Her whole demeanor is so soft and like that smile keeps making it's way out while talking about her and azzi and their dreams coming true🥹 and then how she switches to serious business when talking about azzi the basketball player
Also, like what do u mean they talked about wanting this as kids and now they're living it out?
~ September 26, 2003, the world changed… and not for the better. A brain-eating infection started that day. That same fungus started an outbreak on September 26, 2003, causing civilization to collapse everywhere. Everyone has entered survival mode, and if you didn’t, then you’re already dead.
~ gore, zombies, weapons, age gap (Paige is 22, reader is 19) no smut or anything like that, damsel in distress, wlw fanfiction, more warnings to be added soon.
~ Rating: 18+
~ Status: Ongoing
~ A/n: I know I still have a million things im supposed to be writing, but I kinda want a change, so I’ve started writing this. I have no idea the path it’s gonna take because i haven’t planned any of this out, so if you have ideas, let me know.
all the girls paige bueckers x older!fem!oc request Paige sees the older girl she used to crush on during hs and approaches her in a bar, very smutty pleaseeeee warnings smut, face sitting, fingering, mirror sex, strap-on, strap sucking, nipple play, paige is a whore for women who tell her what to do, samara loves being fucked like a whore 😔 this is NOT proof read lena talks 2U thank you anon for this request! i made it oc just for kicks, so say hello to samara. enjoy this one, and happy holidays ❤️
Since getting drafted and moving to Dallas, Paige really couldn’t remember the last time she went out all by herself. Though, the only reason she could say that is because Angel ditched her with Wendell maybe 20 minutes ago.
The bar was humid, not with the rub of bodies like in a club, but more like from one too many men with too many drinks in their system. The floor was sticky, and each step Paige took towards the bar top echoed with an unimaginable noise that let everyone know she was coming. If the diamonds in her ears and the six feet of height didn’t do that already.
She sat soundly, nursing a lemon drop that she had only recently started ordering as her go to, her fingers tapping against the cool glass. It was a good night. New Yorkers were calm in the presence of athletes. Paige had only been asked for a photo around three times, which would never have happened back in Dallas or even in Storrs. She was enjoying the slight anonymity— if it could even be callled that with her face being Plastered on a commercial behind the bar.
Paige turned away and let out a small chuckle at her own poor acting onscreen.
Which is when she saw her.
When Paige was in high school, she had maybe three crushes. Two of which evolved into something— short term relationships, her first real experience with girls— but the first one, the very first one, she never forgot. Samara Pope.
Samara Pope was volleyball captain, captain of the debate team, the senior class president, and quite easily the most beautiful woman Paige Bueckers had ever laid her eyes on. Paige remembered the first time she ever saw Samara. It was one of the rare moments where she actually had a moment in the library, and that’s when Samara approached. She had on leggings and a blue Hopkins hoodie that sat so beautifully on her skin.
She had asked Paige for a pen.
A pen.
And Paige, with sweaty hands and the most obvious tremor of her hand, handed her the one she was using. The only pen she had.
It was then that 14 year old Paige Bueckers knew ghat she was utterly and completely whipped over her. She spent that entire year sneaking off to volleyball games and peaking in on debate practices just to get a glimpse of Samara and her black hair and her brown skin and insanely perfect lips.
She was the first girl Paige could remember having a real crush on. Not the oh she’s pretty kind but the all consuming, quickened heartbeat, stay up at night and fantasize about every inch of her body kind. That alone took forever to fade.
And now, ten years later that same woman—grown in all definitions of the word— is sitting two seats away with an espresso martini in hand and a wildly expensive Chanel purse on her lap.
Paige wondered what she’d say. What she’d do. Would Samara even remember her? The scrawny underclassman who was enamored with her every move?
And then she thought again. She remembered that she was Paige Bueckers, who lived and breathed with a confidence that couldn’t be replicated.
So Paige drowned the rest of her drink, messing with the bezel on her watch and adjusting the collar of her before approaching, and She would be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous. She stutter when she spoke, settling on an embarrassing introduction of her name, and when Samara responded with I know who you are, Paige’s brain literally short circuited.
“You do?” Paige asks, a tilt of her head and a furrow of those full eyebrows.
