A Dark Inclination (3/3)
Title: A Dark Inclination, Part 3
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: NC-17
Characters: House, Cuddy, a tiny bit of Wilson
Author's Note: This was written for
house_cuddy's secret santa activity. I received
autumnrain78 who asked for a fic that involved the prompt, red thong, and contained sex - the more perverted the better. This also fulls
50kinkyways prompt 46. Writer's Choice (watersports)
Warning: This fic contains sex, spanking, and watersports (specifically the consumption of urine). If this bothers you, do not read.
Summary: Giving Cole her thong sends Cuddy down a path she could have never anticipated. Set after "You Don't Want to Know." Established Huddy relationship.
Previous Parts: Part 1, Part 2
Disclaimer: The show is not mine.
He rubs between her shoulder blades, but that gentle touch is undone when he puts the phone on speaker. The temptation to bite him has never been stronger, because he’s effectively trapped her where she is, and she’s not sure that she wants to be doing this while he’s on the phone. But hurting him, alas, is not an option. If she bites him or starts giving him a blow job or pulls away too quickly and chokes, the person on the other line will hear.
In this case, the person in question is Wilson, and Cuddy knows she can’t do anything now. The second she thinks that though, she is reminded of her thong. She still has it in her hand, giving her a way to tell House that he has to stop. And somehow that alone makes the moment okay for her. She has the power to make him hang up the phone without letting Wilson know she’s there, and that makes all the difference in the world to her. It allows her to calmly listen to the conversation going on around her.
“I’m fine,” House says at that particular moment.
There is a brief pause before Wilson says almost bitterly, “Of course you are.”
“I know that’s disappointing to you since you were hoping you could come over and nurse me back to health.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You mean this isn’t Cameron on the phone?”
Wilson makes a sigh of exasperation. “Have you talked to Cuddy yet?”
She feels her stomach drop at the sound of her name. As though he will see her, she doesn’t dare move, doesn’t dare breathe out of fear. House drops the phone on to the couch cushion next to him, so he can use both hands to stroke her hair and rub her back. But the warmth of his hands does nothing to stop the dread from spreading through her body. As gentle as he’s being, the fact of the matter is he has to answer the question.
And there’s no way that’s going to end well for her.
“Absolutely,” he finally answers. “She calls me every night so we can gossip while we paint our toenails. In fact, she’s on the other line right now. We’re debating who’s dreamier Taub or Dr. Buffer. I said Taub, but she’s -”
“Joke about it all you want, but I don’t think she’s going to be pleased that you -”
“God forbid I make Cuddy unhappy.”
“You do realize she’s the reason you’re allowed to play out your version of Survivor, right? And if you keep doing dumb things, she’ll put a stop to it. You do understand that, I hope.”
House looks down at her as if he’s silently challenging her to do just that. She’s not sure if he’s actually idiotic enough to think that she won’t welcome the challenge, but at that moment, she thinks Wilson’s reasoning sounds absolutely perfect to her. House must realize this, because he clears his throat.
“Yeah, I get it. Tomorrow she’s gonna have her whips and chains set up for me. Thanks for giving me that mental picture.”
“I didn’t -”
“Sure you did. And now I got a hooker puking in the bathroom from the horror of that -”
“You’re with a prostitute,” Wilson says with a touch of disgust. Cuddy isn’t sure why, given that she has come to think over the years that he has probably frequented a few hookers after his many divorces.
“Absolutely.” House sounds cheery, but she doesn’t feel anywhere near as joyous. She definitely doesn’t when he adds, “You know how I feel about having sex with someone special. Why get it for free when I can pay some pimp for it?”
It’s not that she doesn’t understand what he’s doing. She gets it. She really does. He can’t tell Wilson that he’s here with someone of any importance. He can’t mention her name or imply that anything he’s doing has any meaning whatsoever. If House asked her what she wanted him to say, that would be it. But hearing him say those words…
She doesn’t like it.
As frightening as it is to want to be House’s girlfriend, she would prefer to be that than someone of no importance. It’s terrifying to be introduced as his lover, to be acknowledged as someone intimately acquainted with him, but at least then… all of this risk is for something. Right now, they’re just having sex and driving each other nuts and jeopardizing everything for something that isn’t going anywhere. If they’re in a relationship, it’s different. There’s an end goal, a reason to be putting their professional lives on the line.
But knowing that doesn’t make the next few minutes of her life any less nerve wracking. It’s for the best, she understands, but telling him won’t be easy, especially when she has said already that she doesn’t want to think about their real lives tonight.
House rushes his way through the rest of his conversation with Wilson, and that frenetic energy just makes her feel worse. When he finally hangs up the phone, she doesn’t even have to hold up the underwear to get him to stop. The second House ends the call, he’s pulling her off his dick.
“See?” he asks, as she wipes the drool from her mouth. “I could have said you were with me, but I didn’t.” He offers her a bite of pineapple from the container of fried rice, which she eagerly accepts.
Chewing she hates that she will be contradicting herself, hates that he will take issue with it. But she doesn’t really have another option, does she? Swallowing, she tells him, “You said you weren’t having sex with someone special.”
He hands her the carton of food, and she greedily eats a couple bites. As she does that, he tucks himself back into his shorts, though he doesn’t bother to zip up his pants. “What did you want me to say - ‘Oh sorry, Wilson. I’d love to talk to you, but Cuddy’s got my peen in her mouth, so be back later’?”
“No,” she says, jabbing a piece of carrot with the chopsticks in her hand. “But you didn’t have to say -”
“Actually, I did.” His hand rummages loudly through the bag of take out. “If I said I was home alone, Wilson would come over.”
“You said you were fine.”
“Yeah, because that was going to stop him from coming over,” he says sarcastically.
As he starts gulping down curried beef, she forces herself to keep the conversation going. “I understand that.”
“But you’re pissed off anyway? I’m so shocked.”
“I’m not -”
“All right,” he says, cutting her off. “Tell me what I should have said that would keep him away and -”
“I don’t care about that,” she says loudly. Her frustration is so palpable for her then - and easy for him to see, because it shuts him up.
Thankfullly.
“I get it,” she tells him, forcing herself to calm down. “I understand why you told him what you did.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
She shrugs and glances down at the food in her hand. Suddenly it looks greasy, bits of burnt egg dotting the dark rice. Truthfully it makes her feel a little sick, so she looks back at him.
“I don’t know,” she says quickly. But that doesn’t exactly feel like the truth, so she elaborates. “I thought I could handle this and… have it mean nothing.”
He makes a face as though she was foolish to ever think that. “Of course it was going to mean something.” Her heart races at what he’s saying, the implication of his words electric to her mind. But then he ruins it by saying, “This is the best dick you’ve ever -”
The sound of disgust she makes silences him but not for long.
“Even if it weren’t, how long has it been?” He doesn’t give her a chance to answer/kill him. “Fact is, this is a nice break from your sadly Amish life. Your cumspringa if you will.”
“I won’t,” she says dryly. “And….” She has to force herself to push forward, because his attitude makes her feel like she’s about to make a fool of herself. But she thinks that, if she chickens out now, it’ll just be that much harder to bring the topic up in the future. And she will do that, she knows, because a relationship of some sort is too enticing for her to deny herself of it. She wants it, whether it makes sense or not, and no matter how hard he tries, that’s not going to change any time soon.
So she makes her mouth keep saying the things she’s thinking. “I’m not happy with the way things are,” she confesses.
“That’s pretty obvious.” He seems neither surprised nor dismayed, and she’s not sure what to do with that.
