Fic: The Bacon Crusade (1/1)
Title(s): The Bacon Crusade
Author: cranberry_pi
Rating: NC-17 for sexytimes.
Spoilers: Nope.
Summary: A porn-y third piece in the Lily-verse - set after Cravings and Two Untitled Drabbles. This wasn't what I had in mind when I planned to write another Quinndiana Jones story, but it got out of hand on me really quickly and turned into porn. There's a "Porn Free" joke in there somewhere too, but I can't think of it now. Anyway...
It’s dark when you wake - pitch black, in fact. But your body clock complains that isn’t possible, it must be after nine by now, how could it be dark? You move a hand toward your face, intending to rub your eyes - but your hand won’t move more than a few inches, and there’s a metallic sound of something scraping against your bedpost. As you slowly wake, you realise that the darkness isn’t natural - there’s something covering your eyes. Panic starts to seep in, and you struggle against whatever’s holding you down. You open your mouth to cry out, and a soft hand covers it. A whisper in your ear stills your struggles.
“Quinn, it’s okay - it’s me.” She releases your mouth.
“Rach? What are you doing, Lily could walk in-“
“Lily’s at your mom’s, Quinn. We dropped her off last night, remember?”
Suddenly, you do - and you sigh happily as it all sinks in. Lily’s staying at Grandma’s until tonight, and that leaves you all day for other entertainment.
“So,” her voice gets playfully serious, taking on a horrific attempt at a German accent. “Now that we have you, Doctor Jones, we must ask - what to do with you? You will tell us where the Bacon Grail is, you understand this?”
You’re torn between a laugh and an aroused moan, and so you just shake your head instead.
“No?” her voice rises. “You think not? I assure you, Doctor Jones, we have ways of making you talk. Soon you will beg to tell me where it is.”
“I really won’t, miss, uh,”
“You can call me Elsa.”
“Elsa!” you gasp theatrically. “I should have known you were working with the Nazis. You were just too perfect.”
“I’m sorry to have deceived you, Quinndiana. But I had my orders. Now, please, for your own sake - tell me where the Bacon Grail is. I don’t want to have to torture you.”
“And what’s my alternative?” you sneer. “A quick death?”
“It would be better,” she trails a short nail up your leg. “Believe me.”
“Do your worst, Nazi scum,” you tighten your jaw heroically. “I won’t tell you a thing.”
“Very well - I’m sorry, Quinndiana. I wish it hadn’t come to this.”
Something brushes your leg, and you jump. It’s a light, teasing touch that tickles. It winds its way up your leg, and by the time it’s reached your thigh you’ve placed it - a feather, maybe, or a duster. Either way, it’s torturous. You squirm, trying to get away from it, but it’s touching you all over - from your face to your chest to your toes, and finally scraping across your bare sex. It’s that last touch that makes you jump and groan softly, your nipples tightening painfully.
“You can make this stop anytime, Doctor Jones. All you have to do is tell us what we want to know.”
“Go to hell,” you gasp. “I’ll never tell you.”
“So be it. I see we must resort to more drastic methods.” You hear her walk across the room, and then a sound you can’t identify. She walks back across the carpet - and suddenly something’s touching you, something shockingly cold. Ice cube, your fevered brain responds as she swirls it around your cheeks, trails it down your neck to your breasts, where she traces a lazy path around your nipples, leaving gooseflesh in her wake. Your nipples are so tight now that they hurt, and when she brushes one you all but leap off the bed. She chuckles, the sound making you shiver.
“Tell us, Quinndiana - tell me. I’ll make it all stop.”
You can’t verbalise an answer, so she resumes her path with the ice, down across your taut stomach, circling your navel, and finally down between your legs. You buck and thrash as she touches you there, but she waits for you to stop moving before inserting the tiny piece of remaining ice cube into your sex. It’s freezing, but the sensation is incredible, and you feel your hips rise involuntarily off the bed, your clit throbbing and begging for her attention. She doesn’t satisfy you, though, only disappears again. When she speaks, it’s from across the room.
