Homeowner's Association
(Welp, kids. Tonight on things I'll never write again...)
Summary: If only holding a position in the Homeowner's Association was really this exciting.
Pairing: Aradia/Equius
Warning: Humanstuck, face sitting, femdom sorta, I guess? Actually this is pretty fucking tame because I can't write Equius for shit. Someone count all my favorite kinks I threw in here, pfft.
> Aradia: Complete boring domestic chores
You’re not a fan of housework, but you’ve spent far too long avoiding the fact that half of your double-sided sink is completely filled with dirty dishes.
You sigh when you submerge your hands deep into warm soapy water, your red painted fingernails scratching against a dinner plate. If you listen hard enough, you can hear the sound of a woman screaming, courtesy of one of the many classic zombie DVDs you own. You remember the scene well and for a moment, you pause, leaning against the counter top with your hands still in the water, smiling as you imagine the chaos on the screen.
> Equius: Pester your contumacious neighbor
The level of disdain you feel just walking along the walkway leading to Aradia’s house is absurd. It’s the beginning of April and she still has Halloween decorations littering her front lawn.
You’ve spoken to her about this before. While you may not be the president of your community’s Homeowner’s Association, you still have a position of power and you will not accept such a deplorable lawn in your neighborhood. The grass on your front lawn is fit enough for the finest of steeds to graze and Aradia’s should be the same.
You march toward door, ignoring the way your shirt clings to your damp skin. The blue cotton fabric now several shades darker, wet from perspiration.
You regret not bringing a towel.
When you reach her front porch, you notice something green sitting next to her front door. You bend down to retrieve it, picking it up and stare at it in confusion. It’s nothing more than a tiny, ceramic, frog.
Preposterous.
You lean down to put it back in its place, but the the head snaps completely off in your grip, leaving a gaping hole at the neck and tiny shards of painted green ceramic frog skin fall to the ground.
You hide the ceramic carcass of your victim behind a dying plant.
You take a deep breath and tug at your soaked collar before knocking on the door.
> Aradia: Consider not answering
You aren’t surprised when you hear a knock at your door and you don’t have to wonder who it is. There’s only one person you know capable of rapping his knuckles so hard against your front door.
You already know what he has to say. You’ve had the same conversation more times than you can count and you have no plans of taking down your decorations.
You sigh at the second round of knocks, these ones just as powerful and loud as the last. Honestly, you’ve had enough of Equius and his false sense of prestige.
You’ve secretly caught him peering into your bedroom window more times than you care to remember.
By the third round of knocks, you’re grabbing your dish towel and storming over to the front door, your stocking covered feet padding softly against the carpet.
> Equius: ...
The door swings open just as you’re about to knock a fourth time and you forget everything that you planned to say.
It should be illegal to parade around in a skirt that short.
Extremely inappropriate.
And those stocking only manage to come to mid thigh.
Unheard of.
Her blouse isn’t completely buttoned and you can see her undergarments. Is that... lace?
Oh my...
Your eyes immediately zero in on her towel.
“What do you want, Equius?” Aradia says.
You clear your throat and take your gaze away from towel and back to Aradia. You try to speak, try to keep your focus solely on her disgraceful lawn, but your attention is drawn back to lace peeking underneath her shirt.
“Equius,” Aradia says again. She sounds extremely annoyed.
“May I borrow your towel?”
> Aradia: Abandon your domestic duties
Screw it.
Anything’s better than washing dishes.
> Equius: ...
You’re breathing too hard to hear anything properly, but you’re sure Aradia says something just before she grabs you by the collar and yanks you into her living room.
You watch, eyes wide when she shuts the door with her foot and turns her back to you.
“Sit down.”
You hesitate for just a moment before walking over to her couch.
“Not there,” she says.
You pause, frowning slightly, and move a few feet over to the single chair adjacent to the coffee table.
“Try again.”
To say you’re confused would be an understatement. There is nowhere else to sit other than the floor.
“I said sit.”
Before you can fully think about it, you’re lowering yourself to the floor. Your backside seated firmly on carpet only suitable for feet. You should be repulsed. An esteemed member of the community should never resort to such lowly measures.
You wish you’d worn looser pants.
You wonder if Aradia will yell at you if you ask to borrow her towel again, especially since she didn’t give it to you the first time you asked. Heavens, why are your pants so constricting?
You watch silently as she folds her arms in front of you. One of her stockings rolls down slightly, revealing even more of her fleshy thigh. There are lines on her skin, temporary marks that curve around from where the textured top of the stocking hugged her skin too tightly.
You don’t notice when she follows your gaze, her eyes drifting down to see the unevenness of her intimate apparel.
Your eyes grow wide when she raises her leg and presses her foot against the table in front of you, exposing red panties that flawlessly match the lacy bra uner her shirt. Her fingers grasp the top edge of her stocking and she pulls it up, her attention focused on the task rather than you.
So. Incredibly. Lewd.
“Aradia,” you begin. You try to keep your voice even and authoritative. You have a reputation to uphold and she needs to understand that this type of behavior is unacceptable while you are in her presence. “I don’t know whether you’re aware of it or not, but--”
“I’m aware of many things,” she says, defiantly interrupting you. “For example, not only am I aware of the reason that you’re here, I’m also aware that you stare into my window every night like a filthy pervert.”
