Big sister that loves corrupting and bullying little sis. Your a grown woman and can't touch yourself? Pathetic! Come over to Big sisters room so she can show you.
Makes little sister watch hours of porn. Then try it on herself, and bullies her for “doing it wrong” insists that big sister has to show her to do it right while rubbing her cunnie.
Watches so proudly when she has her little sister cumming on her bed because of her touches. That whole night she's showing little sister different ways to cum but acts annoyed. Can't believe I have to teach you this, you really are pathetic. Look at the mess you made of my bed! and lands a hard hit on her clit.
Big Sis gets off knowing that after that night she has little sister touching herself and watching porn. Until one-night lil sis is at her door again, tears in her eyes, no panties, fingers wet, begging for big sisters' help again.
the way i can’t stop thinking about humping a pussy all day… clit sliding up and down between warm folds? legs getting weaker and weaker every time our clits kiss? OH GOD the delicious sounds of our wet pussies filling the room?? i’m so
Hot, rich, lawyer Agatha comes into the bakery where you work and she takes quite an interest in you (or Sugar mommy Agatha)
Word count: 2000
Warnings: none yet
A/N: hope you guys like this one!
The bakery is always dead on Sunday afternoons.
You’re not really sure why, maybe people are getting ready for the week or something, but it seems that in the town of Westview, no one craves sweets on Sundays.
You’re not complaining, though. That just means you get to sit in an empty store and scroll on your phone and still get paid.
Working at the bakery part time was a nice way to make some money while you finish up college, and to be honest, you did really like it. Your coworkers were all super nice and it wasn’t a very demanding job either.
And then the bell on the door rings. You look up from your phone, startled.
It’s a woman that you’ve never seen before.
She’s wearing a tight white blouse under a brown blazer and smart gray pants. Her long, dark hair flows freely over one shoulder and her pale skin and blue eyes are striking. She is attractive.
It doesn’t help that you’ve always had a thing for older women.
“Hi,” she says, coming to a stop in front of the counter.
“Hi, what can I get for you today?” You ask the rehearsed question. You wouldn’t be surprised if you said it in your sleep at this point.
“What do you recommend?”
You’re not even sure she’s looked at the menu that’s posted above the counter. “Depends on what you like. We have cupcakes, cake, pastries. It’s all good. What are you in the mood for?”
You might be imagining it, but it really seems like her eyes rake up and down your body. She shrugs noncommittally. “Something fresh, something…sweet.” You swallow hard at the glint of heat in her eyes.
“I just took a batch of cupcakes out of the oven,” you say. “Do you like red velvet?”
“Sure, hon. I’ll take three,” she says. You smile wearily and get to work packaging them up. She watches you the whole time.
You ring up the purchase on the register and clear your throat. “That’ll be $7.50.” She smirks and pulls out her wallet, flipping through bills. She pulls one out and hands it to you and your mouth falls open.
It's $50.
“Keep the change,” she says with a wink. She grabs the box and walks swiftly out of the bakery.
You assume it’s a one-time thing and pocket the extra money. You secretly hope she comes back though.
And sure enough, she struts back in three days later, dressed just as nicely as she was the first time. You’re working the morning shift before your afternoon class and you are sipping on a desperately needed cup of coffee. She must be really rich, you think as she walks up, a smile playing on her lips.
“Morning, hon,” she says.
“Good morning, how are you doing today?”
“Better now,” she replies and you can feel your cheeks getting hotter. “Can I get an espresso and a piece of cinnamon crumb cake?”
“Of course. Anything else?”
She raises an eyebrow teasingly like she wants to make a joke but says, “That’s all, dear. Thank you.”
“Your total comes to $8.75,” you tell her. “For here or to-go?”
“For here, please.”
“I’ll get you the cake and then the coffee will be ready soon.”
When you turn back with the piece of cake on a plate, she’s holding another $50 bill between her fingers.
“Oh, I can’t–” She cuts you off by putting it into your uniform shirt pocket and pats it. You freeze with her hand basically touching your boob. She smirks and takes the plate from your hand and goes to sit in a corner booth. You don’t allow yourself to look at her as you make her espresso.