Samara sets down her glass before blotting together her lips. Paige’s eyes fall there almost immediately, they’re lined in a deep purple almost plum colored, and the pink shimmer of her gloss brings it all together. Her hand lifts delicately, showcasing the stack of expensive bracelets on her wrist, and dainty rings on her fingers. Paige doesn’t think she’s ever been more enamored with a hand than she is right now.
Samara points across from where they sit, “they’ve been plastering your face on that screen for a while now, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart.
Besides the nickname making Paige feel much younger than she truly is, it sends a pulse to her core that suddenly feels unstoppable. She can feel the leak of her arousal in her boxers, and suddenly Paige can’t remember a time when she’s wanted to fuck someone more.
She could pretend like the only thing on her mind was a conversation, which is true. She remembered just how smart and kind and extremely impressive Samara was in school, and she could only imagine that that work ethic stayed with her for years. And sure, Paige would love to explore the possibilities of what a deeper connection with her first crush entailed. But now? With multiple drinks in her system, and the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen in front of her, Paige wanted to act. She wanted to act on the pulse between her legs and what she would hope that Samara would start feeling too.
Paige realizes that she had just been sitting there, looking at her like an idiot and that’s when Samara lets out a shy chuckle.
The dark haired girl brought her hand over to Paige, her palm outstretched. “I’m Samara.”
When Samara’s hand clasps in Paige’s, and the blonde feels the coolness of her rings, she nearly passes out. Was she really that touch deprived? Because Paige really, truly, couldn’t imagine a time where she was more desperate than she was right now— and Samara had only said maybe 20 words to her.
Now it was Paige’s turn to return that slightly awkward favor that came with being recognized by strangers. She knew her. Knew her well. It was hard to pretend like the pastime that Paige thoroughly enjoyed the most in high school wasn’t stalking Samara’s instagram. Zooming in on all the pictures on her feed, and falling asleep with hopes of dreaming of that beautiful girl.
“Trust me, I know who you are.”
Samara’s expression was blank for a second, a flicker of confusion in her dark eyes, as she let Paige continue to hold her hand. She thought that the blonde’s hand was warm, but deeper than that she thought that the face was familiar for more reasons than just being an athlete on a screen. “And how is that?”
The words hit Paige like a splash of ice water. Of course. Who was she to think that Samara would remember yet another faceless underclassman. A wave of hot embarrassment washed over her, one that she would never admit out loud as long as she lived, but it was quickly replaced by a surge of defiance. She was here now. She might as well see it through.
“This is gonna make me sound like a stalker,” Paige started before releasing Samara’s hand. “But we went to high school together. You were a senior my freshman.”
Samara really tried, Paige could tell by the look on her face. She really did try to search through the memories she made at Hopkins to pinpoint when Paige would’ve ever crossed her path. Which was a stark contrast to the very clear memory that Paige held of them speaking once a decade ago. But it was to no avail.
She shook her head, sipping on what was left of her martini. If all went well she might find a way for Paige to buy her another one. “And I really don’t remember you. That’s crazy.”
“It’s alright.” Paige smirks something tantalizing behind her irises. “You gon’ remember me be the end of the night.”
“Mm.” Samara set her glass down and moved closer, the scent of her perfume—something spicy and warm—wrapped around Paige like a cloud. All consuming in a way that altered her brain chemistry. “Sounds like my night is looking up.”
“Good.” Paige nodded. “I was hoping.”
And it was. Not just because of the drinks Paige insisted on covering for the rest of the night, but Samara was genuinely surprised that an athlete of Paige’s caliber— well known, confident, and really fucking attractive— was capable of picking apart Samara’s brain like this. She was really enjoying Paige’s company.
She didn’t even realize how long it’s been until she looked around and started to see the bar empty out.
They talked like that, about nothing and about everything. From traveling for games, to bars that were better on weeknights. And just when Paige thought that Samara was getting tired of her, or that this night wouldn’t end with her head between the older woman’s legs, Samara would tease Paige for her flirting and suddenly she was dripping down her legs all over again.
Samara's knee brushed Paige's. Once. Then again. Her fingers traced the rim of her glass, slow and deliberate, eyes only briefly leaving Paige’s face to scan over her arms. Paige was jacked. Like unbelievably and unbearably jacked, that Samara had to cross her leg over the other. Typically, she wasn’t one for younger women, but Paige was truly wise beyond her years. And the confidence in which she flirted with made a pulse vibrate through Samara’s core up into her stomach.