Your jaw doesn’t particularly feel any heavier than normal, but you can’t seem to raise it high enough to shut your mouth.
“Is that what you are, Equius?” Aradia asks you. “A filthy pervert?”
“N-No, of course not.” It feels as though someone has turned on an invisible faucet inside of you. Sweat seeps from your pores, soaking your clothes even further. Your pants are so tight that they’re actually causing you physical pain.
“Your towel, may I borrow it?” You manage to say as you unbutton the top button of your shirt.
“You mean this towel?” She asks, holding it by one of its corners with her thumb and index fingers. “Here.” She tosses the towel at you and it hits you in the chest before you can grab it. “I’m tired of looking at you. Use it to cover your face.”
You hold the towel in your hand and stare incredulously at her.
“Now.”
You see nothing but white.
You’ve wiped your face with hundreds of towels in your life, but you have never actually sat idle with one draped across it. You should be ashamed, sitting in the middle of Aradia’s living room on a floor that probably hasn’t been vacuumed in weeks with a towel over your face.
Humiliating.
You can’t see her, but you know Aradia’s has left her previous place next to the table. You can hear her as she circles around you, can smell her perfume. You’ve spied on her several times, watched as she stood nearly nude in front of her bedroom window and lightly sprayed her neck and wrists with the fragrance that she’s wearing now.
Something warm presses against your chest and you reach up to grab it, but she stops you with the sound of her voice.
“Don’t touch.”
Your fingers freeze and your breath fans out against the towel and then gently across your lips. The warm weight on your chest pushes against you. It’s not strong enough to actually move you. The mere idea of such is ludicrous and almost laughable, but you lie onto your back because you know that’s what she wants you to do.
“What is that?” She asks you, and the horsepower pounds of your heart are so loud that you fear it’ll be impossible to be heard over them, so you don’t reply.
Besides, she knows exactly what that is.
You may not answer her, but when her foot caresses the bulge in your pants, you do cry out. Your hands grip at the carpet, fibers tearing from the seams, leaving fluffy grit between your fingers.
“You’re pathetic,” she says.
And you nod your head because she’s right. You’re pathetic and disgraceful and covered in sweat soaked clothing. And Aradia is touching you with her foot, the same foot that has touched the begrimed carpet that you’re currently lying on.
You whimper when she uses her toes to knock the towel off of your face, but when you stare up at her, you’re greeted by her thighs and everything below her skirt and even though you like what you see, you still shut your eyes.
“Did I tell you to close your eyes?” Aradia asks. She sounds so displeased with you, so fed up with your unconversant mannerisms. Her voice is stern and hard, but not more so than you because that’s highly impossible at the moment.
“It would be--”
“Shut up, Equius.” She reaches down and hooks a finger on either side of her panties and slowly begins to slide them down her thighs, bending at the waist so that her skirt acts as a curtain between your eyes and her...
You really need that towel.
“Open your eyes and your mouth and don’t say another word. Do you understand?” She steps over you so that she can step out of the red lace and tosses them on the floor next to you.
But there are so many things you could say. You could tell her that your higher status and physical strength is so much greater than hers that you don’t have to follow her rules. You could tell her that speaking to you in such a disrespectful manner is both offensive and terribly unladylike. Most importantly, you could tell her that you’re not at all impressed with her domineering personality, that you could easily bend her over the back of the sofa and make her knees buckle barely after you’ve started.
“Y-Yes…” But you don’t say any of that because she’s lowering herself over you, her skirt no longer acting as a curtain, and her thighs are warm against your cheeks and when you slide your tongue inside of her, it’s even warmer.
Her nails scratch gently at your scalp when she slides her fingers against the base of your hair. But you much prefer the tug on your hair follicles when she grips your hair and holds your head in place hard against her.
She still gives you demands, but they’re breathless and surrounded by moans and lewd dirty talk that makes you squeeze your thighs together and rock your hips. She hasn’t touched you and that’s fine because you don’t need her to. The shocked cries of pleasure slipping from her lips and the way her thighs quiver when you flick your tongue is more than enough for you.
She tastes exactly how you imagined.
It’s not long before she’s rocking her hips, grinding down against your face and you’re barely able to keep up. But when you close your lips and suck gently around that spot between her legs, the one that makes her gasp and cry out your name, she floods your mouth and lips and your tongue, drenching your neck, warm wetness rolling down your skin and it’s so much sexier than your own sweat.
For several moments she doesn’t speak and when she tries to move, her legs shake and she curses under her breath, but you still hear her.
She grabs the hem of her skirt and pulls it back so that she can fully see your face, which had been partly covered by it mere moments ago. She seems to be at a loss for words and you’re quite proud of that.
A few more attempts and Aradia is actually able to stand without her legs resembling something akin to a mini earthquake. She orders you to follow her, leaving her panties on the floor, out of place and inappropriate just like her front lawn.
You wait until she disappears down the hallway before picking them up and slipping them into your pocket and you happily accept the fact that you may just have to do the same thing to her dreadful lawn.