Fic: Sheela na Gig [Boardwalk Empire], Margaret/Lucy, NC-17
Title: Sheela na Gig
Fandom: Boardwalk Empire
Pairing: Margaret/Lucy
Rating: NC-17
Note: written for boardwalkkink
This time, she wanted the maroon teddy, with lace roses over the nipples and crotch. Fumbling with the miniscule shoulder ties, Margaret wondered how Miss Danziger went through five pounds of lingerie a week, and whether she caught chill at night. Perhaps I could sew her something more substantial out of my tablecloth, Margaret thought, and stifled a giggle when she realized the idea was borderline maternal.
"Hurry up," Miss Danziger drawled, holding her thin, fish-pale arms up, as if she couldn't wait to be naked again. Once freed, she bounced to the velvet chair in the dressing room."I'm bored with everything here," she said from her seat, flinging her long legs out. Her pubic hair seemed to gleam in agreement.
Margaret cleared her throat. Madame Jeunet, being indisposed with a head cold, had impressed upon her the importance of paying obeisance to the customers, and of not fouling the shop's gossamer wares in the meanwhile. "We receive the next shipment on Friday. If Mademoiselle would care to look through some catalogues..."
"Naw." Miss Danziger stuck a finger in her clown mouth, considering. "Why don't you do something for me? Sing one of those Old Country songs, or do a whatsit jig?"
At those words, something settled in Margaret, sudden, like a knife or a pregnancy. Without hesitation, she strode to the chair, looked down at Miss Danziger's mean little eyes, and jammed her right index finger in Miss Danziger's twat.
The girl hissed, drawing her ribcage taut, and from this angle, Margaret could see how she could be, on certain occasion, mistaken for beautiful. The heat from Miss Danziger's core sucked in Margaret's middle finger, then her ring finger, until she was knuckle-deep in cuntslick.
"Your fingers are cold."
"I'm sorry," Margaret said, brushing her hair from her face with her free hand, while she tried to navigate among the wet, furry flaps. She had never done this before, not even to herself, and part of her, the part who kissed her children and wrote temperance pamphlets, wondered why she would ever extend this courtesy to this woman.
"Jesus, sister, I'd have better luck with a spatula," Miss Danziger said, slapping her hand aside. "Try your tongue, instead."
"You mean my--" Margaret bit the corner of her upper lip like she used to do in school, whenever her mind had caught up with what her body had done.
"You mean my." Miss Danziger purred, looping her arms behind her back and wingspanning her legs, until her inner thighs were one white horizontal stripe.
Pulling her baby blue dress above her knees, Margaret gingerly knelt on the floor. Just as she steadied herself using the legs of the chair, a hand shoved her forward, and then it was just her and the wet, snuffed darkness.
In this crouched pose, with her hands pinned down by the other woman's legs and her nostrils flooded with swirls of hair, a ferocity seized Margaret. Like she was sixteen years old, below deck again and dying, but she had to live, she had to live, even if parts of her were shorn off along the way. She lapped vigorously, sucking in the musk, feeling the approving vibrations from Miss Danziger's thighs. She pictured a gaping pink lizard's shriek, the wiggling of a tonsil, until finally she caught the nub on the edge of her teeth and punched it with her tongue, for all she was worth.
There was a rich, undulating yell, and maybe the sound of hastily retreating footsteps from the storefront, and by the time Margaret wobbled to a standing position she was soaked under her arms and between her legs. Maybe there's a bit of Mr. Thompson in here, she thought as she swallowed the curdled creaminess coating her mouth. Her jaw ached, and she realized with a swift horror that she had left lipstick smeared all along the ridge of Miss Danziger's sex. Not that the other woman minded, as she languidly pulled her beaded red dress over her head, no assistance required.
Margaret's feet carried her to the cash register, where she rang up the order. She wrapped the lingerie in scented tissue and tied it with slippery pink ribbon, trying not to touch her face.
"Bet you haven't had anything this sweet outside of the kitchen floor," Miss Danziger said, sliding on her bracelets and furs.