But Paige? Paige was locked in, not loud about it, but intentional. She was so deeply invested in the way Samara’s black jeans and off the shoulder sweater sat on her body. the way her necklace sat between her very prominent collarbones— and she wanted nothing more than to plant her lips there and suck until she couldn’t anymore. Every glance lingered a beat too long. Every smile said I know exactly what I’m doing. And she did.
“Were you always this confident,” Samara teased, swirling her drink, “or is this a one time thing?”
Paige leaned in just enough for her own cologne that stuck to her knitted sweater to travel through the air. “I think I’m better when I know where this is goin’.”
“Where is this going, Paige?”
“My hotel’s a couple blocks away,” she said casually. Too casually. Like she’d been plotting in her head just how she was going to get Samara home, and she was. “I was gonna walk back.”
Samara tilted her head. “Alone?”
Paige’s mouth couldn’t help but curve into a tantalizing smile. “Didn’t have to be.”
That’s all it takes.
Paige could only imagine what her 14 year old self would be thinking in this very moment. That she’d just spent so much time with the girl who clouded every aspect of her day back in high school and now— she had her turning into putty in the palm of her hands. Samara tasted distinctly of coffee and a little bit of chocolate, her lips were sweet and unbelievably soft. And Paige only wanted more.
Paige didn’t try to make it a gentle kiss. Not in the slightest. It was hungry and demanding, a decade of unspoken feelings and dreams and desires finally boiling over. Samara’s tongue swept into Paige’s mouth, licking up the remains of lemon and want in the athletes mouth. Paige moaned, her hands fumbling for purchase, gripping the soft fabric of Samara’s sweater. She kissed back with everything she had, pouring all her frustrated fantasies into it. Samara bit her lower lip, a sharp, delicious sting, and Paige’s knees went completely weak.
“Fuck,” Samara gasped, pulling back to look at her, her lips swollen and covered in Samara’s lip combo. “You’re a damn good kisser.”
“‘M good at some other shit too, mama. Imma show you.” Paige panted, already backing Samara towards the bed. The dark haired girl went willingly, sinking her fingers into Paige’s roots and tugging her back into a kiss.
Paige met it with equal force, trailing her hands down her back until the met Samara’s ass in her jeans. The woman reacted with a moan that left Paige completely and entirely soaked in her boxers in the most uncomfortable way. She wanted nothing more than to take Samara right here.
Samara’s hands traveled slowly down Paige’s body, undoing the buttons on her sweater one by one until the blonde was shrugging the cream colored material down her broad shoulders. She pulled back for a second, and now, Samara really had a chance to admire the muscles in front of her. Paige’s biceps flexed just enough with every attempt at a squeeze of her ass, and the way she panted made those abs clench almost rapidly.
“Paige.” Samara whined, almost out of character for herself.
Paige shook her head in disbelief, moving her hands to the buttons on Samara’s jeans. Paige was certain she’s never seen a pair of jeans fit someone like a glove until right now, because Goddamn, it was like they were painted on her skin. As much as she was mesmerized, she couldn’t wait to see her naked.
They switch positions, Paige turning to sit on the edge of the bed and pulling Samara between her legs. She slipped a hand under the hem of her shirt, palm skating up Samara’s stomach. “Y’know I had the fattest crush on you in school.” Paige finally mutters, tugging at the waistband of those jeans. “I wanted you so bad. I would’ve done fuckin’ anything for a chance.”
Samara’s jeans finally hit the floor, showing off the sexy red panties she had decided on for the night. Samara had to silently thank her past self for picking those instead of some boring grey ones instead.
“You didn’t do shit about it.” Samara heaves, tugging at the straps of Paige’s sports bra.
She started tugging Samara’s shirt over her head, taking a deep breath at the lack of a bra in front of her. Paige had remembered seeing Samara in a bikini once at a pool party, a memory burned into her brain, along side the way she nearly came in her own swimsuit at the sight—but this was different. This was real. She was here looking at Samara’s warm skin, her breasts full and perfect, topped with dusty brown nipples that hardened under Paige’s gaze.