“I don’t want to mean nothing to you,” she says slowly. “I -”
“You don’t,” he assures her in an emotionless tone. It doesn’t strike her as a lie. If anything, it is simply a matter of fact, it seems. She means something to him is the same as honeybees having hair on their eyes or Dalmatians being born without sports are for him. It’s merely the truth, and that makes her smile a little.
Holding up a piece of beef for her to eat, he says as she chews the food, “Tell me what you want.” The second of hesitation is enough to make him agitated. “Tell me.”
“A relationship,” she says, her voice wavering more than she likes.
His response is steady. “You have it.”
She’s not sure why he is agreeing now. Perhaps he knows saying no will ruin the evening. Maybe she’s convinced him that it’s for the best, or perhaps his reluctance all along has been the result of a foregone conclusion: they are already in a relationship. She doesn’t know definitely why he’s doing this, but she understands that she won’t let the opportunity go.
“No flirting with other women.”
“Fine. No panties.”
She nods her head. “From now on, I will… keep my underwear to myself.”
“No, I mean don’t wear -”
“That’s never going to happen.”
“How disappointing for me then.” The words are clearly said in jest. But what he says next is unfortunately not. “Can’t tell anyone, you know.”
She doesn’t even think about what he’s said before asking, “Why not?”
He gives her an exasperated look. He doesn’t demand that she use her brain, but in those eyes, the thought is there for her to see. When she doesn’t figure it out fast enough, he explains, “You want to date? Fine. Let’s… do that. But I would think you of all people would understand why….” His voice trails off, and she gets why; the way he’s putting it, it would be easy for her to take it the wrong way. She doesn’t, but clearly it wouldn’t be hard to take offense. “We have no idea how this is going to go.”
“No,” she agrees.
“We tell everyone… we can’t un-tell them if things don’t go the way we want them to.”
“So you don’t want to say anything until -”
“We know it’s worth it? Yeah.”
Cuddy isn’t immediately taken with the idea. His point is understandable. But part of her can’t help but wonder why have a relationship if it’s going to be a secret.
“Your reputation is going to take a hit,” he tells her. “’Course mine will too, considering most people think I’m Wilson’s boyfriend.”
“You poor thing.”
“I can get over it. You know it won’t be so easy for you.”
Her attitude remains defiant. “Maybe I don’t want easy.”
“Well obviously. You’re asking to date me. But maybe we handle one problem at a time.” As usual his condescension is obvious and almost enough to make her so angry that she misses his point. Through her irritation though, she does understand what he’s saying.
“All right.”
She means what she says, but she sounds reluctant nevertheless. Being House, he picks up on the emotion and immediately responds to it.
“Lots of work dinners in your future,” he says as though it’s an enticing offer. His hand runs along her bare thighs, which reminds her that her skirt is still hiked up from earlier. But her nudity hardly bothers her. It’s not like he hasn’t seen her naked before, and if he’s willing to call attention to it in this nice way, she has no reason to be concerned. Suddenly though his hand stops moving. “You still give blow jobs under the table with -”
“Yes absolutely.” The sarcasm is impossible to miss, which makes him frown.
“I thought deans of medicine -”
“I know what you think.”
His fingers run along the curve of one of her knees. “And I have to be wrong about that?”
“Yeah.”
“Well that sucks.”
That should be the end of it. No matter how badly he would like her to change her mind, he has to know that that will never happen. And even if it’s disappointing for him, so too is it the way things are and will always be. But that doesn’t stop him from bringing it up throughout dinner.
She doesn’t mind it. As they eat, she realizes that they need that distraction. When they aren’t discussing it, they are silent with one another. They eat and every now and then attempt to talk about something else, but the conversation quickly dissipates, and quiet returns once more. The awkwardness between them is subtle, but she feels it creeping in on them nonetheless. As amazing as their chemistry is, they are not prepared for a relationship, she understands. They can go back and forth, but being supportive boyfriend and girlfriend is something they have yet to perfect. And given how long it has been since either has played that role for anyone, she is not surprised. But even though she knows that, she’s still grateful for the distraction.
“So when exactly can my dick come into contact with your mouth?” House asks, as they shove the empty food cartons onto the coffee table.
Cuddy sits back on the couch. She pretends to think about the question for a moment before giving him an answer. “Now?”
He nods his head. “That sounds about right. Especially since you gave your thong to -”
“Are you ever going to let that go?” she asks casually.
“Of course not. My girlfriend -”
“I wasn’t your girlfriend then,” she points out snottily.
He grimaces a little. “You didn’t think a little thing like facts was going to stop me, right?” Then his gaze narrows and fills with realization. “Besides what do you care? Even if you didn’t want to do it, you’d let me, wouldn’t you?” She isn’t given the chance to respond. “You’d swallow my cock down like a good little slut for me anyway. I’m betting you’d prefer if I made you.”
It’s a lie when she denies it. “I would not.”
“I know your secret now,” he says in a voice that almost makes it seem even dirtier or lascivious than she knows it is. “I won’t tell anyone else just how much you enjoy being spanked and treated like just another warm hole for me to use. But you’re not going to get me to pretend like I don’t know what you like. You shouldn’t even waste your time trying.”
“And if I do anyways?” she challenges. “What are you going to do then?”
He leans back into the couch to consider the possibilities. His palm rubs against his chin, the sandpaper-y scrape of his stubble just audible to her. And then he has an answer for her. “Your ass is nice to hit,” he admits. “But you won’t be able to take more than a few more slaps, and that’s not nearly enough for a bad girl like you. Luckily for me, you have breasts, which I have yet to touch.”
Of its own volition, her mind starts to picture the things he’s saying, implying. She sees him slowly taking off her shirt, unhooking her bra. He looks at her carefully then, to give her a choice - be slapped or do what he wants - but they both know at this point what she will do. And when she says nothing, he raises his hands and spanks the tip of her breast. It’s low enough that no one will know what’s happened to her, right across her areola so she really feels it. That’s what she imagines, but it’s not actually occurring… oddly to her dismay.
That doesn’t matter though. Whether he’s doing it or not, his words have touched something within her. She’s not subservient by nature; she finds it hard to believe that she has enjoyed this as much as she has. But he has drawn that side out of her.
Maybe it is just a chemical reaction that she has found delightful, and it’s not actually what he’s doing that’s making the difference. At this point, she doesn’t know what’s happening. She does know that she doesn’t care. Later on, she may be concerned about her behavior. But in the moment, she is far too interested in making the feeling last to reflect much on what she’s doing or what it means. Really, it’s probably a necessity - to keep this going - because if she lets it end, then she has no choice but to consider what they’ve done.
“Do it,” she tells him, spurred on by her desire to put off reality for a little while longer.
“Oh but you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“There’s no need to be smug.”
“I think there kinda is.” He is visibly reluctant, closing and his opening his mouth again. But eventually he does say, “As tempting as doing that is -”
“You’re not interested?” she asks in mild surprise. He’s brought it up, and she is oddly let down by the possibility of him not following through.
That’s clearly not what he has in mind, however, because when she says those words, he looks at her like she’s insane.
“I didn’t say that. And if someone waited for me to finish my sentence, she would know that.”
“Is there a reason you’re being even more obnoxiously condescending than usual or -”
“You like it.” He says it completely seriously without sarcasm or smugness. From that she can tell that he absolutely means what he says, and she’s not sure if she’s angry because he’s right or because she thinks he’s wrong.