“Are you ready to talk, Doctor Jones?”
“Never,” you gasp, helpless to keep yourself from humping the air a little. “N-never.”
“You sound less sure now. Are you seeing your predicament? Understanding that the torture isn’t going to stop?”
“Never!” you repeat, with more conviction, and she sighs theatrically.
“Very well - we’ll need something even more drastic, I see.” She climbs up on the bed, straddling you. You can feel her wet center on your thigh, and you know she’s gloriously naked. What you don’t know is what she has planned - but that question is quickly answered by a splash of hot wax on your chest.
“Fuck!” you writhe. “Rachel!”
“Who is Rachel?” her accent gets impossibly cheesier. “Does she know something about the Grail?”
“No! She doesn’t know anything-“ there’s another drop of wax, aimed perfectly at your breast, and you gasp. You’ve never played with wax before, but you know Rachel has always wanted to try it - and now she’s found her opportunity. It wasn’t regular candle wax, you're sure - it doesn’t burn hot and cools quickly on contact, and the sensation of it on skin is mind-boggling. “Fuck!” you try to settle your hips, as you know you’re not far from throwing her off the bed, but it’s not helped when she starts to ride your thigh, her arousal coating your skin. You try to move your thigh in time with her, but she drips more wax across your stomach and holds your leg down with her free hand so she can ride it at her own pace.
She comes with a soft cry, timing it with another deposit of wax, and you’re so close to climax now that you can barely think. Anything, even a soft breath on your clit, would be enough to tip you over the edge - but she’s suddenly gone. If it wasn’t for whatever secures your hands, you’d be running a finger through the juices she’s left on your thigh, tasting her essence, but that’s not an option. Instead you throw your head back against your pillow, sighing with frustration.
“Tell me what I want to know!” she urges. “It can all end right now!”
You shake your head, not trusting yourself to answer aloud.
“Fine.” There’s a jangle of metal, and the sound of something touching her - something you desperately wish was you. She leans over the bed, her breasts brushing yours, and kisses you. It’s long, slow, and deep, her tongue demanding and getting entrance into your mouth. Every muscle in your body is aflame at her touch, and you’re gasping for breath when she pulls away. You wait for another, but it doesn’t come. Instead her mouth moves to your neck, sucking hard at just the right spot. You know you’ll have a bruise there, but in the moment you don’t care in the least. Your breath hitches, your back bows in anticipation of your orgasm - and then the sensation disappears.
“God,” you plead. “More, more.”
“Tell me!”
“Uh-uh.”
Her lips, her teeth, go to work on your breast, sucking and scraping and biting, and you’re sure that the sheets will have to be changed, and you’re so goddamn close when she stops again, then repeats her actions on your other breast, stopping just short of your climax yet again. She knows you too well, knows the secret language of your body, and she knows your point of no return, and she won’t let you get there. This is the game, to see how long you can last without breaking - and you know it won’t be long at all. Since the moment you first kissed her, she’s had a frightening amount of power over you, an inherent ability to play your body like a piano, and today will be no different. But for now you’re holding on. Barely.
She climbs atop you, and as you feel a length of silicone against your leg you realise what she was doing a moment earlier. She reaches behind your head and pulls the Velcro closure of your blindfold open, and you blink against the sudden light. When you can see her, though, you decide it might have been easier to hold on if you couldn’t. Her hair is elaborately braided, and she’s giving you her very best bedroom eyes. Her breasts are tantalising, begging you to reach out and touch them, and the dildo she wears in her harness is all but calling your name. Every nerve ending in you is overloaded, and you’re twitching involuntarily. Seeing it, she grins at you for a second before she remembers she’s supposed to be playing.
“So, Doctor Jones, we come down to it at last. Tell us what we want to know.”
“Never.”
“Quinndiana, please, don’t make me do this. It’s breaking my heart.”
