Fic: Twist

Sep. 1st, 2006 05:00 pm
featherxquill: (Rita cradle robber)
[personal profile] featherxquill
Title: Twist
Pairing: Rita Skeeter/Vicky Frobisher (post-Hogwarts)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: D/s, spanking
Summary: Vicky Frobisher doesn't like women. No, not at all.

A/N: Written for [livejournal.com profile] millieweasley and inspired by this rp at [livejournal.com profile] the_leaky. Obviously, Millie's version of Vicky was what made this fic happen, but the liberties I've taken with the character and her actions are purely my own :). Also for the ff100 prompt 'Touch' and [livejournal.com profile] legomymalfoy's Cunnilingus challenge. Stole the title from Goldfrapp. Thanks to [livejournal.com profile] wishing_wounds for the beta.




Rita knew it would only be a matter of time before the girl contacted her.

Miss Skeeter,

I’m still giving thought to quitting my job at the Ministry to write my book. I’d appreciate more advice on the life of a writer.

Sincerely,

Victoria Frobisher


Rita lifted her quill and replied in bright red ink, straight onto the bottom of Vicky’s note.

Friday Night, 10pm, 3A Paragon Alley, off Diagon. Do not be late. Do NOT knock before you enter.

~*~


When Vicky opened the door and stepped inside, Rita could see she was already shaking. She smirked, reclining further back in the lounge chair she sat on as if enthroned. She crossed one stockinged leg over the other, sipped her martini, and let her eyes rove over the girl.

“I knew you’d be back,” she said.

Vicky’s eyes were full of fire – lust and fear warring with each other. She seemed to gather her Gryffindor courage to step forward and stand before Rita, then shifted nervously from one foot to the other before forcing herself to be still.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked, voice full of fragile bravery.

“Take off your clothes,” Rita replied.

Vicky flushed, but began to unbutton her blouse. “I’m still not sure about this,” she murmured.

“Don’t lie to me!” Rita snapped. Then, slower: “Of course you are. You wouldn’t have written if you weren’t dying for it.” She watched the girl undo the last button of her top and slip it down off her shoulders. Vicky was slim and tanned, but plump enough where it mattered, and Rita felt a throb in her cunt answer the approval of her ravishing eyes.

“You’ve tried, haven’t you?” she asked, as she watched Vicky unzip her skirt and push it over her hips. “Tried to forget, tried to ignore it. Maybe slept with a man or two – shy, fumbling little boys, most likely. But you’re sick with desire. And I’m the only one who knows.”

Rita stirred the olive in her martini, could see by the look in Vicky’s eyes that she was right. She didn’t need an answer. Vicky stood before her in bra and knickers, quivering in pink cotton.

Rita waved a hand. “Keep going.”

She watched Vicky reach behind herself and unclip her bra, flicking it off, then hook her thumbs into the waistband of her pants and slip them down, taking a step out of them toward Rita.

Rita sat and looked at her, naked and wanting and waiting, for a good few minutes. She finished her martini, sucked the olive off the end of its toothpick, laid the glass down on the side table, and stood. Vicky whimpered.

For a time, Rita simply stood before her, less than an arm’s length away, taking in the sight of her breasts rising and falling with gasped breaths, the pink of arousal that had flushed her skin. Then she reached out a hand and trailed her fingers over Vicky’s shoulder. The girl made a feral noise in the back of her throat, and seemed about to move but didn’t; she simply shook.

Rita brought herself closer, laid her other hand on Vicky’s hip and scraped her nails lightly over the skin. She heard the girl’s breathing go from quick to ragged, and smiled.

Please,” Vicky whispered.

“Hmm?” Rita murmured, as if interrupted, lifting her eyes to Vicky’s. “Yes?”

The girl’s cheeks reddened, but she didn’t back down. “Please,” she murmured, “I need…”

Rita cut her off. “I know what you need. And you’ll have it when I’m good and ready. Perhaps, though,” she let her hand drop from shoulder to breast; “Perhaps you’re trying to provoke me.” She twisted Vicky’s nipple hard between her fingers, and the girl cried out. “Trying to provoke me would be a Very Bad Idea.”

With that, she grabbed the girl’s hand and pulled her through to the bedroom.

Rita took a seat on the edge of her four-poster bed. “Over my knee,” she said, and saw Vicky hesitate. “Now.”

Then there was a warm stomach pressing itself against satin and stockings, and Rita’s blood was on fire. She trailed her fingers over Vicky’s spine almost reverently. Yes, by Merlin, she liked to break things, but not too quickly when they were at her whim like this. She wanted to make Vicky burn and scream and die before she shattered.

She could feel the girl’s heart beating hard against her knees.