Whatever the reason, she chooses to disagree either way. “I do not like -”
“There’s no point in lying. But as it is, Daddy has to pee, so this conversation will have to wait.” He shifts on the couch in preparation of standing up. Yet he’s barely moved an inch before he tells her in a dark voice, “If I were you, I’d be topless by the time I get back from the bathroom.”
The threat, or promise as she would see it, is lost on her. She hears him, of course; it’s not as though she is unaware of what he’s saying. She understands every word he utters and what he means. But what will happen seems less important than what is occurring now. Which is to say that for her she is more concerned about a lull in the action than the guarantee that it will continue when he returns.
Admittedly Cuddy trusts that he will still be interested. Having stumbled upon this side to her, House will no doubt be compelled to see just how far he can take it before she says no. But how will she react to that short break? The answer is obvious to her: as he goes to the bathroom, reality will begin to set in for her. She’ll be reminded of all the reasons she shouldn’t have let him do this to start with; she’ll think of how wrong it is for her to enjoy any of it, and she’ll put a stop to it the moment he returns. And the thing about that is: she doesn’t want that to happen.
It would be easy to take that inevitable instance of shame and use it as proof that she has done something wrong, been pushed beyond measure to do things she doesn’t like. But actually, sitting here now, she thinks that the fact is: she does like this; she has enjoyed it. And she will probably eventually be embarrassed by how much she has given into this dark impulse, but she knows:
She’ll let it happen again.
She’ll want it to.
And in the interim, if she is going to be ashamed, then she wants to make sure she has fully enjoyed herself in the experience. She wants to push this as far as she can, so that there is no question in his mind or hers that she has wanted this every step of the way. She wants to be so thoroughly used that it would be futile to act as though he had manipulated her into getting his way.
In other words, she doesn’t want this to stop until she knows they’ll do this again in the future. If she clams up prematurely, he will never go down this road again - which she doesn’t want. As frightening as it may be to wish for this to continue, she knows, in spite of all her fears, that that’s what she would like.
Knowing that, she instinctively shakes her head. House, not understanding what she means by that, looks vaguely enraged by her refusal. “No? Do you think you have permission to tell me no?”
In truth the answer is yes. That’s why she has the thong - to say no and have him know she means it. But that’s not what he’s referring to, and she gets it.
Still she can’t help but smirk when she answers, “No?”
He is suddenly calm. Whatever forced agitation he felt is gone, and it’s not hard to understand why. With one matter-of-fact sentence, he clears any confusion she might have up. “You’re going to be so sore when I’m done with you.”
He stands up. At his full height, he easily towers over her. Given that she’s sitting down, he seems even larger, stronger, and more powerful. She is not usually one to find any of those things attractive. But right now, she is lost in desire that by all accounts is unexpected, and she has already thrown herself headlong into the forbiddenness of it all. She has embraced it, freed herself of the restrictions she usually operates in. It feels as though a weight has been lifted off her shoulders, as though she is now unbound from the rules that have, up until this point, guided her.
And maybe it’s because she’s open to it that the idea strikes her. But at that precise moment, an impulse strikes her that she is helpless to refuse. His dick is so close to her, the need to taste him, have him in her mouth once more so strong. In the back of her mind, she can sense the degradation that would come from what she’s mentally proposing. Somehow that just makes her desire all the more keen.
She doesn’t know how to explain it, doesn’t want to. She doesn’t think about the why or even care enough about her motivation to even ask herself what her reasons are here. In all likelihood doing that would give her a reason to stop herself from giving into this urge. So she simply chooses to give into her own needs without question.
Her hands move towards his unzipped fly. She can feel his questioning gaze on her, which makes her at least outwardly more confident in her behavior. Reluctance doesn’t penetrate her steel stance that this is absolutely what she wants, but she knows it can’t even appear as though she is unsure.
For all of his displays of control, House is not the one in charge. He has looked to her all evening to see how far they can go. If at any point she said stop, he would. And if she isn’t completely visibly assured of the rightness in this, he will waste time with his doubt.
As it is, he nearly stops her when she slips her hand into the slat of his shorts. “Come on,” he tells her as she pulls his warm cock out. “You have to -”
“No, I don’t,” she says calmly. Butterflies in her stomach flutter at the conversation they are on the cusp of having.
“Cuddy.” His voice is filled with dismay. “I wasn’t kidding. I have to -”
“It’s okay.” She nuzzles his good thigh with her nose.
His fingers grab hold of her hair and roughly wrench her head back. When she’s looking up at him, he warns, “Unless you want a faceful of urine -”
“No -”
“Or plan on being my own personal….” He trails off, and she’s not confused why. When he said the words, she felt her body respond - her cunt becoming wetter, her tongue darting out to lick her lips in anticipation. And if he stops talking, it’s because he understands just what it is that she wants.
“Seriously?” he asks in shock. There is no judgment in the words, just amazement.
She forces out a “Yes.”
Doubt quickly sets in. She can see the surprise give way to it, and his resultant reticence is expected. “You don’t mean that,” he says with a shake of the head.
And in the face of his own doubt, part of her wants to agree. Rationally she understands that once she does this, once she even suggests she wants this, there’s no taking that back. Even if they don’t do any of it, even if she changes her mind, the impulse will be something House is aware of. And that terrifies her, because, while she knows he would never make her do something she didn’t want, he’ll know her. He will have seen just how dark she considers going, be a witness to the perversions she has buried until this moment.
She supposes that he already does understand her in ways no one else has ever come close to. This is in a way just one more piece of her that only he has ever seen.
But just as it was with in vitro, it makes her fearful that he might know something that dark about her. His tongue is sharp, his insistence on pushing buttons obvious, and there is in the back of her mind the concern that he might say something at some point.
She knows, however, that that is her inherent shame talking. She trusts what he said earlier - that no one would believe him if he did say something, that he would lose quite a lot by hurting her. And she is reminded that even when his vicious comments drew blood by saying she would be a horrible mother, it was a remark done in private. For all the ways he has embarrassed her, he has respected certain lines. She knows she is safe now.
Besides, who would believe him if he did tell?
He can’t even believe it himself - as evidenced by the disbelief in his eyes. But, with her interest reinforced, she is more than willing to prove him wrong.
“I do,” she says firmly.
“Convince me.”
She is sure her cheeks are red, despite her effort to remain calm. As much as she wants this, the fact of the matter is… she hasn’t even been able to say to herself what it is she’s interested in. Her mind has skirted around the issue, though she can very clearly picture what it is that she wants. She doubts he knows this, but it is obvious to her that, for his own enjoyment, he wants her to say the words out loud. And the issues that creates for her are apparent. How is she supposed to convince him if the words are ones she can barely think?
“I don’t know how,” she tells him honestly.
“Tell me. Exactly what you want. Say the words.”
She doesn’t. Hedging she asks, “Why does it matter?”
“Because I say it does.”
“But you know what I want.”
“I don’t care. I’m telling you to do something. Right now, you do what I want.”
His words do not offend her. On the contrary, much like it was with being spanked, his orders push her further into this mood of hers. The need to please him, to be his, is marrow deep in her, flowing through her blood, and into every cell of her being. It makes no sense, as it hasn’t all night. But in that wrongness, there is a rightness she craves.
“Touch yourself,” he demands while tightening his grip on her hair.
Her mouth feels dry as she slowly removes on hand from his thigh and moves it towards her own. She spreads her legs, so he can see more clearly what she’s about to do. There is an inherent discomfort in masturbating on his couch while he is practically yanking on her hair and towering over her. But that awkwardness is turned electric the second her index finger glides over her swollen clit. She is so wet and warm that she doubts she has ever been as turned on before.
