butch abby corrupting religious reader and they fuck in her bed while abby makes her look at the cross that sits above the bed on the wall and reader goes dumb on her strap and abby degrades her and and and ohh my gosh yayayayay :o sorry ive been thinking abt this all day bye !!
LETS GET FREAKY FRIDAY ONE SHOTTTTT
Full list of Freakiness here
Dom!Abby x Religious!Reader
wc: 4.8k
cw: religious guilt, corruption kink, strapping, pussy eating r!recieving, and abby being oh so teasing
MMDNI!!!
You had invited Abby over to study, though she had made it clear within the first twenty minutes that studying ranked somewhere near the bottom of her plans for the afternoon.
Your textbook sat open across your knees, a yellow highlighter tucked between the pages. Abby had abandoned hers on the floor beside your bed. She lay stretched across your quilt in a black tank top and faded jeans, one boot hanging lazily over the edge of the mattress as she tossed one of your stuffed animals toward the ceiling and caught it against her chest.
Your father was a preacher. There were certain rules that came with being his daughter, most of them never needing to be spoken aloud. You knew how to sit through Sunday service without fidgeting. You knew which dresses your mother considered appropriate and which songs to turn down when the car pulled into the driveway. You knew how to smile when elderly women from church squeezed your hands and told you what a sweet girl you had grown into.
Abby had never learned any of those rules.
She caught the stuffed rabbit by one ear and glanced at you. "When can I go smoke?" The question came out with the casual impatience of someone asking when dinner would be ready.
"Never." You lunged across the bed and snatched the rabbit from her before she could throw it again. "My parents would kill me if my room smelled like cigarettes."
Abby's eyes rolled toward the ceiling. She folded her arms behind her head, completely unbothered by the possibility of your death at the hands of your parents. "Don't you ever get tired of being so good?"
The question struck you as ridiculous. Being good wasn't a hobby you could get bored with. It was closer to breathing, automatic and necessary, woven so tightly into you that you couldn't imagine what would remain if you stopped.
"I have to be good." You pointed toward the wooden cross hanging above your bed, as if Jesus himself might settle the argument. "Only good girls go to heaven."
Abby followed your finger. For a few seconds, she studied the cross with an expression you couldn't read.
Then she released a long breath through her nose and looked back at you. "Why'd you stay here for community college?" She narrowed her eyes. “I was shocked we were in the same class.”
You lowered your hand. The answer sounded worse whenever you had to say it aloud. "My mom wanted to make sure I behaved."
You narrowed your eyes. "Don't."
She swallowed hard. "I didn't say anything." She exhaled with her usual pout.
You glanced down at the textbook. "You were going to." You sucked on your cheek.
"I was thinking it." She pushed herself upright, shifting across the mattress until the space between you disappeared by degrees. The bed dipped beneath her weight. "So..."
You immediately disliked the sound of that.
Abby settled beside you, shoulder nearly brushing yours. Her attention wandered over your face with patience before she tipped her head. "Does being a real good girl include sneaking around with your girlfriend?"
Heat rushed into your cheeks so quickly you could feel it spreading toward your ears. "Abby." You looked down at the textbook again, though the words had become meaningless shapes across the page. "You're not my girlfriend."
She scoffed and leaned back on one hand. "I was when I took you for ice cream yesterday."
You pressed your teeth into your bottom lip, fighting the smile threatening to betray you. She had paid for your cone. She had also eaten half of it after finishing her own, which you didn't think qualified as particularly romantic. But she also drove you home… and you did giggle when she called you ‘babe’.
"Well..." You swallowed and straightened the corner of a page that didn't need straightening. "Come on. I have to be good."
"You are being good." Her voice softened into that teasing register she used when she knew exactly how nervous she was making you. Abby leaned closer, enough that you caught the faint smell of cigarette smoke lingering in her hair. "You're always so good."
You shook your head, but the movement had lost its certainty. "Remember what I told you? I have to save myself for marriage." Your fingers tightened around the edge of the book. "We can't do that again."
