on as well- or what’s left of it.”
Miranda’s answering laugh quickly turned into a gasping, quivering sigh of bliss as her girlfriend’s lips latched onto her clit. Reaching over her head and clutching the edge of the counter, the editor ground herself onto Andy’s talented mouth, panting as her orgasm hovered like a bright light on the horizon.
“You should know,” Miranda breathed, “that I’m about to come, incredibly hard.”
Andy smiled, the older woman’s pubic hair tickling her nose. With oral dexterity born of many hours of practice, she sent Miranda flying off the edge into the spectacular abyss.
The reporter pulled her girlfriend up by her hands and Miranda wrapped her legs weakly around Andy’s waist.
“How are you now?” Andy asked, tickling the fine hairs on the older woman’s neck.
“Just right,” the editor sighed gratefully, resting her cheek against Andy’s shoulder.
“You know,” the young woman began thoughtfully. “I think I’m really going to enjoy this whole menopause thing.”
Miranda bit down sharply on her lover’s collarbone. “Andy?”
“Hmm?”
“Shut. Up.”