“I know,” Paige breathed, kissing the bottom of her neck and trailing her lips down to the swell of Samara’s tits, until her lips are enclosed around that hard nipple. “But I know what I’m doin’ now. You just gotta let me.”
Samara hissed, her hands tangling in Paige’s hair, holding her in place as Paige all but feasted on her skin. She arched her back, pushing herself deeper into Paige’s mouth. Paige worshipped her, alternating between soft licks and hard sucks, her other hand coming up to roll the other nipple between her fingers. Samara was making the most incredible sounds, low and guttural moans that she had once dreamed about, and it was the most erotic thing Paige had ever heard.
“You gonna let me?” Paige asked, mouth still desperately sucking on her nipple and wrapping her arms around her waist. “Lemme ruin you, ma.”
Samara tugged her back, her eyes dark with lust, and control, and the very desperate need to cure the throbbing pain in her pussy. “My turn,” she growled, and then she was efficiently stripping Paige out of her bra, hands and mouth exploring every inch of newly exposed skin just as Paige did to her. She pushed Paige against the king-sized bed and, on the far wall, a massive, floor-to-ceiling mirror stared right back at them.
She straddled Paige hastily, sitting her unbelievably wet cunt against Paige’s chest. Every deep breath the blonde let out sent a movement towards her clit that made her roll her eyes for a little at a time.
“You’re leaking,” Paige whispered like it’s a praise. Like the fact that Samara is soaking wet against her chest is something to be proud of. “You feel that? Panties just fuckin’ soaked, Samara.”
“P—Paige…” She took a breath, trying to regain whatever dominance was left in her body to remind herself that she was in control, not Paige. But when the blonde spoke like that, looked like that— like really really looked like that— it was almost too much.
“Lemme handle you, mama. Swear to God I’ll make you feel so good.” Paige breathed. Her hands gripped Samara’s waist, holding her close and trailing up to cup her breasts and back town to play with the band of her panties.
“Look,” Samara whispered towards Paige, nodding toward the mirror. Paige’s eyes flicked over immediately, and she saw them. Both of their bodies tangled together on the white sheets. She saw Samara’s body leaning over her, the muscles in her back flexing as she worked her hand between her own legs to tug her underwear to the side. She saw her own face, flushed and desperate, her lips parted in a silent moan. It was obscene and incredibly hot, Paige was sure that if she hadn’t done so before, this was the sight that would make her come in her own boxers.
Samara dug her hand into Paige’s hair, scratching gently at her scalp. Paige couldn’t help but moan. She felt small, and useless, just sitting there soundly waiting for any kind of instruction. Anything that would allow her to cure the pulse of Samara’s core that she could feel on her own skin. “L-lemme eat it. Please?” Paige stuttered, glancing up at her naked body with glassy eyes.
It brought a smirk to Samara’s face, the sole expression of helplessness filled her with a sense of power. “Are you begging me?”
“I’m gonna sit on your face,” Samara declared, her voice low and hypnotic almost as if letting Paige make the decision herself was unacceptable. She wanted to decide. She was going to decide. Samara shifted, moving up Paige’s body some more until her knees were on either side of Paige’s head. “And you’re gonna watch me come.” Paige looked up at her, at the slick, wet folds of her pussy hovering just above her mouth, and gave a curt nod.
“Finna make a mess outta you,” Paige muttered, her voice low, filthy, before spitting slow and deliberate between her legs. The wet sound made Samara’s whole body jolt, her thighs trembling. Paige spread it with her tongue, groaning like she was savoring the taste already.
The sight was pornographic, and Samara truly didn’t think that she was ready for what Paige was about to do with her. It was clear the blonde didn’t need to be told what to do with the way she reached up, gripped Samara’s ass, and pulled her all the way down.
Every move of Paige’s tongue was vulgar and deliberate. She licked at her lips slow, avoiding contact with her clit just to tease. But then her lips close around Samara’s clit, sucking it into her mouth like a pacifier. Samara was grinding against her face, using her, and Paige loved it. She loved the weight of her, the taste of her, the sounds she was making, and when she looked up to see the girl with her head tossed back she had to let out another moan.
“Shit.” Samara gasped, head dropping towards the mirror as Paige sucked deep and slow before flattening her tongue and dragging it through.