“Beautiful,” she whispered, not sure if she was talking about the girl herself or the sight of her in complete submission. Her hand slid lower, nails scraping along the skin of Vicky’s backside, then slipped down to run fingers over her sex. She was dripping wet.

Rita smirked. “I’m old enough to be your mother, you know.”

Vicky gave a wanton whimper and pressed herself back against Rita’s hand. Rita allowed it, letting the girl grind against the bone of her wrist for a moment, then pulled away. Vicky moaned, and Rita flattened her palm and brought it down hard on that firm, young ass. A strangled cry escaped Vicky’s lips.

She followed the slap with another, and another, raising red welts on the girl’s pale skin and feeling positively sick with power. She slipped one hand underneath Vicky to twist at a nipple as she thrashed her, the girl’s ragged whimpers twisting and crackling in the air, electrifying her.

“Oh God, please,” Vicky gasped. Rita stopped, and fingered the girl’s cunt once again.

Please what?” she asked in a hiss.

Vicky breathed heavily against her. “Please… Please, Rita, I need…”

“What?” she asked, almost tenderly, though the softness was undermined by the fact that Rita knew damn well what Vicky wanted, and wanted to hear her say it.

“I want… I need… need to come. Oh Gods, please!”

Rita gave her another sharp slap, then relented. “All right. Get up, then.”

Vicky was pink in the cheeks and shaky on her feet, and Rita grabbed her and pulled her down onto the bed.

“No lies, this time,” she said, slipping her hand onto the girl’s thigh and letting it tease along the skin, all the while watching her face. “No pretending. We both know exactly why you’re here.”

Vicky turned and even deeper shade of crimson, and shook her head stubbornly. “It’s not - ” she gasped as Rita pinched her skin “ – women. It’s just… you.”

“Vicky,” Rita chuckled, “I am a woman.”

Vicky looked like she was fighting anger, and it made Rita want to laugh harder. Instead, she slipped her hand higher, and when the girl spoke her voice was gravel with everything running through her body. “It’s… no… it’s this… the way you’re bossy, the way you tell me what to do. Not… because you’re a woman.”

Rita’s smile changed from amused to cunning. Ah, so that’s what the girl was telling herself. Well…

“It’s both,” she said. “I’ll prove it to you.”

She laid a hand on Vicky’s shoulder and pressed her down onto the duvet, following her down with a soft kiss against her collarbone. She trailed her tongue in a line down Vicky’s chest, cupped one breast in her hand and used her mouth to attend to the other. She heard Vicky gasp when she sucked the nipple into her mouth, tonguing it slowly before slipping lower again, painting the girl’s stomach with crimson kisses.

Sliding down onto the floor, she hooked her hands behind Vicky’s knees and spread her legs wide.

Vicky moaned, pulling them shut a little against Rita’s hands. “Oh, God, Rita, I…”

Rita glanced up, and Vicky was watching her, even redder than before. She looked sick with need, but at the same time apprehensive in a way she’d never been before. Rita smiled, stroked her fingers over the sensitive spots behind the girl’s knees. “Let me see you?” she asked gently. She kissed the skin on the inside of one knee, urged the girl’s legs apart again, and Vicky, trembling, allowed it.

She was pink and wet and glistening and young, and Rita felt dizzy with the knowledge that she was the first woman to do this, to stare at her and devour her and break her in – fiercely or gently; however she wished.

“Beautiful,” she whispered, stroking against the spot behind knee again. “You’re beautiful.”

She moved her lips up the girl’s thighs agonizingly slowly, kissing and nipping and playing her tongue over pale skin. Reaching the top, she breathed a puff of hot air against Vicky’s sex and licked a line along the apex of thigh, feeling the girl’s hips buck off the bed a little with need. She chuckled against the warm skin.

When Rita kissed her, Vicky’s body arched like a bow. It was gentle, and she followed it with tongue, tasting sweat and sex and heat and the quivering of muscles. The girl was burning up – writhing and flailing and begging in harsh whispers as Rita found a rhythm. Languid and slow, at first – taking her god-damn time, thank you very much – and then faster, pressing two taloned fingers into that hungry cunt and curling them inside, flicking her tongue against clit then suckling it between red lips.

And Vicky was arching and burning and crying out Rita’s name and Rita was riding her through it, pressing the pads of fingers and the blunt ends of nails there, yes, there, Rita and not stopping until the girl was a trembling wreck of burned-out nerves.

Afterward, Rita crawled back onto the bed, pressing Vicky down into the duvet and letting satin brush against her oversensitive skin. She leaned close, blonde curls caressing a pink cheek, and whispered in Vicky’s ear.

“Next time,” she said, “I want to see you in black lace, and that lovely cunt of yours bare for me.”

“There won’t be a next time,” Vicky hissed, voice still hoarse with the aftermath of her orgasm.

Rita laughed. “Of course there will be.”

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