“How good does that feel,” he says in a voice that makes her pussy clench with desire. “Go ahead and put a couple fingers in your little cunt for me, okay?” She nods her head, though she can feel the strain on her scalp. Her hand slips downward, and she inserts her index and middle fingers slowly inside herself.
Immediately she cries out. Her walls are clenched tightly around her. A few moves are all it will take for her to come all over herself.
She has no doubt House knows this.
“Remember what I said earlier? Your pussy is for my use only. I’m letting you borrow it for right now, but after you come, it’s all mine again. No one touches it but me, and you’ll have to be very good if you want me to play with it.”
Her exhale is raspy and harsh, her body hot and starting to sweat. She is so close that she doesn’t need much more in order to orgasm.
“Now,” he says roughly. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
Masturbating for him, she finds it hard to be embarrassed. “I want you in my mouth,” she blurts out forcing herself to say each word without stopping.
It’s not enough for him. “Which part?”
“Your dick.”
“So you can blow me?” he asks snidely.
“No.”
Her thumb briefly runs along her clit as he tells her, “Well, that’s going to happen eventually. You know that, right?”
“Yes.” At this point, she’s enjoying herself so much that she’s not just answering the question.
“But in the meantime,” he prompts.
“You know what -”
“If you can’t even tell me,” he says casually. “That makes me think you’re not interested.”
Her fingers still inside her. It’s not like she wants to stop, but she wants it to be absolutely clear that this is what she is asking for. The words themselves escape her, but it is definitely what she wants from him. And she’s not going to let the opportunity go, because he’s in doubt.
“I am.”
She leaves no room in her tone for disagreement. At least, she doesn’t think she has, because she doesn’t have any other way of making him understand just how badly she wants him to do this. Cuddy understands that she should be able to say the words. But… she can’t. She knows that if she says what she wants, somehow it will ruin the moment.
“All right fine,” he says after a moment. “Since you won’t say it, I will.” She is afraid to have the words spoken aloud, and yet at the same time, her body thrums on the energy just the thought of hearing him say it creates. “You want me to piss in your mouth.”
She doesn’t allow herself to cringe at the ridiculousness of his words. She knows he’ll misinterpret the expression if she does. So she forces herself to remain calm, to answer as firmly as she can, “Yes.”
Once again he is surprised. “Really?” He must fear that the question will make her uncomfortable, because he doesn’t prompt her for further agreement. Thankfully, he backs down then.
Reaching down, he grabs the thong, which she has forgotten about entirely. He pushes it into her free hand. “Don’t drop this,” he tells her seriously. All evening he has had an affect of sternness, but whereas he hasn’t actually been grave before, he suddenly is. The change in his demeanor makes it clear: he wants to guarantee that she has a way out. His fingers loosening their grip in her hair, he gently cards through her curls. “I mean it.”
“Okay.”
“Open your mouth.”
She does without hesitation. The expectation was for her that she would feel reluctant or queasy the second they got to this point. For whatever reason, however, she doesn’t feel that way at all. The promise that he will stop helps, but mostly, she thinks it’s the way he has given into this act without question, without disgust that makes her feel the most secure. It reinforces the idea that he is in fact the right if not the only person to do this with, because he will protect her every step of the way and respect her right to control the act. So instead of being nervous, she is relaxed when he slowly pushes his dick into her mouth.
He buries himself to the hilt, one of his hands moving to cup her cheek. His thumb lightly strokes the bottom tip of her earlobe, but he does nothing else. He just stands there, with his penis down her throat.
She understands. As doctors they are trained to evaluate and understand the inherent risk involved. He, like she has, will eventually decide that the possibility of transferring bacteria from his urethra to her is minimal. But he no doubt has to think about it. And even when he has that matter settled, there is still the concern that he will be doing something she doesn’t want. Unfortunately there’s nothing she can do or say to convince him of that. She can only wait until he decides she won’t object.
It’s torture for her - to have two fingers in her cunt, his cock in his mouth, and the knowledge of what he’s going to do firmly implanted in her mind. But she tells herself to be patient. Whatever he’s feeling has to be equally hard for him; the need to urinate but the fear that doing so will upset her… she doesn’t doubt that it’s a tense moment for him as well.
But they get past it. His dick slips against her tongue as he shifts on his feet a little, and then, as her eyes flutter shut, he starts. He’s warm against her and inside her. Unlike when he comes, this does not take her by surprise; there’s no force behind it, just the soft flow of fluid that she can barely taste. She’s okay with that, comfortable with the hint of saltiness she does get from him. And swallowing what he offers her, she is hit by an arousal that almost makes her choke.
Reminded of the fingers inside of her, she starts to pump herself quickly in harsh thrusts. The movement doesn’t go unnoticed by House. She can feel him settle against her; the restlessness he was displaying moments ago is gone. He no longer seems tense, and he lets himself go, much to her liking.
“You’re going to come aren’t you?” he asks, stroking her cheek. Obviously she can’t answer, so he keeps talking. “That’s it. Let me fill you up, make you mine.” Her thumb fumbles against her clit, and she has to fight back a moan that would choke her.
He doesn’t have to tell her to come. Her fingers hit her in just the right way, and then nothing he says or does matters at all. She needs no encouragement at that moment. Her muscles seize instantly, her fingers trapped by the warmth of her slick walls. Pleasure rushes through her in waves so powerful she can feel it in her toes. Tossed headlong into ecstasy, she cries against his dick. She can’t speak, but in her head is a refrain of yeses that are so loud they are deafening.
She doesn’t notice that he has finished until she feels him gradually become hard in her mouth. As her own orgasm fades away, her mind focuses on him, on giving him the release he now needs. She pulls her fingers out of her body and tosses the thong to the side now that she has no need for it. Bracing herself against the couch, she bobs her tongue along the underside of his stiffened cock.
He begins to thrust himself in and out of her, using her with as much force as she can take. And then it doesn’t take him long. She’s not sure if he’s just denied himself pleasure for too long or the result of watching her consume his fluid, but he is just as turned on now as she was. He nearly pulls out completely before pushing himself back in as hard and fast as he can go. The grip in her hair tightens, and when he comes, he lets out a groan so loud that she’s sure even the neighbors can hear.
She swallows the best she can before licking him clean with her tongue. He slumps against her, sweaty and practically gasping for air. When she’s tucked his softened cock back into his shorts, he straightens his back. He is visibly weary, as though the evening has sapped him of all his energy.
She can relate and does not protest when, moments later, handing her a glass of water, he tells her to spend the night. Her lips touching the rim of the cup, she tells him, “That’s fine.”
They do not discuss what they have done. Just as they have (up until tonight anyway) spent months not talking about their behavior, so too do they stay silent now. Words are rarely their friends and almost always a source of contention, of contest. Even if they have agreed to be in a relationship, some things won’t change any time soon, and she takes comfort in that.
He hands her a button down for her to wear, and she takes it without a word. Part of her expects him to say at some point that, if he had known she was that kinky, he would have dated her sooner. She is grateful that that sentiment remains unsaid for the time being.
She crawls into the bed first, and he follows suit. His head rests on her chest, an arm slung over her waist. One of her hands covers his bicep, and she spreads her legs, so his knee can rest between them. They say nothing then in the dark; they don’t need to. One silent, shared word exists between them. It’s the only thing she thinks as she falls asleep:
Mine.