A quiet laugh escaped her. "And remember what I told you?" Abby's eyes flicked briefly toward the cross above the bed before returning to you. "It doesn't count because lesbian sex isn't in the Bible."
The problem was that you didn't know enough scripture to prove her wrong.
Your thoughts began circling one another, searching through half-remembered sermons and Sunday school lessons for a verse specific enough to rescue you. There had to be one. Your father had preached about temptation plenty of times. Temptation usually arrived wearing less denim and more horns, but you suspected the principle remained.
You couldn’t find anything to prove her wrong in your mind.
"Still..." You worried your bottom lip between your teeth, unable to produce anything stronger.
Her hand settled against your thigh, warm through the thin cotton of your dress, and your entire body seemed to become aware of the exact place she touched you. Her fingers slipped beneath the white hem only slightly, slow enough to leave you every opportunity to move away.
Abby's teasing expression faded into something quieter. She watched your face instead of her hand, searching it carefully as her thumb brushed once against your skin. "Remember how much you liked it?" she asked softly.
Your eyes drifted toward the wooden cross above your bed.
For once, it offered no answer.
Abby leaned closer before you could think of another excuse, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. Her mouth lingered near your ear afterward, close enough that her breath warmed your skin.
"Remember how you begged me to keep going?" she murmured, amusement curling through every word. Then her voice climbed into an exaggerated imitation of yours. "'Abby, Abby! It's so good I'm going to die!'"
A horrified gasp tore out of you.
You shoved at her shoulder, face burning so fiercely you were certain even your neck had turned pink, but Abby caught you before you could escape. Her arms closed around you, strong and infuriatingly secure, trapping you against her chest while she laughed.
"I did not say that!" you yelped, twisting in her hold.
The denial sounded weak even to you. Worse, some humiliating corner of your memory had already begun replaying the night in question, searching for proof that she was lying.
Abby's laughter softened.
She loosened her grip without letting you go completely, studying your flushed face with an expression far too pleased with itself. "Should we make a bet?" she asked, tipping her head.
Her lips brushed the side of your neck, gentle enough to send a shiver straight through you.
Your breath escaped unevenly.
Your hands had somehow ended up wrapped around her forearms, your perfectly polished pink nails pressing little crescents into the muscle there. You meant to push her away. You knew you did. Instead, your fingers tightened, holding on while every lesson about temptation and virtue crowded noisily into your head.
"Abby..." Her name came out embarrassingly small. You swallowed and glanced toward the wooden cross above your bed, suddenly conscious of its presence again. "I can't. It's..."
"It's not anywhere in the Bible," she reminded you, her voice dropping into that coaxing softness that made thinking harder. Abby drew back just enough to see your face. "I think He'd forgive you, right?"
You opened your mouth, though you weren't sure whether you meant to argue or tell her she was going straight to hell for trying to negotiate loopholes with God.
Abby kissed you before you could decide.
It was soft and brief, barely enough time for surprise to loosen your grip on her arms. When she pulled back, you stayed frozen beside her, lips parted and heart pounding beneath your dress.
Abby eased you onto your back with a gentleness that felt completely at odds with the trouble in her expression. Your textbook lasted another second between you before she swept it aside. It struck the carpet with a muffled thump, pages crumpling beneath the cover.
"Abby!" you scolded, reaching instinctively for it, but her broad hand settled against you and guided you back onto the mattress. You stared up at her with wide, pleading eyes, painfully aware of how little authority you possessed from this position. "This isn't right."
A smirk tugged at her mouth. She studied you for a moment, clearly unconvinced by your protest. "If I touched you," she murmured, deliberately drawing out the question, "would you be wet?"
Your lips pressed together.
Heat rushed into your face. Your heart had begun pounding hard enough to make your chest ache, each beat seeming to expose you more thoroughly than an answer ever could.
"Hm?" Abby prompted softly. Her gaze stayed fixed on yours. "If I just grazed those pretty panties, would they be wet?"
You swallowed, but your throat had gone dry. Your breathing had turned ragged without your permission, betraying you in every possible direction. "No," you blurted.