“You’re just a Nazi, Elsa, you don’t have a heart.”
Spreading your legs, she grabs the thick shaft of the dildo and presses it against your entrance. You clench, trying to pull it inside, but she stills. You try to rock against it, but she uses both hands to hold you in place. Your dripping pussy is begging you to just give her whatever she wants, let her finish inserting herself into you, and you feel your resistance break.
“It’s in the freezer!” you shout. “God, the bacon’s in the freezer, will you fucking please just fucking fuck me!”
“Your wish is my command,” she laughs, burying the dildo to its hilt in you before partially withdrawing and starting a fast, rough pace with her thrusts. Your orgasm is almost instant, which isn’t a surprise given how close to the edge you’ve been hovering for the last half hour. She doesn’t stop there, though, ripping two more from you before she stops. Your hair is damp, your body soaked with sweat, and everything is sore when she reaches up to release your hands. You surprise her by pulling her upward, taking the dildo in your mouth and carefully cleaning it of your essence. She moans as she watches you, her hands playing with her breasts, and you use her distraction as on opportunity to flip her over on her back.
With practiced ease, you remove the harness to reveal her bare, glistening center. Three of your fingers slide easily into her, and she thrashes above you, her hands knotted in the sheets. Her muscles clench around your fingers, spasming as she climaxes, and you put your head between her legs to lap up her sweet come. You coax one more out of her before she waves a hand in surrender.
“I can’t,” she groans. “No more.”
Taking pity on her, you wriggle up the bed to put your head down next to hers, draping an arm across her impossibly warm chest. She kisses you softly, licking her lips at the taste of herself on you. “You know,” you murmur once you’ve caught your breath, “I don’t think Quinndiana’s actually supposed to lose and tell you where the Grail is.”
“I’m sure you were lying,” she pats your head with a grin. “And besides, even if you weren’t - that was a great story.”
You find you can’t disagree with that. You’re pretty sure Rachel’s humming the Indiana Jones theme as you drift off to sleep beside her.
Author: cranberry_pi
Rating: NC-17 for sexytimes.
Spoilers: Nope.
Summary: A porn-y third piece in the Lily-verse - set after Cravings and Two Untitled Drabbles. This wasn't what I had in mind when I planned to write another Quinndiana Jones story, but it got out of hand on me really quickly and turned into porn. There's a "Porn Free" joke in there somewhere too, but I can't think of it now. Anyway...
It’s dark when you wake - pitch black, in fact. But your body clock complains that isn’t possible, it must be after nine by now, how could it be dark? You move a hand toward your face, intending to rub your eyes - but your hand won’t move more than a few inches, and there’s a metallic sound of something scraping against your bedpost. As you slowly wake, you realise that the darkness isn’t natural - there’s something covering your eyes. Panic starts to seep in, and you struggle against whatever’s holding you down. You open your mouth to cry out, and a soft hand covers it. A whisper in your ear stills your struggles.
“Quinn, it’s okay - it’s me.” She releases your mouth.
“Rach? What are you doing, Lily could walk in-“
“Lily’s at your mom’s, Quinn. We dropped her off last night, remember?”
Suddenly, you do - and you sigh happily as it all sinks in. Lily’s staying at Grandma’s until tonight, and that leaves you all day for other entertainment.
“So,” her voice gets playfully serious, taking on a horrific attempt at a German accent. “Now that we have you, Doctor Jones, we must ask - what to do with you? You will tell us where the Bacon Grail is, you understand this?”
You’re torn between a laugh and an aroused moan, and so you just shake your head instead.
“No?” her voice rises. “You think not? I assure you, Doctor Jones, we have ways of making you talk. Soon you will beg to tell me where it is.”
“I really won’t, miss, uh,”
“You can call me Elsa.”
“Elsa!” you gasp theatrically. “I should have known you were working with the Nazis. You were just too perfect.”