The End
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: NC-17
Characters: House, Cuddy, a tiny bit of Wilson
Author's Note: This was written for
house_cuddy's secret santa activity. I received
autumnrain78 who asked for a fic that involved the prompt, red thong, and contained sex - the more perverted the better. This also fulls
50kinkyways prompt 46. Writer's Choice (watersports)
Warning: This fic contains sex, spanking, and watersports (specifically the consumption of urine). If this bothers you, do not read.
Summary: Giving Cole her thong sends Cuddy down a path she could have never anticipated. Set after "You Don't Want to Know." Established Huddy relationship.
Previous Parts: Part 1, Part 2
Disclaimer: The show is not mine.
He rubs between her shoulder blades, but that gentle touch is undone when he puts the phone on speaker. The temptation to bite him has never been stronger, because he’s effectively trapped her where she is, and she’s not sure that she wants to be doing this while he’s on the phone. But hurting him, alas, is not an option. If she bites him or starts giving him a blow job or pulls away too quickly and chokes, the person on the other line will hear.
In this case, the person in question is Wilson, and Cuddy knows she can’t do anything now. The second she thinks that though, she is reminded of her thong. She still has it in her hand, giving her a way to tell House that he has to stop. And somehow that alone makes the moment okay for her. She has the power to make him hang up the phone without letting Wilson know she’s there, and that makes all the difference in the world to her. It allows her to calmly listen to the conversation going on around her.
“I’m fine,” House says at that particular moment.
There is a brief pause before Wilson says almost bitterly, “Of course you are.”
“I know that’s disappointing to you since you were hoping you could come over and nurse me back to health.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You mean this isn’t Cameron on the phone?”
Wilson makes a sigh of exasperation. “Have you talked to Cuddy yet?”
She feels her stomach drop at the sound of her name. As though he will see her, she doesn’t dare move, doesn’t dare breathe out of fear. House drops the phone on to the couch cushion next to him, so he can use both hands to stroke her hair and rub her back. But the warmth of his hands does nothing to stop the dread from spreading through her body. As gentle as he’s being, the fact of the matter is he has to answer the question.
And there’s no way that’s going to end well for her.
“Absolutely,” he finally answers. “She calls me every night so we can gossip while we paint our toenails. In fact, she’s on the other line right now. We’re debating who’s dreamier Taub or Dr. Buffer. I said Taub, but she’s -”
“Joke about it all you want, but I don’t think she’s going to be pleased that you -”
“God forbid I make Cuddy unhappy.”
“You do realize she’s the reason you’re allowed to play out your version of Survivor, right? And if you keep doing dumb things, she’ll put a stop to it. You do understand that, I hope.”
House looks down at her as if he’s silently challenging her to do just that. She’s not sure if he’s actually idiotic enough to think that she won’t welcome the challenge, but at that moment, she thinks Wilson’s reasoning sounds absolutely perfect to her. House must realize this, because he clears his throat.
“Yeah, I get it. Tomorrow she’s gonna have her whips and chains set up for me. Thanks for giving me that mental picture.”
“I didn’t -”
“Sure you did. And now I got a hooker puking in the bathroom from the horror of that -”
“You’re with a prostitute,” Wilson says with a touch of disgust. Cuddy isn’t sure why, given that she has come to think over the years that he has probably frequented a few hookers after his many divorces.
“Absolutely.” House sounds cheery, but she doesn’t feel anywhere near as joyous. She definitely doesn’t when he adds, “You know how I feel about having sex with someone special. Why get it for free when I can pay some pimp for it?”
It’s not that she doesn’t understand what he’s doing. She gets it. She really does. He can’t tell Wilson that he’s here with someone of any importance. He can’t mention her name or imply that anything he’s doing has any meaning whatsoever. If House asked her what she wanted him to say, that would be it. But hearing him say those words…
She doesn’t like it.
As frightening as it is to want to be House’s girlfriend, she would prefer to be that than someone of no importance. It’s terrifying to be introduced as his lover, to be acknowledged as someone intimately acquainted with him, but at least then… all of this risk is for something. Right now, they’re just having sex and driving each other nuts and jeopardizing everything for something that isn’t going anywhere. If they’re in a relationship, it’s different. There’s an end goal, a reason to be putting their professional lives on the line.
But knowing that doesn’t make the next few minutes of her life any less nerve wracking. It’s for the best, she understands, but telling him won’t be easy, especially when she has said already that she doesn’t want to think about their real lives tonight.
House rushes his way through the rest of his conversation with Wilson, and that frenetic energy just makes her feel worse. When he finally hangs up the phone, she doesn’t even have to hold up the underwear to get him to stop. The second House ends the call, he’s pulling her off his dick.
“See?” he asks, as she wipes the drool from her mouth. “I could have said you were with me, but I didn’t.” He offers her a bite of pineapple from the container of fried rice, which she eagerly accepts.
Chewing she hates that she will be contradicting herself, hates that he will take issue with it. But she doesn’t really have another option, does she? Swallowing, she tells him, “You said you weren’t having sex with someone special.”
He hands her the carton of food, and she greedily eats a couple bites. As she does that, he tucks himself back into his shorts, though he doesn’t bother to zip up his pants. “What did you want me to say - ‘Oh sorry, Wilson. I’d love to talk to you, but Cuddy’s got my peen in her mouth, so be back later’?”
“No,” she says, jabbing a piece of carrot with the chopsticks in her hand. “But you didn’t have to say -”
“Actually, I did.” His hand rummages loudly through the bag of take out. “If I said I was home alone, Wilson would come over.”
“You said you were fine.”
“Yeah, because that was going to stop him from coming over,” he says sarcastically.
As he starts gulping down curried beef, she forces herself to keep the conversation going. “I understand that.”
“But you’re pissed off anyway? I’m so shocked.”
“I’m not -”
“All right,” he says, cutting her off. “Tell me what I should have said that would keep him away and -”
“I don’t care about that,” she says loudly. Her frustration is so palpable for her then - and easy for him to see, because it shuts him up.
Thankfullly.
“I get it,” she tells him, forcing herself to calm down. “I understand why you told him what you did.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
She shrugs and glances down at the food in her hand. Suddenly it looks greasy, bits of burnt egg dotting the dark rice. Truthfully it makes her feel a little sick, so she looks back at him.
“I don’t know,” she says quickly. But that doesn’t exactly feel like the truth, so she elaborates. “I thought I could handle this and… have it mean nothing.”
He makes a face as though she was foolish to ever think that. “Of course it was going to mean something.” Her heart races at what he’s saying, the implication of his words electric to her mind. But then he ruins it by saying, “This is the best dick you’ve ever -”
The sound of disgust she makes silences him but not for long.
“Even if it weren’t, how long has it been?” He doesn’t give her a chance to answer/kill him. “Fact is, this is a nice break from your sadly Amish life. Your cumspringa if you will.”
“I won’t,” she says dryly. “And….” She has to force herself to push forward, because his attitude makes her feel like she’s about to make a fool of herself. But she thinks that, if she chickens out now, it’ll just be that much harder to bring the topic up in the future. And she will do that, she knows, because a relationship of some sort is too enticing for her to deny herself of it. She wants it, whether it makes sense or not, and no matter how hard he tries, that’s not going to change any time soon.
So she makes her mouth keep saying the things she’s thinking. “I’m not happy with the way things are,” she confesses.
“That’s pretty obvious.” He seems neither surprised nor dismayed, and she’s not sure what to do with that.