Abby's expression shifted. The smugness softened into scrutiny as she tilted her head. "Are you sure?" Her hand traveled slowly down your stomach until her fingers reached the hem of your dress.
You nodded too quickly. "I-I'm sure."
She lifted the cotton hem carefully, watching your face for a reaction before letting her fingers brush over your underwear. The contact to your clothed clit and hole lasted only a moment. Then her eyes returned immediately to yours.
"You're soaked." Her voice had gone flat with vindication before amusement crept back into it. "You love this."
"I don't!" You scrambled backward across the quilt, humiliation burning through you. The wooden cross above the bed seemed enormous now, impossible to ignore. "I'm a good girl."
Abby nodded slowly, as though you had finally said something she could agree with. "Uh-huh. You're a real good girl for me." A low laugh slipped from her as she caught your legs and drew you back toward her. "Oh, my good girl. I'm going to make you feel so good."
Your stomach tightened at the words.
Every sensible part of you insisted that you should move. You should grab your textbook from the floor. You should smooth your dress back over your legs and tell Abby that studying was the only reason she had been invited upstairs. You should remember the sermons, your mother's watchful eyes, the cross hanging over your head.
Instead, when Abby climbed over you, your hands found her instinctively.
Her mouth met yours again, and the kiss swallowed the protest you had been preparing. For several dizzy seconds, being good became harder to define. Maybe that was what frightened you most. Abby could make the rules that had governed your entire life feel flimsy, words written on paper instead of commandments carved into stone.
She drew back only far enough for her lips to brush yours when she spoke. "I have a surprise for you," she whispered.
Your fingers tightened against her, and beneath the sudden rush of anticipation came the familiar little stab of guilt, sharp and immediate.
You glanced toward the cross above your bed.
Then you looked back at Abby.
Abby caught your hand before you could hide it against your chest and guided it downward, pressing your palm against the front of her jeans. Beneath the denim, you felt the unmistakable shape of something hard and unfamiliar.
You tore your hand away so quickly you nearly struck yourself with it. "What is that?" you shrieked, scrambling backward until your shoulders sank deeper into the pillows.
The question came out louder than you intended, and your eyes darted instinctively toward the bedroom door.
She seemed entirely unconcerned by your horror, leaning down to press her mouth against your neck as though she had shown you a new pair of shoes. "A strap," she said plainly.
You shook your head, fighting the embarrassing little sounds threatening to escape whenever her lips found another sensitive place. Your body had apparently decided it wanted no part in the moral crisis happening inside your head.
"What's a strap?" you managed, the words breaking around an unsteady breath.
Abby went still for half a second.
Then she exhaled against your skin, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. "Oh, baby." Her mouth curved against your neck. "You are a good girl." She caught your skin gently between her teeth, and you yelped, twisting beneath her while clutching at her shoulders.
"No new things!" you insisted, panic and embarrassment tangling together until your voice climbed embarrassingly high. You pushed weakly at her shoulder, trying to recover whatever dignity you had left. "Do what... what you did in your car two Tuesdays ago."
The request dissolved into a mortified whisper.
Abby lifted herself above you.
For a moment, she simply stared.
You immediately regretted being so specific. Two Tuesdays ago. As though you had marked it on a calendar. As though you hadn't spent the days afterward trying desperately not to remember every second of it whenever you were supposed to be praying.
Abby's eyebrows rose, and a slow, wicked smile spread across her face. "And what did I do?" she asked, tilting her head with fake innocence.
“Well…” You swallowed. “You know…” you turned away.
"No." Abby's voice slipped lower, taking on that deliberate, intimate register she knew made your thoughts scatter. She bent to your exposed neck and traced her mouth along the warm skin there. "Enlighten me."
A startled breath caught in your throat.
You turned your face toward her, already pouting. "Don't act like you don't remember." The accusation lost most of its force when she was close enough for you to feel her breath against your cheek.
Abby shook her head with infuriating innocence and kissed you again. "I don't remember," she murmured when she pulled away, though the smirk at the corner of her mouth exposed the lie immediately.
