Prompt: HB/Drill - "Headstrong"
Title: Headstrong
Pairing: Hardbroom/Drill
Rating: NC17/R (graphic sex and witch on non-witch action :D)
Language: English
AN: Pure porn. If you find any plot you might get a cookie. The result of being awake at 4am. Too graphic to post on fanfiction.net so I am posting it only here. ^_^
“There is no way I am sleeping in a tent in the middle of nowhere!” the witch crossed her arms and pouted her lips like a child refusing to go home from the playground.
“Well, you will have to.” Imogen shot back, putting her hands on her hips to balance Constance’s resisting posture.
“I will not, Miss Drill. I agreed to come here and look after the girls but I am not - I repeat - I am NOT sleeping on the ground, no matter how much your back hurts.”
“Any other time I would gladly sleep in the tent but with my back problems, I CANNOT do that or I wouldn’t be able to stand straight up ever again. Miss Hardbroom, you must understand that!” the blonde sighed, trying to prove her point to her stubborn colleague.
“You are not getting the bed.”
“I am not sleeping in the tent!” she proclaimed and decided to stick to it.
At first, Constance was not happy with the decision that they would both sleep in one bed. On the contrary, she was taken completely off guard with that suggestion and had no choice but to agree for it was the only way they would both get what they wanted.
It was later - when she felt Imogen’s fingers making circles on her arm - that she started to like the decision. By the time Imogen’s hand slipped under her purple top, she was grateful for the younger woman’s back problems. When the beautiful toned body rolled over to be on the top of her and when the hot breath against her neck made her shiver, she decided to love the idea of sharing a bed.
Her lips collided with Imogen’s in a lustful kiss, her leg bent to meet the blonde’s aching centre. She gasped at the wetness she found there and met the green eyes in the dark, playful smile appearing on her face. It did not take long until the smirk was kissed away and a pair of hands caressed her soft skin under the purple satin top, making their way up to cover her breasts with sweaty palms: a move that made the witch whimper with need when making contact with her nipples. She kissed Imogen more fiercely, trying to make her touch her more and harder and faster and - most of all - everywhere. The younger woman happily obliged and pressed more against Constance’s body with her weight, moaning at the sensation of rubbing herself against the bent leg. The moan mixed with the witch’s loud growl that the pressure against her chest made her let out.
Their bodies were hungry for each other, the only thought on their minds was to touch and to feel and to be touched in return.
Soon the witch was covered in wet kisses all over her neck and her collar bone (the clothes long gone at this point) and her shoulders and then her breasts where Imogen decided to nibble and suck and lick and all those actions that caused the witch’s vision to go hazy.
It was overwhelming and new for her, all those emotions and lust inside her controlling her movement. She couldn’t control her body, not when Imogen’s fingers found their way in between her legs and just stayed there, motionless. But she needed them - oh how she needed them! - closer and closer and closer, as close as was physically possible so she arched her back to meet them, to make them touch her. She hissed at the light touch, the need to be closer torturing her now.
Her face was just millimeters away from the other woman’s and as she arched her back, Imogen closed the distance between them and met her dry lips, her tongue gently tracing them until they opened and let her in to fully enjoy the magical taste of Constance Hardbroom.
She tasted like cherries dipped in chocolate, sweet and sour at the same time.
Her fingers finally made contact with Constance’s wetness and the witch cried out her colleague’s name, her breath becoming faster and shorter. Imogen put more pressure on her hand and sank deeper, luring out louder moans from the magical creature beneath her.
“Say please,” she commanded in a low voice, enjoying the full control she had over the usually uptight brunette.
Shock reflected in Constance’s brown eyes but she did not speak a word, she just whimpered and in a desperate attempt she tried to press herself harder against Imogen’s hand.
“Nu-uh, bad witch,” the blonde whispered in a playful tone, nibbling on Constance’s ear, her hot breath sending goose bumps down the witch’s spine.
The older woman bit her lower lip hard to distract herself from the unbelievable need to have the delicate fingers inside her and clenched her fists, the anger that overcame her doubling her lust for the stubborn athlete.
Imogen was not the only headstrong personality there.
She wouldn’t plead for release, not even when the fingers teased her and softly pressed against her in short intervals. She wouldn’t plead, not now, not ever. Not even when the blonde’s other hand covered her breast, lips covered her earlobe and she felt like burning, she felt like a witch burning at the stake. Instead of flames there were the touches and it was making her crazy because
she loved it,
loved it so much
she felt she didn’t deserve it.
She didn’t deserve to come in Imogen’s arms, she was too damaged for that. She was damaged by her past and she knew it and now Imogen must have known it too because she felt so exposed to her that the blonde must have seen her soul, her spirit, her heart, whatever was there inside her that was her.