“I don’t want to mean nothing to you,” she says slowly. “I -”
“You don’t,” he assures her in an emotionless tone. It doesn’t strike her as a lie. If anything, it is simply a matter of fact, it seems. She means something to him is the same as honeybees having hair on their eyes or Dalmatians being born without sports are for him. It’s merely the truth, and that makes her smile a little.
Holding up a piece of beef for her to eat, he says as she chews the food, “Tell me what you want.” The second of hesitation is enough to make him agitated. “Tell me.”
“A relationship,” she says, her voice wavering more than she likes.
His response is steady. “You have it.”
She’s not sure why he is agreeing now. Perhaps he knows saying no will ruin the evening. Maybe she’s convinced him that it’s for the best, or perhaps his reluctance all along has been the result of a foregone conclusion: they are already in a relationship. She doesn’t know definitely why he’s doing this, but she understands that she won’t let the opportunity go.
“No flirting with other women.”
“Fine. No panties.”
She nods her head. “From now on, I will… keep my underwear to myself.”
“No, I mean don’t wear -”
“That’s never going to happen.”
“How disappointing for me then.” The words are clearly said in jest. But what he says next is unfortunately not. “Can’t tell anyone, you know.”
She doesn’t even think about what he’s said before asking, “Why not?”
He gives her an exasperated look. He doesn’t demand that she use her brain, but in those eyes, the thought is there for her to see. When she doesn’t figure it out fast enough, he explains, “You want to date? Fine. Let’s… do that. But I would think you of all people would understand why….” His voice trails off, and she gets why; the way he’s putting it, it would be easy for her to take it the wrong way. She doesn’t, but clearly it wouldn’t be hard to take offense. “We have no idea how this is going to go.”
“No,” she agrees.
“We tell everyone… we can’t un-tell them if things don’t go the way we want them to.”
“So you don’t want to say anything until -”
“We know it’s worth it? Yeah.”
Cuddy isn’t immediately taken with the idea. His point is understandable. But part of her can’t help but wonder why have a relationship if it’s going to be a secret.
“Your reputation is going to take a hit,” he tells her. “’Course mine will too, considering most people think I’m Wilson’s boyfriend.”
“You poor thing.”
“I can get over it. You know it won’t be so easy for you.”
Her attitude remains defiant. “Maybe I don’t want easy.”
“Well obviously. You’re asking to date me. But maybe we handle one problem at a time.” As usual his condescension is obvious and almost enough to make her so angry that she misses his point. Through her irritation though, she does understand what he’s saying.
“All right.”
She means what she says, but she sounds reluctant nevertheless. Being House, he picks up on the emotion and immediately responds to it.
“Lots of work dinners in your future,” he says as though it’s an enticing offer. His hand runs along her bare thighs, which reminds her that her skirt is still hiked up from earlier. But her nudity hardly bothers her. It’s not like he hasn’t seen her naked before, and if he’s willing to call attention to it in this nice way, she has no reason to be concerned. Suddenly though his hand stops moving. “You still give blow jobs under the table with -”
“Yes absolutely.” The sarcasm is impossible to miss, which makes him frown.
“I thought deans of medicine -”
“I know what you think.”
His fingers run along the curve of one of her knees. “And I have to be wrong about that?”
“Yeah.”
“Well that sucks.”
That should be the end of it. No matter how badly he would like her to change her mind, he has to know that that will never happen. And even if it’s disappointing for him, so too is it the way things are and will always be. But that doesn’t stop him from bringing it up throughout dinner.
She doesn’t mind it. As they eat, she realizes that they need that distraction. When they aren’t discussing it, they are silent with one another. They eat and every now and then attempt to talk about something else, but the conversation quickly dissipates, and quiet returns once more. The awkwardness between them is subtle, but she feels it creeping in on them nonetheless. As amazing as their chemistry is, they are not prepared for a relationship, she understands. They can go back and forth, but being supportive boyfriend and girlfriend is something they have yet to perfect. And given how long it has been since either has played that role for anyone, she is not surprised. But even though she knows that, she’s still grateful for the distraction.
“So when exactly can my dick come into contact with your mouth?” House asks, as they shove the empty food cartons onto the coffee table.
Cuddy sits back on the couch. She pretends to think about the question for a moment before giving him an answer. “Now?”
He nods his head. “That sounds about right. Especially since you gave your thong to -”
“Are you ever going to let that go?” she asks casually.
“Of course not. My girlfriend -”
“I wasn’t your girlfriend then,” she points out snottily.
He grimaces a little. “You didn’t think a little thing like facts was going to stop me, right?” Then his gaze narrows and fills with realization. “Besides what do you care? Even if you didn’t want to do it, you’d let me, wouldn’t you?” She isn’t given the chance to respond. “You’d swallow my cock down like a good little slut for me anyway. I’m betting you’d prefer if I made you.”
It’s a lie when she denies it. “I would not.”
“I know your secret now,” he says in a voice that almost makes it seem even dirtier or lascivious than she knows it is. “I won’t tell anyone else just how much you enjoy being spanked and treated like just another warm hole for me to use. But you’re not going to get me to pretend like I don’t know what you like. You shouldn’t even waste your time trying.”
“And if I do anyways?” she challenges. “What are you going to do then?”
He leans back into the couch to consider the possibilities. His palm rubs against his chin, the sandpaper-y scrape of his stubble just audible to her. And then he has an answer for her. “Your ass is nice to hit,” he admits. “But you won’t be able to take more than a few more slaps, and that’s not nearly enough for a bad girl like you. Luckily for me, you have breasts, which I have yet to touch.”
Of its own volition, her mind starts to picture the things he’s saying, implying. She sees him slowly taking off her shirt, unhooking her bra. He looks at her carefully then, to give her a choice - be slapped or do what he wants - but they both know at this point what she will do. And when she says nothing, he raises his hands and spanks the tip of her breast. It’s low enough that no one will know what’s happened to her, right across her areola so she really feels it. That’s what she imagines, but it’s not actually occurring… oddly to her dismay.
That doesn’t matter though. Whether he’s doing it or not, his words have touched something within her. She’s not subservient by nature; she finds it hard to believe that she has enjoyed this as much as she has. But he has drawn that side out of her.
Maybe it is just a chemical reaction that she has found delightful, and it’s not actually what he’s doing that’s making the difference. At this point, she doesn’t know what’s happening. She does know that she doesn’t care. Later on, she may be concerned about her behavior. But in the moment, she is far too interested in making the feeling last to reflect much on what she’s doing or what it means. Really, it’s probably a necessity - to keep this going - because if she lets it end, then she has no choice but to consider what they’ve done.
“Do it,” she tells him, spurred on by her desire to put off reality for a little while longer.
“Oh but you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“There’s no need to be smug.”
“I think there kinda is.” He is visibly reluctant, closing and his opening his mouth again. But eventually he does say, “As tempting as doing that is -”
“You’re not interested?” she asks in mild surprise. He’s brought it up, and she is oddly let down by the possibility of him not following through.
That’s clearly not what he has in mind, however, because when she says those words, he looks at her like she’s insane.
“I didn’t say that. And if someone waited for me to finish my sentence, she would know that.”
“Is there a reason you’re being even more obnoxiously condescending than usual or -”
“You like it.” He says it completely seriously without sarcasm or smugness. From that she can tell that he absolutely means what he says, and she’s not sure if she’s angry because he’s right or because she thinks he’s wrong.