You stared up at her, biting your lip while embarrassment gathered hot beneath your skin. She was going to make you say it. That realization settled over you with dreadful certainty.
"You..." Your voice caught, and you swallowed before trying again. "You used your mouth and... fingers."
Abby nodded slowly, accepting this confession with maddening patience. "Uh-huh." She kissed you once more, brief enough to leave you chasing the warmth before she drew back.
Her eyes stayed on yours. "And where did I use them?"
Even thinking the answer seemed dangerous with the wooden cross hanging above your bed, Christ watching from the wall while Abby tried to coax obscenities out of you.
"Abby, I can't say that," you whispered, horrified. "Those are dirty words."
She considered this with mock seriousness. "You could pray while I fuck you," she whispered. "That way it'll cancel out."
For a second, you could only stare at her.
"How horrid!" You shoved at her shoulder, scandalized enough that your voice climbed toward a shriek. "Don't ever say that again!"
Abby silenced the rest with a kiss.
Her mouth pressed insistently against yours, and despite every ounce of indignation you had summoned, your resistance softened. Your fingers curled into her shirt instead. It felt deeply unfair that your body could betray you while your conscience was still trying to mount a defense.
"Come on," Abby murmured when she finally gave you room to breathe. Her forehead hovered near yours, amusement warming her voice. "Where did I use my mouth and fingers?"
You squeezed your eyes shut and bit down hard on your lip. If you couldn't see the cross, perhaps the cross couldn't see you. The logic was childish enough to embarrass you further, but you clung to it anyway.
"My... lady parts," you whispered.
Abby's laugh rumbled softly between you. "Lady parts?" She drew back just far enough to look at you, eyebrows lifting as though you had offered the strangest answer imaginable.
You nodded solemnly. That was the proper term. Or at least it was considerably closer to proper than whatever Abby wanted you to say.
"Come on, baby." Her voice softened again, coaxing rather than laughing now. "What did I call it?"
You swallowed and squeezed your eyes even tighter, already certain you would have to repent for this later.
"My..." The word refused to leave your mouth at first. You forced it past the wall of embarrassment anyway. "My pussy."
Abby's satisfied groan made your eyes fly open.
She kissed you immediately, smiling against your mouth as she nodded her approval. "Good girl," she praised softly. "You're such a good listener."
The words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, which felt profoundly unfair. All your life, being called a good girl had meant folded hands during prayer, modest dresses, perfect manners, and your parents having no reason to worry about you.
Abby had somehow managed to make it mean this.
Your hips lifted instinctively to meet hers, the movement happening before modesty could catch up and stop you.
Abby broke the kiss and glanced down between you. Her hands settled against your legs, easing them farther apart before she pressed herself closer. The pressure drew a startled breath from you, and you immediately covered your mouth, trapping the embarrassing sound behind your fingers.
Abby's eyes flicked back to your face. "Ask for it nicely," she murmured, her voice roughened by the effort of keeping herself composed.
You swallowed. With both hands still clamped over your mouth, you stared up at her and shook your head.
Abby nodded slowly, her eyebrows lifting with exaggerated sympathy, as though she understood your terrible predicament and couldn't possibly imagine who had put you there. The performance only made your humiliation worse. Heat gathered behind your eyes until tears blurred the edges of her face, and a helpless whimper slipped through your fingers.
Her expression changed immediately.
"Baby, you know I love that look." Abby exhaled, but the teasing faded into firmer resolve as she studied you. "But you're saying it. You won't break me."
She wasn't going to rescue you from the words. You understood that now. She wanted to hear you ask for what you wanted, plainly enough that neither of you could pretend afterward that Abby had invented the desire for you.
You dragged your tongue across your dry lips and breathed slowly through your nose.
Your hands finally lowered from your face, though you immediately wished you could hide behind them again.
"P-Please…Can you..." Your voice faltered. You stared at the collar of her shirt instead of her eyes and tried once more. "M-make..."
That patience was somehow crueler than teasing.