She looked to their reflection in the mirror, saw the way her stomach caved in and out in ecstasy, her hands braced against the headboard. The sight sent a fresh wave of arousal through her, and she kept grinding, determined to get off on the mouth below her.
Paige’s tongue kept moving without hesitation, dipping her pointed tongue deep inside Samara’s cunt and getting a taste of the inside. She matched the older woman’s pace, each dive of her tongue in tune with slow bucks of Samara’s hips. Paige wasn’t shy about the sounds she made—wet, sloppy licks, sucking hard enough that it echoed in the room, her own moans vibrating against her heat.
When she pulled back just enough to speak, her voice was wrecked and cocky. “Look at you drippin’ for me. You love how nasty I am with this pussy, huh?” Her lips glistened, her chin wet with a mixture of saliva and arousal, and when Samara’s eyes flew open to meet hers, Paige held the gaze, unblinking, before continuing to devour her like it was the only thing that mattered.
Paige’s tongue moved faster, her mouth leaving no bit of muscle untouched. Samara’s thighs clamped tight around her head, but Paige just shoved them open, growling into her and sucking harder. Her eyes fluttered shut as she ate, like the taste alone would send her to heaven.
“Paige—oh my God—” Samara’s voice broke, high and desperate, every breath laced with curses. “Look at me.”
Paige never looked away, eyes locked on hers, relentless. Her tongue flicked, sucked, then flattened again, her free hand gripping Samara’s thighs to hold her down as she thrashed. “Yeah, that’s it. Fuck my face,” Paige rasped, pressing her tongue flat against her clit while her hands helped Samara grind into her mouth. “Gimme everything, mama. Want all that shit.” The words were dirty, sharp, dragging Samara further under.
She writhed, pulling at Paige’s hair, hips rolling uncontrollably as Paige spit again, drool slicking her all the way down, her tongue working at a brutal, eye rolling pace. The sight had Paige squeezing her legs together. The hottest woman in the world was treating her like her own personal toy. And her body—God that body— the lines of Samara’s stomach, her tits, the way she bit her lip when Paige sucked on her clit just like she was right now, sparked a fire inside her.
Samara shattered, her back arched hard, a raw cry ripping out of her throat as her body gave in, wave after wave hitting until she was shaking, thighs clamped around Paige’s head despite herself. Paige groaned into it, devouring every spasm, every gush, sucking greedily until Samara was lifting up from sensitivity.
Samara settled back on Paige’s lap, her arousal seeping into the grey cloth of the blonde’s boxers. She cupped Paige’s face, taking a look at how her come coated her face, dripping from the corner of her pink lips. She leaned in slowly, connecting their lips while Paige gripped her hips and moved her gently against her crotch.
“I wanna see you fuck me.” Samara whispered against Paige’s lips, tasting herself off of them. Paige’s hands stuttered briefly on her hips before grinding her again with a soft moan.
Paige’s cunt was dripping, almost inconsolable no matter how hard she squeezed her thighs together. “Samara.”
“I want you inside me. I’ll let you do whatever you want, honey.” Samara spoke, planting another kiss to her lips. Her tongue broke into Paige’s mouth with expertise, drawing a harsh sound from her throat. “I’m so wet already, Paige. You wanna make me feel good, right?”
Paige chuckled against her lips, reaching off the edge of the bed into the side table like an evil magician with many tricks up her sleeve. Which she did. Paige knew how good she was in bed, she prided herself on it, and now she prided herself on proving herself to the one person she’d always dreamed of getting alone.
“Don’t talk to me like that.” Paige murmured into Samara’s mouth, holding the flesh toned strap in her hand. “Remember when I said I was gon’ make a mess outta you? Watch me.” With whatever strength she has, Paige flipped them gently, laying Samara on her back and taking a deep breath at how her dark hair framed her so beautifully.
Samara reached for the harness, taking it from Paige’s hands and setting it aside before reaching for her boxers. “I wanna see you. All of you.”
The athlete did nothing, dropping her arms to the side and letting her do as she pleased. Samara never once moved her eyes from the sight in front of her. There were two wet spots on her underwear, one from where Paige had be desperately aching since the bar— and the other from herself. And it truly was a sight to see. “You’re so pretty, Paige.” Samara hummed.