Whatever the reason, she chooses to disagree either way. “I do not like -”
“There’s no point in lying. But as it is, Daddy has to pee, so this conversation will have to wait.” He shifts on the couch in preparation of standing up. Yet he’s barely moved an inch before he tells her in a dark voice, “If I were you, I’d be topless by the time I get back from the bathroom.”
The threat, or promise as she would see it, is lost on her. She hears him, of course; it’s not as though she is unaware of what he’s saying. She understands every word he utters and what he means. But what will happen seems less important than what is occurring now. Which is to say that for her she is more concerned about a lull in the action than the guarantee that it will continue when he returns.
Admittedly Cuddy trusts that he will still be interested. Having stumbled upon this side to her, House will no doubt be compelled to see just how far he can take it before she says no. But how will she react to that short break? The answer is obvious to her: as he goes to the bathroom, reality will begin to set in for her. She’ll be reminded of all the reasons she shouldn’t have let him do this to start with; she’ll think of how wrong it is for her to enjoy any of it, and she’ll put a stop to it the moment he returns. And the thing about that is: she doesn’t want that to happen.
It would be easy to take that inevitable instance of shame and use it as proof that she has done something wrong, been pushed beyond measure to do things she doesn’t like. But actually, sitting here now, she thinks that the fact is: she does like this; she has enjoyed it. And she will probably eventually be embarrassed by how much she has given into this dark impulse, but she knows:
She’ll let it happen again.
She’ll want it to.
And in the interim, if she is going to be ashamed, then she wants to make sure she has fully enjoyed herself in the experience. She wants to push this as far as she can, so that there is no question in his mind or hers that she has wanted this every step of the way. She wants to be so thoroughly used that it would be futile to act as though he had manipulated her into getting his way.
In other words, she doesn’t want this to stop until she knows they’ll do this again in the future. If she clams up prematurely, he will never go down this road again - which she doesn’t want. As frightening as it may be to wish for this to continue, she knows, in spite of all her fears, that that’s what she would like.
Knowing that, she instinctively shakes her head. House, not understanding what she means by that, looks vaguely enraged by her refusal. “No? Do you think you have permission to tell me no?”
In truth the answer is yes. That’s why she has the thong - to say no and have him know she means it. But that’s not what he’s referring to, and she gets it.
Still she can’t help but smirk when she answers, “No?”
He is suddenly calm. Whatever forced agitation he felt is gone, and it’s not hard to understand why. With one matter-of-fact sentence, he clears any confusion she might have up. “You’re going to be so sore when I’m done with you.”
He stands up. At his full height, he easily towers over her. Given that she’s sitting down, he seems even larger, stronger, and more powerful. She is not usually one to find any of those things attractive. But right now, she is lost in desire that by all accounts is unexpected, and she has already thrown herself headlong into the forbiddenness of it all. She has embraced it, freed herself of the restrictions she usually operates in. It feels as though a weight has been lifted off her shoulders, as though she is now unbound from the rules that have, up until this point, guided her.
And maybe it’s because she’s open to it that the idea strikes her. But at that precise moment, an impulse strikes her that she is helpless to refuse. His dick is so close to her, the need to taste him, have him in her mouth once more so strong. In the back of her mind, she can sense the degradation that would come from what she’s mentally proposing. Somehow that just makes her desire all the more keen.
She doesn’t know how to explain it, doesn’t want to. She doesn’t think about the why or even care enough about her motivation to even ask herself what her reasons are here. In all likelihood doing that would give her a reason to stop herself from giving into this urge. So she simply chooses to give into her own needs without question.
Her hands move towards his unzipped fly. She can feel his questioning gaze on her, which makes her at least outwardly more confident in her behavior. Reluctance doesn’t penetrate her steel stance that this is absolutely what she wants, but she knows it can’t even appear as though she is unsure.
For all of his displays of control, House is not the one in charge. He has looked to her all evening to see how far they can go. If at any point she said stop, he would. And if she isn’t completely visibly assured of the rightness in this, he will waste time with his doubt.
As it is, he nearly stops her when she slips her hand into the slat of his shorts. “Come on,” he tells her as she pulls his warm cock out. “You have to -”
“No, I don’t,” she says calmly. Butterflies in her stomach flutter at the conversation they are on the cusp of having.
“Cuddy.” His voice is filled with dismay. “I wasn’t kidding. I have to -”
“It’s okay.” She nuzzles his good thigh with her nose.
His fingers grab hold of her hair and roughly wrench her head back. When she’s looking up at him, he warns, “Unless you want a faceful of urine -”
“No -”
“Or plan on being my own personal….” He trails off, and she’s not confused why. When he said the words, she felt her body respond - her cunt becoming wetter, her tongue darting out to lick her lips in anticipation. And if he stops talking, it’s because he understands just what it is that she wants.
“Seriously?” he asks in shock. There is no judgment in the words, just amazement.
She forces out a “Yes.”
Doubt quickly sets in. She can see the surprise give way to it, and his resultant reticence is expected. “You don’t mean that,” he says with a shake of the head.
And in the face of his own doubt, part of her wants to agree. Rationally she understands that once she does this, once she even suggests she wants this, there’s no taking that back. Even if they don’t do any of it, even if she changes her mind, the impulse will be something House is aware of. And that terrifies her, because, while she knows he would never make her do something she didn’t want, he’ll know her. He will have seen just how dark she considers going, be a witness to the perversions she has buried until this moment.
She supposes that he already does understand her in ways no one else has ever come close to. This is in a way just one more piece of her that only he has ever seen.
But just as it was with in vitro, it makes her fearful that he might know something that dark about her. His tongue is sharp, his insistence on pushing buttons obvious, and there is in the back of her mind the concern that he might say something at some point.
She knows, however, that that is her inherent shame talking. She trusts what he said earlier - that no one would believe him if he did say something, that he would lose quite a lot by hurting her. And she is reminded that even when his vicious comments drew blood by saying she would be a horrible mother, it was a remark done in private. For all the ways he has embarrassed her, he has respected certain lines. She knows she is safe now.
Besides, who would believe him if he did tell?
He can’t even believe it himself - as evidenced by the disbelief in his eyes. But, with her interest reinforced, she is more than willing to prove him wrong.
“I do,” she says firmly.
“Convince me.”
She is sure her cheeks are red, despite her effort to remain calm. As much as she wants this, the fact of the matter is… she hasn’t even been able to say to herself what it is she’s interested in. Her mind has skirted around the issue, though she can very clearly picture what it is that she wants. She doubts he knows this, but it is obvious to her that, for his own enjoyment, he wants her to say the words out loud. And the issues that creates for her are apparent. How is she supposed to convince him if the words are ones she can barely think?
“I don’t know how,” she tells him honestly.
“Tell me. Exactly what you want. Say the words.”
She doesn’t. Hedging she asks, “Why does it matter?”
“Because I say it does.”
“But you know what I want.”
“I don’t care. I’m telling you to do something. Right now, you do what I want.”
His words do not offend her. On the contrary, much like it was with being spanked, his orders push her further into this mood of hers. The need to please him, to be his, is marrow deep in her, flowing through her blood, and into every cell of her being. It makes no sense, as it hasn’t all night. But in that wrongness, there is a rightness she craves.
“Touch yourself,” he demands while tightening his grip on her hair.
Her mouth feels dry as she slowly removes on hand from his thigh and moves it towards her own. She spreads her legs, so he can see more clearly what she’s about to do. There is an inherent discomfort in masturbating on his couch while he is practically yanking on her hair and towering over her. But that awkwardness is turned electric the second her index finger glides over her swollen clit. She is so wet and warm that she doubts she has ever been as turned on before.