She’s on her phone when you walk over to her, but she looks up earnestly when you put the cup down in front of her.
“Here’s your coffee,” you say and you’re turning around to go back behind the counter when she touches your wrist.
“Why don’t you sit down?” She asks, and it’s clear she’s not asking. And even if she was, she’s tipped you almost more than you make in a day on two separate occasions. You plop down on the other side of the table. “How do you like working here?”
“Oh, um, it’s nice. I enjoy it. Plus we get dessert for free so can’t complain,” you say, a little surprised by the question.
“Are you still in college?”
“Yeah, I’m graduating in the spring.” She nods like she’s deep in thought. “What do you do?”
“I’m a lawyer,” she answers, confidence oozing from her voice. Her tipping so much makes a lot more sense now. You launch into a series of questions, absolutely fascinated by her words, and she gives you everything you want.
You’re so engrossed in her stories that you almost miss the bell to the bakery ringing. You suddenly jolt and remember that you’re supposed to be working.
“Sorry, excuse me,” you say hastily and dart back behind the counter. A man orders a croissant and a coffee and you get his order out quickly. You want to back over to the woman, but you feel like you shouldn’t, especially with the other customer in here now. You can feel her looking at you the whole time though.
A few minutes later she walks back up to the counter and places her empty coffee cup and plate down.
“Oh, thank you,” you say, surprised. You usually clean off the tables yourself.
“Thank you,” she says. Her eyes sweep over your face. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
“I’ll be here,” you joke lamely but she smirks regardless. “I’m y/n.”
“I know,” she responds, reaching over again to tap on the tag that clearly says your name. You blush furiously and fight the urge to hide your face in your hands. “I’m Agatha.”
“Nice to meet you, Agatha,” you say, trying out her name on your tongue. You like how it sounds, how it feels.
“Have a good day, hon.” Before you can tell her to have one too, she’s on her way out of the bakery, the bell announcing her departure. You take a deep breath to calm your racing heart. How is it that she can have this much effect on you after meeting her twice?
You take the bill from your shirt pocket and put it in the register, collecting the change. Sure she’s rich, but she doesn’t have to be giving you this much money.
So why is she?
You spend the rest of the day thinking about Agatha.
The next day, she comes strolling in at the exact same time. You’re doing some school work on your laptop and you hope you don’t visibly perk up as much as you feel. You wonder if those three days you didn’t see her between the first meeting and yesterday she had come by when you weren't on shift.
But that’s a crazy thought, because surely she isn’t coming by just to see you. She orders the same thing: an espresso with a piece of cinnamon crumb cake.
She gives you another crisp $50 bill.
“I know you have money to burn, being a fancy lawyer and all,” you tease. “But please don’t go broke buying coffee and cake.”
She laughs melodically. “Doll, I’m not just buying coffee and cake, I’m thanking the excellent service.” And once again, she’s made you flush. You inwardly tell yourself that you need to stop letting her have such an effect on you.
You get her the cake and she goes to sit down at the booth from yesterday and you begin making her coffee. You’re lost in thought, wondering if Agatha will invite you to sit with her again, when your hand shakes as you're pouring coffee from the pot to the cup and splashes onto your hand.
You gasp loudly and drop the pot. It shatters all over the counter and soaks your laptop.
“Oh, god, no!” You groan and rush to grab paper towels. You quickly sop up the mess from your laptop and carefully collect the pieces of glass.
“Everything okay?” Agatha asks and you turn to find her standing at the counter again, a look of worry on her face.
“Yeah, god, I’m sorry, I accidentally dropped the coffee,” you sputter. You throw the towels away and open up your computer, frantically pressing the power button.
It doesn’t turn on.
With a defeated sigh, you close it and pinch the bridge of your nose. Of fucking course. You aren’t sure how you’re going to pay for a new laptop.
“You okay?” Concern laces Agatha’s voice.