“Yeah?” Paige smiled. She had remembered a time in high school when she was so worried about her appearance. About if women, especially ones as perfect and put together as Samara, would even find her attractive, let alone call her pretty. Yet, here she is, with Samara looking at her like she’s the only person in the world, and though she’d never admit it, it makes her chest feel oddly warm.
“Mhm.” Samara nodded. She made quick haste of getting the harness fastened on Paige’s hips, fighting the urge to bite her lip at how the blonde watched her with eyes much darker than when she met her earlier that night.
Paige gripped the base of the silicone in her hands, letting her spit fall onto the strap. Samara whimpered, the sound breaking in her throat, but her hips tilted helplessly when Paige nudged the strap against her again. She was dripping, a slick trail already marking the sheets beneath her.
Finally, Paige pushed in slow, steady, savoring the way Samara’s body stretched and clenched around her. Samara groaned, nails immediately digging into Paige’s forearm, head falling against the pillows with a heavy thud as the inches broke into her.
“That’s it,” Paige whispered, settling into a deep, grinding rhythm, her hand slipping up to cup one of Samara’s breasts. She circled her thumb over the nipple, teasing until it pebbled hard under her touch. “Gonna watch me handle that pussy, ain’t that right, baby?” Paige pinched it lightly, rolling the nipple between her fingers while she kept thrusting, not hard, not fast—just deep, filling her over and over until Samara was shaking apart.
The sound of Samara’s arousal was loud, almost unbelievable for the fact that she had just came not too long ago. She’s squeezing Paige tight, and that drag of the tip against her walls combined with how fucking sexy Paige looked on top of her made her realized that this might be the best sex she’s ever had in her life.
The position itself feels almost a million times better than it ever had. Paige had her leg propped up on her shoulder, the angle sending fireworks to that special spot in her stomach that made her legs nearly close in on themselves. Paige had leaned down to her chest, planting kisses across her chest before, mouthing at the other breast, sucking Samara’s nipple into her mouth until she was gasping, arching, her whole body trembling. “‘M so fuckin’ sore.” Paige whined. She changed each movement of her tongue, simultaneously slowing to a grind where the base of the strap nudges against her clit over and over again.
“Paige. You’re so deep.” Samara panted, tugging Paige’s hair until the blonde moaned against her chest. The combination wrecked her—deep, steady strokes inside and the sharp pull of pleasure at her chest. Raye’s cries grew higher, messier, her thighs spread wide and shaking. She looked over at the mirror, at how Paige’s hips bellowed into her, sweat glistening down her muscular back, and her arms flexing as she held herself up. “You look so good like this, honey.”
Paige pulls back with a cry, a string of saliva connecting her to Samara’s chest. “You keep callin’ me that, I swear I’m gonna come.”
Samara pulled her back down for a kiss, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth as their tongues clashed. The wet slap of their bodies filled the room, obscene and relentless. Every thrust drove Samara higher, pushed her further, until her thighs were shaking violently, her voice dissolving into sobs as she desperately tried to keep up with their kiss.
Cream slicked down Paige’s strap, dripping onto the sheets with every brutal stroke. Paige looked down, eyes wide at the mess she was making out of Samara fucking Pope.
“Look at this pussy,” Paige groaned, glancing down to where slick was running down her strap, dripping onto the sheets. “You’re soaking the bed, baby. Don’t even know what to do with yourself.” She slid two fingers towards Samara’s cunt, playing with the swollen and throbbing bundle of nerves.
Samara was so wet and so messy, the sight had her dripping down her inner thighs and she knew there was only so much more she could take before she was gone.
“Fuck,” she gasped, rocking her hips to meet Paige’s thrusts that only became more toe-curling; harder, faster, do much deeper that Samara couldn’t do anything else but moan. “You’re gonna make me cum.”
Paige grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at her. Her eyes were dark, wild, but her grin was playful. “Yeah,” Paige rasped, kissing down Samara’s jaw. “Cum again for me. Cream all over my dick, mama. Show me how bad you love it.”
Samara sobbed with it, her whole body convulsing as another orgasm ripped through her, slick spilling out around the strap, soaking Paige’s thighs, the sheets, her own legs. She clawed at Paige’s back, at her shoulders, desperate for something to anchor her as her body gave out. The color briefly faded from her face as she shook. And Paige kept going, chasing her own finish that has been goulding her vision with starts for hours.