“How good does that feel,” he says in a voice that makes her pussy clench with desire. “Go ahead and put a couple fingers in your little cunt for me, okay?” She nods her head, though she can feel the strain on her scalp. Her hand slips downward, and she inserts her index and middle fingers slowly inside herself.
Immediately she cries out. Her walls are clenched tightly around her. A few moves are all it will take for her to come all over herself.
She has no doubt House knows this.
“Remember what I said earlier? Your pussy is for my use only. I’m letting you borrow it for right now, but after you come, it’s all mine again. No one touches it but me, and you’ll have to be very good if you want me to play with it.”
Her exhale is raspy and harsh, her body hot and starting to sweat. She is so close that she doesn’t need much more in order to orgasm.
“Now,” he says roughly. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
Masturbating for him, she finds it hard to be embarrassed. “I want you in my mouth,” she blurts out forcing herself to say each word without stopping.
It’s not enough for him. “Which part?”
“Your dick.”
“So you can blow me?” he asks snidely.
“No.”
Her thumb briefly runs along her clit as he tells her, “Well, that’s going to happen eventually. You know that, right?”
“Yes.” At this point, she’s enjoying herself so much that she’s not just answering the question.
“But in the meantime,” he prompts.
“You know what -”
“If you can’t even tell me,” he says casually. “That makes me think you’re not interested.”
Her fingers still inside her. It’s not like she wants to stop, but she wants it to be absolutely clear that this is what she is asking for. The words themselves escape her, but it is definitely what she wants from him. And she’s not going to let the opportunity go, because he’s in doubt.
“I am.”
She leaves no room in her tone for disagreement. At least, she doesn’t think she has, because she doesn’t have any other way of making him understand just how badly she wants him to do this. Cuddy understands that she should be able to say the words. But… she can’t. She knows that if she says what she wants, somehow it will ruin the moment.
“All right fine,” he says after a moment. “Since you won’t say it, I will.” She is afraid to have the words spoken aloud, and yet at the same time, her body thrums on the energy just the thought of hearing him say it creates. “You want me to piss in your mouth.”
She doesn’t allow herself to cringe at the ridiculousness of his words. She knows he’ll misinterpret the expression if she does. So she forces herself to remain calm, to answer as firmly as she can, “Yes.”
Once again he is surprised. “Really?” He must fear that the question will make her uncomfortable, because he doesn’t prompt her for further agreement. Thankfully, he backs down then.
Reaching down, he grabs the thong, which she has forgotten about entirely. He pushes it into her free hand. “Don’t drop this,” he tells her seriously. All evening he has had an affect of sternness, but whereas he hasn’t actually been grave before, he suddenly is. The change in his demeanor makes it clear: he wants to guarantee that she has a way out. His fingers loosening their grip in her hair, he gently cards through her curls. “I mean it.”
“Okay.”
“Open your mouth.”
She does without hesitation. The expectation was for her that she would feel reluctant or queasy the second they got to this point. For whatever reason, however, she doesn’t feel that way at all. The promise that he will stop helps, but mostly, she thinks it’s the way he has given into this act without question, without disgust that makes her feel the most secure. It reinforces the idea that he is in fact the right if not the only person to do this with, because he will protect her every step of the way and respect her right to control the act. So instead of being nervous, she is relaxed when he slowly pushes his dick into her mouth.
He buries himself to the hilt, one of his hands moving to cup her cheek. His thumb lightly strokes the bottom tip of her earlobe, but he does nothing else. He just stands there, with his penis down her throat.
She understands. As doctors they are trained to evaluate and understand the inherent risk involved. He, like she has, will eventually decide that the possibility of transferring bacteria from his urethra to her is minimal. But he no doubt has to think about it. And even when he has that matter settled, there is still the concern that he will be doing something she doesn’t want. Unfortunately there’s nothing she can do or say to convince him of that. She can only wait until he decides she won’t object.
It’s torture for her - to have two fingers in her cunt, his cock in his mouth, and the knowledge of what he’s going to do firmly implanted in her mind. But she tells herself to be patient. Whatever he’s feeling has to be equally hard for him; the need to urinate but the fear that doing so will upset her… she doesn’t doubt that it’s a tense moment for him as well.
But they get past it. His dick slips against her tongue as he shifts on his feet a little, and then, as her eyes flutter shut, he starts. He’s warm against her and inside her. Unlike when he comes, this does not take her by surprise; there’s no force behind it, just the soft flow of fluid that she can barely taste. She’s okay with that, comfortable with the hint of saltiness she does get from him. And swallowing what he offers her, she is hit by an arousal that almost makes her choke.
Reminded of the fingers inside of her, she starts to pump herself quickly in harsh thrusts. The movement doesn’t go unnoticed by House. She can feel him settle against her; the restlessness he was displaying moments ago is gone. He no longer seems tense, and he lets himself go, much to her liking.
“You’re going to come aren’t you?” he asks, stroking her cheek. Obviously she can’t answer, so he keeps talking. “That’s it. Let me fill you up, make you mine.” Her thumb fumbles against her clit, and she has to fight back a moan that would choke her.
He doesn’t have to tell her to come. Her fingers hit her in just the right way, and then nothing he says or does matters at all. She needs no encouragement at that moment. Her muscles seize instantly, her fingers trapped by the warmth of her slick walls. Pleasure rushes through her in waves so powerful she can feel it in her toes. Tossed headlong into ecstasy, she cries against his dick. She can’t speak, but in her head is a refrain of yeses that are so loud they are deafening.
She doesn’t notice that he has finished until she feels him gradually become hard in her mouth. As her own orgasm fades away, her mind focuses on him, on giving him the release he now needs. She pulls her fingers out of her body and tosses the thong to the side now that she has no need for it. Bracing herself against the couch, she bobs her tongue along the underside of his stiffened cock.
He begins to thrust himself in and out of her, using her with as much force as she can take. And then it doesn’t take him long. She’s not sure if he’s just denied himself pleasure for too long or the result of watching her consume his fluid, but he is just as turned on now as she was. He nearly pulls out completely before pushing himself back in as hard and fast as he can go. The grip in her hair tightens, and when he comes, he lets out a groan so loud that she’s sure even the neighbors can hear.
She swallows the best she can before licking him clean with her tongue. He slumps against her, sweaty and practically gasping for air. When she’s tucked his softened cock back into his shorts, he straightens his back. He is visibly weary, as though the evening has sapped him of all his energy.
She can relate and does not protest when, moments later, handing her a glass of water, he tells her to spend the night. Her lips touching the rim of the cup, she tells him, “That’s fine.”
They do not discuss what they have done. Just as they have (up until tonight anyway) spent months not talking about their behavior, so too do they stay silent now. Words are rarely their friends and almost always a source of contention, of contest. Even if they have agreed to be in a relationship, some things won’t change any time soon, and she takes comfort in that.
He hands her a button down for her to wear, and she takes it without a word. Part of her expects him to say at some point that, if he had known she was that kinky, he would have dated her sooner. She is grateful that that sentiment remains unsaid for the time being.
She crawls into the bed first, and he follows suit. His head rests on her chest, an arm slung over her waist. One of her hands covers his bicep, and she spreads her legs, so his knee can rest between them. They say nothing then in the dark; they don’t need to. One silent, shared word exists between them. It’s the only thing she thinks as she falls asleep:
Mine.
The End