You scoff and shrug. “There could not be a worse time for my computer to break. I have school work that needs to be done – I have an exam to take! And now I have to go find time to go to the store and buy a new one and ugh. It’s just so frustrating.” It feels good to vent and then you realize that you’re talking to basically a complete stranger. You straighten up. “Sorry, let me get a new pot and I’ll have that espresso right up.”
She waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it, doll. I’ll get it next time.” She winks at you.
“Next time it’s on the house,” you say. She laughs like it’s some sort of inside joke. Granted, if she keeps tipping like she does, you could buy yourself a new computer in no time.
You still don’t know why she’s doing it. You open your mouth to say something, maybe ask her what she’s doing here, but she cuts you off.
“I have to go. I’ll see you later?” She asks, sounding slightly hopeful.
“You know where I’ll be,” you answer, feeling a longing pang in your chest as her face lights up at your cheesy comment.
“Sorry about your laptop,” she adds before she sticks another $20 in the tip jar. You gape at her as she smirks and walks out. She is quite literally just throwing cash at you.
And it doesn’t stop there either.
You’re just about to finish up your shift when a man walks in, carrying a white plastic bag and a clipboard.
“Y/n?” He asks, looking at a piece of paper. You affirm and he puts the bag on the counter in front of you. “Sign here, please?” You’re not quite sure what’s happening at all but you do as you’re told.
Once he walks out of the bakery, you practically tear open the bag to see what’s in it. The first thing you find is a note.
Hope this will suffice. Let me know if you like it. X, Agatha. And then a number at the bottom. Your mouth drops open and you go back into the bag and pull out a box. You take the top off and inside is a sleek, dark, new MacBook Air. Probably close to a thousand dollars.
“Holy shit,” you mutter under your breath. You run your hands over the smooth cover and open it up. It blinks to life and you actually laugh out loud.
Fucking Agatha. You’ve met her three times and she just bought you a brand new computer because you accidentally spilled coffee on yours just that morning.
Speaking of the older woman. You pull out your phone and type the number into it.
It’s y/n. Thank you so much for the laptop! You are literally a lifesaver. Is there anything I can do to repay you? I’d give you free coffee and cake for the rest of your life, but I might get fired. Thanks again! You decide it’s a good mix of gratitude and humor and send it.
Bubbles immediately appear and you wait with bated breath.
Finally a response appears and heat courses through your veins.
Of course, doll, it’s my pleasure. And don’t worry about paying me back just yet. I’m sure we’ll figure something out ;)
You wake up squirming, blinking a few times before you realise it was all a dream. She’s watching you, of course, an innocent look on her face.
“Aw, did my baby have a bad dream?”
She asks, running a finger across your cheek.
“Mhm..”
You blush, hiding your face behind a pillow. She moves it away as it’s a rule that you don’t hide your face, she says because she wants to see your pretty face at all times.
“What did you dream of, detka?”
You whine, closing your eyes because if you can’t hide, then you’d stop looking at her.
“Just.. uh.. stuff.”
“Stuff, hm?” She grins, knowing exactly what you’d dreamt of, because she was the one who’d planted it in your mind.
“You were.. no I can’t say!” You squirm, squeezing your thighs together as you remember the details.
“Honey, tell me.” Her voice was more firm now, a tone you could never refuse.
“It was.. naughty.. you were.. making me feel icky.. down there..”
“Ah, I see.” She smirks, a hand sliding down your leg gently. “Poor thing, you just don’t know what to do, hm?”
You shook your head quickly, too dumb to know what the dreams meant.
She leans forward. “Let mommy do all the big girl thinking for you.”
____
Let me know if anyone wants to see this as a proper one shot fic!
need a pretty girl to desperately grind on top of me then spread her soft thighs apart so i can see the growing wet spot on her cute little panties. seeing how needy and drippy her wet little cunt is getting for me then pulling them to the side and shoving my fingers deep inside to make her whimper
need a pretty girl to desperately grind on top of me then spread her soft thighs apart so i can see the growing wet spot on her cute little panties. seeing how needy and drippy her wet little cunt is getting for me then pulling them to the side and shoving my fingers deep inside to make her whimper
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