“Paige.” She cried, digging deeper into her shoulders.
The athlete panted into her neck, muttering something indecipherable into the sweaty skin. “Ma, jus—just please, please.”
Samara’s back arches painfully. “I’ll get you off—mmm— I swear. Just hold on, baby.”
Paige felt her stomach caving. She wasn’t selfish in the slightest when it came to getting off, but right now she was sure she was going to cry if she didn’t come in the next few seconds. She legs were shaking, and Samara, was quick to take matters into her own hands.
With trembling legs, Paige moved to the edge of the bed, sitting in front of the mirror like Samara so kindly asked. The dark haired girl made her way between her legs, her own cunt sensitive from back to back orgasms.
“Samara… I need—”
“Shh.” Her voice was velvet, firm but loving as she tugged Paige’s strap into her hand, kissing along her thighs as if she had all the time in the world. “Just let me. I got it, sweetheart.”
Samara leaned forward, taking the head into her mouth. It was smooth and warm and just slightly salty from her own skin. She looked up, meeting Paige’s eyes as she slowly took more of it in, swirling her tongue around the shaft. Paige gasped, her hand immediately threading into Samara’s hair. Her thighs clenching.
“Goddamn, I’m gonna cum.” Paige moaned, high pitched and completely helpless. She could feel her own arousal dripping past the sheets, pooling underneath her as Samara kept sucking. Then she looked in the mirror, her eyes clouded with lust when Samara’s back muscles flexed at each sudden movement. Her eyes traveled a little further to her ass and as if she was 14 all over again— she came.
Samara hummed low in her throat, mouth full, lips stretched around the thick silicone like it was made for her. She was drooling already, bobbing her head, sucking like it’s sacred. She dipped her right hand down to her own pussy, shocked at how she was still dripping before tugging back from the strap.
She looked at Paige briefly, feeling her mouth water at the very obvious flush in her face. Then she dipped her eyes lower, past her hardened nipples and tending stomach until she reached the cunt in front of her.
“You’re so wet.” Samara said. Her voice was laced in something smooth like honey. “You came so hard, just wanna watch you do it again.” Her finger slid under the base of the harness, slipping inside Paige’s soaking cunt with ease before meeting the tip of the strap with her tongue again.
The sensitivity drove Paige crazy, her eyes rolled back again while her legs shook around Samara’s head. Samara snuck in another finger beside the first, bobbing her head around the silicone faster.
“Ma, shit!” Paige couldn’t help but tug her dark hair harder. “Jesus Christ, Samara, you’re gonna make me lose my mind,” Paige gasps, hips bucking as the older woman curls her fingers harder, hitting that spongy spot that made Paige see stars.
Samara continues the methodical drive of her fingers, pulling back with a pop. “Can you come for me again? Please, Paige?”
The combination wrecks Paige— the taste of Samara lingering on her tongue, the stretch of her fingers, the slick sounds that came from each suck and lick on her strap. She bit down hard on her bottom lip, groaning through the pleasure, until it bursted like a dam. Paige doesn’t even try to hold back her moan as her orgasm squirts out of her, soaking them both and even the mirror behind Samara. She groans into her own hand, not a single thought in her head.
“Oh fuck, Paige. Wet me up, just like that.” The sight and feel of it pushes Samara over too, untouched, her whole body jerks as she comes between her own thighs.
Samara pulls her fingers free with a gasp, still whining softly as she looks at the mess they’ve left behind on the sheets, the floor, and each other.
They catch their breaths like they’ve just ran an entire marathon. Paige falls back against the bed, making quick work of unbuckling the harness and letting it fall to the side. Samara kisses up her thighs, making her way up Paige’s stomach and chest until she leaves a soft peck at her lips.
"You know," Samara said in between little kisses, voice lower now, "I'm glad I don't remember you from school."
Paige raised an eyebrow, letting out a low chuckle. "Oh?"
"Yeah," she said. "Got to meet you properly, this way."
And at that, Paige felt something settle in her chest. Not disappointment, not even in the slightest, but possibility. The idea of something a bit more, and she tugged her in closer.
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