She needed it to end, somehow, no matter how and she took control, her arms trying to push Imogen away from her. The blonde wouldn’t have that and she fought her back, relocating both of her hands to overpower the witch. Constance was fully aware that she was pinned down to the bed in no time with Imogen above her, the fingers that were soaking in her wetness a few moments ago now holding her wrists, pressing them to the soft mattress.
Seeing the desperation and embarrassment in the deep brown eyes made Imogen forget all about who was in charge: she realized she would surrender to this woman any time, had she asked for it. She wanted to surrender to Constance completely because she trusted her with her life. Seeing all that fear in her lover’s eyes, she kissed her forehead to reassure her everything’s all right.
“I am sorry, I am so sorry.”
Constance was surprised to hear the words. Apology was not something she anticipated.
Now she couldn’t run away and still felt so unworthy of Imogen’s touch that she had to do something, anything. She collected all the courage inside her and linked her hand with Imogen’s, moving it in between their bodies and leading it back where she needed it the most. She blushed when she felt how wet she was for Imogen.
Their eyes met.
“Please. Please, Imogen,” she whispered, pressing the guided hand against her center again.
The blonde was moved by the gesture and tears appeared in her eyes. She kissed Constance again, little by little and then slipped two fingers inside her, feeling the witch relax under her touch. She thrust in and out, the realization of what she was doing to the witch driving her over the edge.
She couldn’t quite explain it but Constance was different from anyone she had ever made love to: maybe it was the magic that surrendered them, making Imogen feel more powerful than she had ever felt in her life.
“Please, please, please…” the witch repeated over and over, as if the newly discovered word formed itself on her lips on its own, wanting to be heard and needed to be said.
The breath-taking sight of the beautiful woman beneath her, the unusual submissiveness in her voice and all that magic in the air made Imogen come with Constance, both of them panting for breath when they felt the waves of pleasure overcoming their bodies, for a moment feeling as if they were physically connected by the most powerful emotion there ever was: love.
They stayed still, Imogen’s hand still inside her lover, for a few moments.
Then, unexpectedly, Constance turned to her side and hugged Imogen, clinging to her as if she needed reassure that it was all real. Imogen returned the hug and put her hands around the thin body, one hand gently caressing her head and playing with her long, ebony hair.
“Next time, we can both try sleeping in the tent.” Constance said after some time, succeeding in making Imogen smile.
Pairing: Hardbroom/Drill
Rating: NC17/R (graphic sex and witch on non-witch action :D)
Language: English
AN: Pure porn. If you find any plot you might get a cookie. The result of being awake at 4am. Too graphic to post on fanfiction.net so I am posting it only here. ^_^
“There is no way I am sleeping in a tent in the middle of nowhere!” the witch crossed her arms and pouted her lips like a child refusing to go home from the playground.
“Well, you will have to.” Imogen shot back, putting her hands on her hips to balance Constance’s resisting posture.
“I will not, Miss Drill. I agreed to come here and look after the girls but I am not - I repeat - I am NOT sleeping on the ground, no matter how much your back hurts.”
“Any other time I would gladly sleep in the tent but with my back problems, I CANNOT do that or I wouldn’t be able to stand straight up ever again. Miss Hardbroom, you must understand that!” the blonde sighed, trying to prove her point to her stubborn colleague.
“You are not getting the bed.”
“I am not sleeping in the tent!” she proclaimed and decided to stick to it.
At first, Constance was not happy with the decision that they would both sleep in one bed. On the contrary, she was taken completely off guard with that suggestion and had no choice but to agree for it was the only way they would both get what they wanted.
It was later - when she felt Imogen’s fingers making circles on her arm - that she started to like the decision. By the time Imogen’s hand slipped under her purple top, she was grateful for the younger woman’s back problems. When the beautiful toned body rolled over to be on the top of her and when the hot breath against her neck made her shiver, she decided to love the idea of sharing a bed.
Her lips collided with Imogen’s in a lustful kiss, her leg bent to meet the blonde’s aching centre. She gasped at the wetness she found there and met the green eyes in the dark, playful smile appearing on her face. It did not take long until the smirk was kissed away and a pair of hands caressed her soft skin under the purple satin top, making their way up to cover her breasts with sweaty palms: a move that made the witch whimper with need when making contact with her nipples. She kissed Imogen more fiercely, trying to make her touch her more and harder and faster and - most of all - everywhere. The younger woman happily obliged and pressed more against Constance’s body with her weight, moaning at the sensation of rubbing herself against the bent leg. The moan mixed with the witch’s loud growl that the pressure against her chest made her let out.
Their bodies were hungry for each other, the only thought on their minds was to touch and to feel and to be touched in return.