“I’m sorry to have deceived you, Quinndiana. But I had my orders. Now, please, for your own sake - tell me where the Bacon Grail is. I don’t want to have to torture you.”
“And what’s my alternative?” you sneer. “A quick death?”
“It would be better,” she trails a short nail up your leg. “Believe me.”
“Do your worst, Nazi scum,” you tighten your jaw heroically. “I won’t tell you a thing.”
“Very well - I’m sorry, Quinndiana. I wish it hadn’t come to this.”
Something brushes your leg, and you jump. It’s a light, teasing touch that tickles. It winds its way up your leg, and by the time it’s reached your thigh you’ve placed it - a feather, maybe, or a duster. Either way, it’s torturous. You squirm, trying to get away from it, but it’s touching you all over - from your face to your chest to your toes, and finally scraping across your bare sex. It’s that last touch that makes you jump and groan softly, your nipples tightening painfully.
“You can make this stop anytime, Doctor Jones. All you have to do is tell us what we want to know.”
“Go to hell,” you gasp. “I’ll never tell you.”
“So be it. I see we must resort to more drastic methods.” You hear her walk across the room, and then a sound you can’t identify. She walks back across the carpet - and suddenly something’s touching you, something shockingly cold. Ice cube, your fevered brain responds as she swirls it around your cheeks, trails it down your neck to your breasts, where she traces a lazy path around your nipples, leaving gooseflesh in her wake. Your nipples are so tight now that they hurt, and when she brushes one you all but leap off the bed. She chuckles, the sound making you shiver.
“Tell us, Quinndiana - tell me. I’ll make it all stop.”
You can’t verbalise an answer, so she resumes her path with the ice, down across your taut stomach, circling your navel, and finally down between your legs. You buck and thrash as she touches you there, but she waits for you to stop moving before inserting the tiny piece of remaining ice cube into your sex. It’s freezing, but the sensation is incredible, and you feel your hips rise involuntarily off the bed, your clit throbbing and begging for her attention. She doesn’t satisfy you, though, only disappears again. When she speaks, it’s from across the room.
“Are you ready to talk, Doctor Jones?”
“Never,” you gasp, helpless to keep yourself from humping the air a little. “N-never.”
“You sound less sure now. Are you seeing your predicament? Understanding that the torture isn’t going to stop?”
“Never!” you repeat, with more conviction, and she sighs theatrically.
“Very well - we’ll need something even more drastic, I see.” She climbs up on the bed, straddling you. You can feel her wet center on your thigh, and you know she’s gloriously naked. What you don’t know is what she has planned - but that question is quickly answered by a splash of hot wax on your chest.
“Fuck!” you writhe. “Rachel!”
“Who is Rachel?” her accent gets impossibly cheesier. “Does she know something about the Grail?”
“No! She doesn’t know anything-“ there’s another drop of wax, aimed perfectly at your breast, and you gasp. You’ve never played with wax before, but you know Rachel has always wanted to try it - and now she’s found her opportunity. It wasn’t regular candle wax, you're sure - it doesn’t burn hot and cools quickly on contact, and the sensation of it on skin is mind-boggling. “Fuck!” you try to settle your hips, as you know you’re not far from throwing her off the bed, but it’s not helped when she starts to ride your thigh, her arousal coating your skin. You try to move your thigh in time with her, but she drips more wax across your stomach and holds your leg down with her free hand so she can ride it at her own pace.
She comes with a soft cry, timing it with another deposit of wax, and you’re so close to climax now that you can barely think. Anything, even a soft breath on your clit, would be enough to tip you over the edge - but she’s suddenly gone. If it wasn’t for whatever secures your hands, you’d be running a finger through the juices she’s left on your thigh, tasting her essence, but that’s not an option. Instead you throw your head back against your pillow, sighing with frustration.
“Tell me what I want to know!” she urges. “It can all end right now!”
You shake your head, not trusting yourself to answer aloud.