You drew another trembling breath, your fingers curling into the quilt beneath you. "Make me c-come?" you finally asked, so quietly the words seemed scarcely capable of crossing the space between you.
Abby's mouth curved into a wicked smile.
She nodded and bent to kiss you, then let those kisses wander slowly downward, lingering over the fabric of your dress as she descended.
"Yes, baby," she murmured, the words muffled against the cotton as she reached your thighs.
You stared toward the ceiling, breathing hard, and found the wooden cross waiting above you.
The warmth of her mouth pressed against you through the thin fabric of your panties and your eyes snapped open at once.
“Ah!” The sound tore out of you before you could stop it. “Abby wait!”
She paused and stared up at you, her head resting on your trembling thighs, blue eyes calm and steady. “I’m being gentle,” she said, the words soft but firm. “There’s no reason to wait.”
You bit your lip hard enough to feel the sharp edge of your teeth and lifted your hips toward her. The single word left you in a whisper that barely carried. “More.”
She nodded once. “That’s more like it.” Then she slipped the pink panties down your legs and set them aside with care. She took your clit into her mouth slowly. The heat of her wrapped around you in a soft flutter that made your breath hitch and your fingers curl. You panted as her tongue began to circle, the rhythm unhurried at first, and your nails dug into her hair without thought.
“Fuck!” The word slipped out broken and high. You immediately covered your mouth with one shaking hand.
She only chuckled against you, the vibration low and warm, and sped up while shifting her position. A thick finger slipped inside you, the stretch sudden and full.
“Another finger,” you moaned, sinking down to meet the second. “Abby it feels so good I can’t breathe.” Your hands moved restlessly over the front of your dress, gripping the soft weight of your own breasts through the fabric while your hips rolled in small helpless circles.
She nodded and worked faster, her fingers and tongue moving together in a steady relentless rhythm that left no room for thought. You squeezed your legs shut around her head as the pleasure crested. Your body convulsed hard. “Fuck Abby it’s so good!” The words came out loud and broken while your hips jerked up against her mouth, wild and uncontrolled.
She let you ride every wave of it, slowing only when the tremors began to ease and your breathing turned ragged and shallow. Then she pulled away and leaned up to kiss you.
You pushed at her shoulders at once. “Gross I don’t want to taste that!” The protest came out sharp and startled.
She only smiled, slid two glistening fingers between her lips, and sucked them clean with a soft appreciative sound that made heat rush straight to your face. “But you taste so sweet,” she said, still licking them slowly in front of you.
You bit your lip and stared up at her, body still trembling. She lifted off you and sat on the edge of the bed. “Come here. I want to show you something,” she said, the tone firm and certain.
You nodded, still shaky, and crawled to the edge of the mattress. Your limbs felt heavy and oversensitive.
“On your knees here.” She pointed to the floor between her spread legs as she unbuttoned her pants.
“On my knees?” The question left you flabbergasted, voice rising.
She nodded. “Yeah. Like at the pews.” A small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“Abby!” Heat flared across your cheeks. “Don’t talk like that.” Still you lowered yourself to the carpet in front of her, the fibers rough against your bare knees.
“Unzip my pants,” she commanded.
You stared at her face, then at the open button, then exhaled slowly and drew the zipper down. A thick pink strap-on flopped free.
You were about to make a startled sound but she leaned forward, laughing under her breath as her palm covered your mouth. “It’s a strap,” she said softly. “It’ll make you feel really good.”
You furrowed your brows and looked at the smooth realistic shape of it. “It looks like…”
She nodded. “It’s supposed to look like one.” The smirk deepened as she tilted her head. “You gotta suck it a little first.” She lifted her hips slightly, biting her lip and raising her brows in quiet invitation.
Your face went hot all over. “No!” The refusal came out embarrassed and sharp.
“But it’ll feel so good for me…” The plea was soft, almost wistful, and her eyes stayed locked on yours.
You narrowed your eyes, leaned forward, and took the head of it into your mouth. The silicone was warm from her body. You sucked slowly, carefully, the foreign texture strange against your tongue.