Their hands brushed as Margaret handed over the parcel. "I've held my nose in worse," she said, and opened the door for Lucy to leave.
Fandom: Boardwalk Empire
Pairing: Margaret/Lucy
Rating: NC-17
Note: written for boardwalkkink
This time, she wanted the maroon teddy, with lace roses over the nipples and crotch. Fumbling with the miniscule shoulder ties, Margaret wondered how Miss Danziger went through five pounds of lingerie a week, and whether she caught chill at night. Perhaps I could sew her something more substantial out of my tablecloth, Margaret thought, and stifled a giggle when she realized the idea was borderline maternal.
"Hurry up," Miss Danziger drawled, holding her thin, fish-pale arms up, as if she couldn't wait to be naked again. Once freed, she bounced to the velvet chair in the dressing room."I'm bored with everything here," she said from her seat, flinging her long legs out. Her pubic hair seemed to gleam in agreement.
Margaret cleared her throat. Madame Jeunet, being indisposed with a head cold, had impressed upon her the importance of paying obeisance to the customers, and of not fouling the shop's gossamer wares in the meanwhile. "We receive the next shipment on Friday. If Mademoiselle would care to look through some catalogues..."
"Naw." Miss Danziger stuck a finger in her clown mouth, considering. "Why don't you do something for me? Sing one of those Old Country songs, or do a whatsit jig?"
At those words, something settled in Margaret, sudden, like a knife or a pregnancy. Without hesitation, she strode to the chair, looked down at Miss Danziger's mean little eyes, and jammed her right index finger in Miss Danziger's twat.
The girl hissed, drawing her ribcage taut, and from this angle, Margaret could see how she could be, on certain occasion, mistaken for beautiful. The heat from Miss Danziger's core sucked in Margaret's middle finger, then her ring finger, until she was knuckle-deep in cuntslick.
"Your fingers are cold."
"I'm sorry," Margaret said, brushing her hair from her face with her free hand, while she tried to navigate among the wet, furry flaps. She had never done this before, not even to herself, and part of her, the part who kissed her children and wrote temperance pamphlets, wondered why she would ever extend this courtesy to this woman.
"Jesus, sister, I'd have better luck with a spatula," Miss Danziger said, slapping her hand aside. "Try your tongue, instead."
"You mean my--" Margaret bit the corner of her upper lip like she used to do in school, whenever her mind had caught up with what her body had done.
"You mean my." Miss Danziger purred, looping her arms behind her back and wingspanning her legs, until her inner thighs were one white horizontal stripe.
Pulling her baby blue dress above her knees, Margaret gingerly knelt on the floor. Just as she steadied herself using the legs of the chair, a hand shoved her forward, and then it was just her and the wet, snuffed darkness.
In this crouched pose, with her hands pinned down by the other woman's legs and her nostrils flooded with swirls of hair, a ferocity seized Margaret. Like she was sixteen years old, below deck again and dying, but she had to live, she had to live, even if parts of her were shorn off along the way. She lapped vigorously, sucking in the musk, feeling the approving vibrations from Miss Danziger's thighs. She pictured a gaping pink lizard's shriek, the wiggling of a tonsil, until finally she caught the nub on the edge of her teeth and punched it with her tongue, for all she was worth.
There was a rich, undulating yell, and maybe the sound of hastily retreating footsteps from the storefront, and by the time Margaret wobbled to a standing position she was soaked under her arms and between her legs. Maybe there's a bit of Mr. Thompson in here, she thought as she swallowed the curdled creaminess coating her mouth. Her jaw ached, and she realized with a swift horror that she had left lipstick smeared all along the ridge of Miss Danziger's sex. Not that the other woman minded, as she languidly pulled her beaded red dress over her head, no assistance required.
Margaret's feet carried her to the cash register, where she rang up the order. She wrapped the lingerie in scented tissue and tied it with slippery pink ribbon, trying not to touch her face.
"Bet you haven't had anything this sweet outside of the kitchen floor," Miss Danziger said, sliding on her bracelets and furs.
Their hands brushed as Margaret handed over the parcel. "I've held my nose in worse," she said, and opened the door for Lucy to leave.