“Fine.” There’s a jangle of metal, and the sound of something touching her - something you desperately wish was you. She leans over the bed, her breasts brushing yours, and kisses you. It’s long, slow, and deep, her tongue demanding and getting entrance into your mouth. Every muscle in your body is aflame at her touch, and you’re gasping for breath when she pulls away. You wait for another, but it doesn’t come. Instead her mouth moves to your neck, sucking hard at just the right spot. You know you’ll have a bruise there, but in the moment you don’t care in the least. Your breath hitches, your back bows in anticipation of your orgasm - and then the sensation disappears.
“God,” you plead. “More, more.”
“Tell me!”
“Uh-uh.”
Her lips, her teeth, go to work on your breast, sucking and scraping and biting, and you’re sure that the sheets will have to be changed, and you’re so goddamn close when she stops again, then repeats her actions on your other breast, stopping just short of your climax yet again. She knows you too well, knows the secret language of your body, and she knows your point of no return, and she won’t let you get there. This is the game, to see how long you can last without breaking - and you know it won’t be long at all. Since the moment you first kissed her, she’s had a frightening amount of power over you, an inherent ability to play your body like a piano, and today will be no different. But for now you’re holding on. Barely.
She climbs atop you, and as you feel a length of silicone against your leg you realise what she was doing a moment earlier. She reaches behind your head and pulls the Velcro closure of your blindfold open, and you blink against the sudden light. When you can see her, though, you decide it might have been easier to hold on if you couldn’t. Her hair is elaborately braided, and she’s giving you her very best bedroom eyes. Her breasts are tantalising, begging you to reach out and touch them, and the dildo she wears in her harness is all but calling your name. Every nerve ending in you is overloaded, and you’re twitching involuntarily. Seeing it, she grins at you for a second before she remembers she’s supposed to be playing.
“So, Doctor Jones, we come down to it at last. Tell us what we want to know.”
“Never.”
“Quinndiana, please, don’t make me do this. It’s breaking my heart.”
“You’re just a Nazi, Elsa, you don’t have a heart.”
Spreading your legs, she grabs the thick shaft of the dildo and presses it against your entrance. You clench, trying to pull it inside, but she stills. You try to rock against it, but she uses both hands to hold you in place. Your dripping pussy is begging you to just give her whatever she wants, let her finish inserting herself into you, and you feel your resistance break.
“It’s in the freezer!” you shout. “God, the bacon’s in the freezer, will you fucking please just fucking fuck me!”
“Your wish is my command,” she laughs, burying the dildo to its hilt in you before partially withdrawing and starting a fast, rough pace with her thrusts. Your orgasm is almost instant, which isn’t a surprise given how close to the edge you’ve been hovering for the last half hour. She doesn’t stop there, though, ripping two more from you before she stops. Your hair is damp, your body soaked with sweat, and everything is sore when she reaches up to release your hands. You surprise her by pulling her upward, taking the dildo in your mouth and carefully cleaning it of your essence. She moans as she watches you, her hands playing with her breasts, and you use her distraction as on opportunity to flip her over on her back.
With practiced ease, you remove the harness to reveal her bare, glistening center. Three of your fingers slide easily into her, and she thrashes above you, her hands knotted in the sheets. Her muscles clench around your fingers, spasming as she climaxes, and you put your head between her legs to lap up her sweet come. You coax one more out of her before she waves a hand in surrender.
“I can’t,” she groans. “No more.”
Taking pity on her, you wriggle up the bed to put your head down next to hers, draping an arm across her impossibly warm chest. She kisses you softly, licking her lips at the taste of herself on you. “You know,” you murmur once you’ve caught your breath, “I don’t think Quinndiana’s actually supposed to lose and tell you where the Grail is.”
“I’m sure you were lying,” she pats your head with a grin. “And besides, even if you weren’t - that was a great story.”
You find you can’t disagree with that. You’re pretty sure Rachel’s humming the Indiana Jones theme as you drift off to sleep beside her.