[Fill] Suck it up, Cheerleader (17/?)
anonymous
October 20 2015, 19:49:52 UTC
Someone was kind enough to point out that this fic wasn't dirty enough. Therefore:
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Chapter 6
It had felt good to horse around with Jack for a while, but the painful routine of the milking sessions quickly reasserted itself. Miranda didn't get the chance to talk to Kasumi again that day. The milking machine was still a novelty to her, the new and unusual feelings were still feeding her insatiable appetite, and she was barely coherent. Brains had decided he was fed up of her squealing and plugged her mouth so thoroughly that not even the the most basic grunt could escape. “Some fucking peace,” he muttered.
When you knew what you were looking for, it was obvious that Kelly was starting to show. Since neither Jack nor Miranda had gained weight appreciably during their confinement, it was unlikely to be the food. And Kelly was late, assuming she'd been counting the days right. It was showing faster than a normal pregnancy would, however, which left them some room for doubt. Kelly was sure, though, she felt it in her bones.
She was also adamant that she hadn't even been in the same room as any sperm, lately. Human sperm, at least, she admitted when their questioning became insistent. Unless Shepard had been giving a lot of blowjobs before she had gone down on her, there was basically no chance that hers was a natural pregnancy. Another reason that Miranda wanted to know what Kasumi had to say. Why was she here? How long did they have, one way or another? When would their situation be truly hopeless? Was Kelly going to have to give birth in this place?
But Jack was a more immediate concern. She must be very close to letting down by now. She was paying for their brief mirthful interlude with shooting pains radiating across her body. She was cranky, and as Miranda knew well, Jack wasn't very good at mastering her emotions. Miranda had to keep her from doing something stupid. She massaged Jack's shoulders and walked the tips of her fingers around to knead the edges of her tender breasts.
Jack batted her hands aside. “That shit isn't helping,” she said, flatly.
“It won't be long now, Jack,” Miranda reassured her. “It'll feel a lot better, when...”
“When they're pumping me like some fucking cow? Is that what you were you going to say?” replied Jack, her voice dangerously controlled. Miranda knew an explosion couldn't be far behind.
Trying to appease Jack would be exactly the wrong strategy. “Jack,” she said sternly, “you can act like a brat if you want. It won't change anything. It'll just make me think less of you.”
“You think I care what some leaky fucking cow thinks?” Jack spat back at her.
“You're always telling I was the spoiled little princess,” replied Miranda. “So how come it's you that doesn't have any self-control?”
“Oh my god,” said Jack, “you think you're still the boss, don't you?” She stood slowly to face Miranda, who was seated on the cot. “Funny. That's funny. You sure don't look like you're in charge when you're being pumped and fucked. You look like you're fucking loving it.”
Jack was leaning over Miranda now, her face an accusatory rictus. “Calm down,” Miranda said, holding her ground and injecting boredom into her tone. That sometimes worked with Jack, although she doubted it would now. “You're going strain yourself.”
“How about we see if you're really such an icy cool bitch, Miranda?” asked Jack, moving even closer, flecks of spittle leaping across the space to land in Miranda's cropped hair.
“Back off, you boring little freak,” said Miranda, looking away.
Jack reached down and grasped one of Miranda's nipples. She twisted, hard. “Ah, fuck!” cried Miranda, trying to bring her arms up in defence. Her tender, engorged nipples were permanently sore and felt as if they were wired in to everything between her knees and her nose. Jack yanked sideways and pushed, twisting hard, and Miranda fell back onto the cot.
Jack straddled her quickly, pinning her arms to her sides. “Who's the boss now, ice bitch?” she snarled, slipping a hand down to cup Miranda's sex firmly.
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Chapter 6
It had felt good to horse around with Jack for a while, but the painful routine of the milking sessions quickly reasserted itself. Miranda didn't get the chance to talk to Kasumi again that day. The milking machine was still a novelty to her, the new and unusual feelings were still feeding her insatiable appetite, and she was barely coherent. Brains had decided he was fed up of her squealing and plugged her mouth so thoroughly that not even the the most basic grunt could escape. “Some fucking peace,” he muttered.
When you knew what you were looking for, it was obvious that Kelly was starting to show. Since neither Jack nor Miranda had gained weight appreciably during their confinement, it was unlikely to be the food. And Kelly was late, assuming she'd been counting the days right. It was showing faster than a normal pregnancy would, however, which left them some room for doubt. Kelly was sure, though, she felt it in her bones.
She was also adamant that she hadn't even been in the same room as any sperm, lately. Human sperm, at least, she admitted when their questioning became insistent. Unless Shepard had been giving a lot of blowjobs before she had gone down on her, there was basically no chance that hers was a natural pregnancy. Another reason that Miranda wanted to know what Kasumi had to say. Why was she here? How long did they have, one way or another? When would their situation be truly hopeless? Was Kelly going to have to give birth in this place?
But Jack was a more immediate concern. She must be very close to letting down by now. She was paying for their brief mirthful interlude with shooting pains radiating across her body. She was cranky, and as Miranda knew well, Jack wasn't very good at mastering her emotions. Miranda had to keep her from doing something stupid. She massaged Jack's shoulders and walked the tips of her fingers around to knead the edges of her tender breasts.
Jack batted her hands aside. “That shit isn't helping,” she said, flatly.
“It won't be long now, Jack,” Miranda reassured her. “It'll feel a lot better, when...”
“When they're pumping me like some fucking cow? Is that what you were you going to say?” replied Jack, her voice dangerously controlled. Miranda knew an explosion couldn't be far behind.
Trying to appease Jack would be exactly the wrong strategy. “Jack,” she said sternly, “you can act like a brat if you want. It won't change anything. It'll just make me think less of you.”
“You think I care what some leaky fucking cow thinks?” Jack spat back at her.
“You're always telling I was the spoiled little princess,” replied Miranda. “So how come it's you that doesn't have any self-control?”
“Oh my god,” said Jack, “you think you're still the boss, don't you?” She stood slowly to face Miranda, who was seated on the cot. “Funny. That's funny. You sure don't look like you're in charge when you're being pumped and fucked. You look like you're fucking loving it.”
Jack was leaning over Miranda now, her face an accusatory rictus. “Calm down,” Miranda said, holding her ground and injecting boredom into her tone. That sometimes worked with Jack, although she doubted it would now. “You're going strain yourself.”
“How about we see if you're really such an icy cool bitch, Miranda?” asked Jack, moving even closer, flecks of spittle leaping across the space to land in Miranda's cropped hair.
“Back off, you boring little freak,” said Miranda, looking away.
Jack reached down and grasped one of Miranda's nipples. She twisted, hard. “Ah, fuck!” cried Miranda, trying to bring her arms up in defence. Her tender, engorged nipples were permanently sore and felt as if they were wired in to everything between her knees and her nose. Jack yanked sideways and pushed, twisting hard, and Miranda fell back onto the cot.
Jack straddled her quickly, pinning her arms to her sides. “Who's the boss now, ice bitch?” she snarled, slipping a hand down to cup Miranda's sex firmly.
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