Soon the witch was covered in wet kisses all over her neck and her collar bone (the clothes long gone at this point) and her shoulders and then her breasts where Imogen decided to nibble and suck and lick and all those actions that caused the witch’s vision to go hazy.
It was overwhelming and new for her, all those emotions and lust inside her controlling her movement. She couldn’t control her body, not when Imogen’s fingers found their way in between her legs and just stayed there, motionless. But she needed them - oh how she needed them! - closer and closer and closer, as close as was physically possible so she arched her back to meet them, to make them touch her. She hissed at the light touch, the need to be closer torturing her now.
Her face was just millimeters away from the other woman’s and as she arched her back, Imogen closed the distance between them and met her dry lips, her tongue gently tracing them until they opened and let her in to fully enjoy the magical taste of Constance Hardbroom.
She tasted like cherries dipped in chocolate, sweet and sour at the same time.
Her fingers finally made contact with Constance’s wetness and the witch cried out her colleague’s name, her breath becoming faster and shorter. Imogen put more pressure on her hand and sank deeper, luring out louder moans from the magical creature beneath her.
“Say please,” she commanded in a low voice, enjoying the full control she had over the usually uptight brunette.
Shock reflected in Constance’s brown eyes but she did not speak a word, she just whimpered and in a desperate attempt she tried to press herself harder against Imogen’s hand.
“Nu-uh, bad witch,” the blonde whispered in a playful tone, nibbling on Constance’s ear, her hot breath sending goose bumps down the witch’s spine.
The older woman bit her lower lip hard to distract herself from the unbelievable need to have the delicate fingers inside her and clenched her fists, the anger that overcame her doubling her lust for the stubborn athlete.
Imogen was not the only headstrong personality there.
She wouldn’t plead for release, not even when the fingers teased her and softly pressed against her in short intervals. She wouldn’t plead, not now, not ever. Not even when the blonde’s other hand covered her breast, lips covered her earlobe and she felt like burning, she felt like a witch burning at the stake. Instead of flames there were the touches and it was making her crazy because
she loved it,
loved it so much
she felt she didn’t deserve it.
She didn’t deserve to come in Imogen’s arms, she was too damaged for that. She was damaged by her past and she knew it and now Imogen must have known it too because she felt so exposed to her that the blonde must have seen her soul, her spirit, her heart, whatever was there inside her that was her.
She needed it to end, somehow, no matter how and she took control, her arms trying to push Imogen away from her. The blonde wouldn’t have that and she fought her back, relocating both of her hands to overpower the witch. Constance was fully aware that she was pinned down to the bed in no time with Imogen above her, the fingers that were soaking in her wetness a few moments ago now holding her wrists, pressing them to the soft mattress.
Seeing the desperation and embarrassment in the deep brown eyes made Imogen forget all about who was in charge: she realized she would surrender to this woman any time, had she asked for it. She wanted to surrender to Constance completely because she trusted her with her life. Seeing all that fear in her lover’s eyes, she kissed her forehead to reassure her everything’s all right.
“I am sorry, I am so sorry.”
Constance was surprised to hear the words. Apology was not something she anticipated.
Now she couldn’t run away and still felt so unworthy of Imogen’s touch that she had to do something, anything. She collected all the courage inside her and linked her hand with Imogen’s, moving it in between their bodies and leading it back where she needed it the most. She blushed when she felt how wet she was for Imogen.
Their eyes met.
“Please. Please, Imogen,” she whispered, pressing the guided hand against her center again.
The blonde was moved by the gesture and tears appeared in her eyes. She kissed Constance again, little by little and then slipped two fingers inside her, feeling the witch relax under her touch. She thrust in and out, the realization of what she was doing to the witch driving her over the edge.
She couldn’t quite explain it but Constance was different from anyone she had ever made love to: maybe it was the magic that surrendered them, making Imogen feel more powerful than she had ever felt in her life.
“Please, please, please…” the witch repeated over and over, as if the newly discovered word formed itself on her lips on its own, wanting to be heard and needed to be said.
The breath-taking sight of the beautiful woman beneath her, the unusual submissiveness in her voice and all that magic in the air made Imogen come with Constance, both of them panting for breath when they felt the waves of pleasure overcoming their bodies, for a moment feeling as if they were physically connected by the most powerful emotion there ever was: love.
They stayed still, Imogen’s hand still inside her lover, for a few moments.
Then, unexpectedly, Constance turned to her side and hugged Imogen, clinging to her as if she needed reassure that it was all real. Imogen returned the hug and put her hands around the thin body, one hand gently caressing her head and playing with her long, ebony hair.
“Next time, we can both try sleeping in the tent.” Constance said after some time, succeeding in making Imogen smile.