Her head fell back as she watched you. A low soft moan slipped from her throat. “Oh that pretty mouth,” she murmured. “So cute.”
Then she shook her head, stood, and picked you up with easy strength. She settled you onto your back on the bed again, spread your legs open, and pressed the blunt head against your entrance.
“S-slow,” you whimpered softly. “G-go slow…”
She slipped it in slowly.
The feeling was foreign and the stretch made you whimper again, fingers gripping her shoulders hard enough that your nails dug into the muscle.
“I know,” she soothed, voice close and steady. “The first time hurts.”
“F-first time?!” The words jumped out startled. “No this isn’t like my virginity. I’m still good!”
She only nodded and slipped it fully inside you. Her full weight settled over you as she rested her head by your ear. The fullness left you gasping, a slow moan rising from your chest while your mouth pressed against the warm curve of her shoulder.
“Yeah you’re so good,” she groaned. “Getting your pussy filled by a muscled up dyke who works as a bouncer on the weekends.”
You panted against her skin. “I’m… a good girl…” The words came out soft and shaky.
She nodded. “You’re my good girl.” She started thrusting, deep and measured. “My good perverted girl.”
You whimpered. “I’m not a pervert!” The protest was quiet and breathless.
She fucked you harder. “You are a pervert girl,” she grunted, slamming into you so the bedframe whispered against the wall. “A nasty pervert girl who likes her cunt licked and her pussy pounded.”
You reached up to cover her mouth with one trembling hand even as pleasure rolled through you in heavy waves. “D-don’t call me that!” The words broke into a moan as you bit your lip hard.
“But you love it,” she grunted, fucking you harder still. “You’d love this too.” Her hand slid down between your bodies and her thumb began circling your clit in tight relentless strokes while she thrust.
You gripped the pillow behind your head as the second orgasm built fast and sharp. Your legs shook around her hips. “Abby!” The name left you in a yelp. “This is so good!”
She nodded. “I know it is.” Her voice stayed calm and stern. “But I’ll stop if you don’t say it.”
You gasped. “Say what?!” Your hips lifted desperately to meet hers.
“That you’re a pervert girl who loves to be fucked,” she grunted, driving into you harder.
“I can’t!” You pulled her closer, fingers clutching at her back.
“Then you’re not coming.” She stopped completely, holding perfectly still while buried deep inside you.
Your hips went wild, twisting and lifting in search of any friction while she held you motionless.
“Please Abby I’m so close,” you panted. “I need it!” The plea came out broken and raw.
“Then say it.” The command was quiet but absolute. Her blue eyes stared straight into yours, unblinking.
“Fine!” The word burst out of you. “I’m a dirty pervert girl who loves to be fucked!” You yelled it desperately, voice cracking.
She smiled, the expression dark and satisfied, and nodded. “You are.” She pounded into you again, the sound of skin meeting skin loud in the quiet room. “You’re a filthy little pervert.”
You nodded, moaning openly now, and tugged the top of your dress down so your breasts spilled free. “Touch me here,” you begged, grabbing her hands and guiding them. “Touch me here and fuck me harder.”
She chuckled under her breath, closed her fingers around your nipples, and gave you exactly what you asked for.
Her hips slammed against yours so hard the world narrowed to white sparks and the repeated sound of her name spilling from your lips. Your legs shook violently as the orgasm crashed through you, body arched and trembling.
She slowed only when the last wave began to fade, letting you ride every last tremor. Then she eased out of you carefully, set the strap-on aside, and pulled her pants back into place. She slipped your panties back on and smoothed your dress into place with quiet hands.
She pulled you into her chest and kissed your lips, soft and lingering. “Was that good?” she asked, the question quiet against your mouth.
You nodded into the warm hollow of her throat. “So good.” The words came out soft and spent.
"Then..." She cooed, the sound low and fond, and stroked your hair. “How about you move into my apartment instead, sweetheart?”
You smiled lazily, still flushed and heavy-limbed, and bit your lip. “Maybe…” The single word hung between you for a moment. “Will you do that again if I say yes?”
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