Archive of Our Own

Mira bites her lip as Zoey’s texts fly in rapid-fire. She’s curled in Rumi’s lap: the two of them have been watching reruns on the couch together since they had finished lunch. Well, Rumi has been watching. Mira’s gotten… a little preoccupied. She eyes the time on her phone. It’s only a quarter past two.

She sends a singular emoji off, giving up on any pretense that she’s watching the action on the screen any longer. She sits up, swinging one leg over so she’s straddling Rumi, facing backwards on the couch. She puts her cheek on Rumi’s shoulder as she brings her phone up again, propping it up on top of the backrest. Rumi doesn’t seem too bothered by the change in position: she simply adjusts her hold on Mira, placing one hand on her lower back.

Mira feels a little bad about it, to be honest. It feels like the three of them have barely gotten to see each other all week. First, Rumi was gone for a few days, and then when she had finally come home, Mira had gotten a migraine and had to hole up in her room, only able to tolerate company for the few minutes it took to check on her and bring her food. And now, just as she’s finally recovered, Zoey is out all day, filming for a set of commercials.

Needs. Mira has to clamp her mouth shut to stop the whimper that wants to leave her throat. Her hips shift as she squirms, wanting to grind into Rumi’s lap. She has no idea what’s come over her, but that’s exactly what she is right now. Needy.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

“Uh, Mira?” Mira’s pressed so close that Rumi’s voice rumbles through her chest, the vibrations of it soothing. “Are you okay? Want to tell me why Zoey is saying I better be taking care of you all of the sudden?”

“Need you,” Mira hums into Rumi’s neck. She tries to snuggle even closer, hips starting to rock on their own accord. “Wanted to wait for Zoey but she said she won’t be home for a while. Think I’ll lose it by then.”

It takes a lot for Mira to come. It’s been the source of much embarrassment, not to mention frustration, over the course of her sex life. It takes a lot for her to come, and when she does, it’s messy.

(Much to Zoey and Rumi’s delight. They’re gremlins like that, Mira swears.)

It’s also rare for her to get so worked up completely unprompted. Whatever the reason, Mira knows to chase the feeling when it hits, because if she tries to wait a few hours or focuses on something else, it’ll be gone.

“Oh.” A breathy little noise slips past Rumi’s lips, one that only amplifies the ache between Mira’s thighs. Rumi’s other hand comes up, finding Mira’s side, encouraging her motions.

Mira abandons her phone, turning her attention to Rumi’s neck, who helpfully bares her throat as Mira’s lips work their way down, teeth nipping at skin.

“Didn’t know this show was such a turn-on for you,” Rumi teases as her fingers slide under Mira’s shirt, palms pressing against her back. Her breath hitches as Mira’s teeth sink into her pulse point, sucking lightly before she pulls away. “I see we’re feeling bite-y today.”

Mira nods. “Want to be good for you,” she admits with a whine, trying to get her current headspace across without outright saying it.

“Oh yeah? Does that mean I can finally pay you back for our little game the other week?” Rumi’s voice is eager, with just a hint of underlying smugness.

Mira cocks her head, pulling back to look at her. It takes a few seconds for what Rumi’s referring to click, but when it does, she scoffs out a laugh. “That was hardly a game. I just wanted to get you to focus.”

“Well, it worked,” Rumi smirks at her, hands trailing up and down her sides. Mira might be on top at the moment, but with that one look it’s suddenly very, very clear who’s in charge right now. “Are you saying you don’t want a turn too? Think about it. You get three picks. We’ll do whatever you want. Anything.”

Mira doesn’t need to think about it. Her body makes the decision for her, shifting so she can grind down on Rumi’s thigh. The whimper she had been holding back comes out full-force as she begs, “Yes. Please.”

Rumi yanks her down, hands fisted in her shirt, bringing her in for their first real kiss in days.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she tells Mira when they part for air. “Now let’s see if we can get you feeling really good, okay?”

Mira swallows, mouth going bone dry. She wants it, wants it so badly she can feel her mind drifting already, but they need to talk before she fully lets go. “Do you only get one thing?” she asks. “Or do you get Zoey’s pick too since she’s not here?”

“Hmm.” Rumi considers it for a moment, brow furrowing in that adorable way of hers. “Let’s stick with one for me,” she decides. “Don’t want to get too greedy.”

Mira disagrees – nothing sounds better than Rumi getting greedy – but she’s not the one making the rules right now. Her only job is to obey.

She can feel the way her eyes glaze over at the thought, and Rumi clearly sees it too. She cups Mira’s cheek, forcing her to make eye contact.

“Not yet, baby. You have to tell me what you want to do. Use your words.”

Mira feels her mind go blank, suddenly understanding the position she had placed Rumi in when she was the one asking this question. How can she narrow down what she wants to three concise choices? She can barely think past the ache in her clit, her need to let Rumi take control.

“I want my collar,” she hears herself say, from somewhere far off in the distance. Good: that’s one thing down. Two to go.

Rumi grins like she could see that coming from a mile away. She licks her lips, staring up at Mira, eyes hungry. “Does that mean you’re going to be my good girl today?”

Mira’s head bobs up and down so fast, she’s surprised she doesn’t give herself whiplash. She tries to start up her grind again, but their clothes are in the way of the pressure she really wants. She needs them off, needs to feel Rumi’s body against her, over her, everywhere.

Rumi flexes her thigh, helping Mira along with the motion. “Keep going,” she instructs huskily. “What’s number two?”

“Want to sit like this. Here,” Mira gasps out, thoughts rapidly derailing into incoherent sentences. “The butterfly.”

Rumi’s pupils somehow expand even more than they were already. She knows exactly what strap-on Mira means, and she groans, tossing her head back, eyes closing at just the idea. “That’s a good choice. You wearing it or me?”

“Me?” Mira asks more than states, like she isn’t sure. Like she needs Rumi’s permission to want to be the one wearing it, even though it’s been hers the majority of the times the three of them have used it. (Fuck, she’s slipping fast.)

“Yes, baby,” Rumi whispers reassuringly, hands smoothing over her arms. “I’d love to sit on your cock. That sounds perfect.”

Mira lets out a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding, feeling heat rush to her face. She doesn’t know how Rumi can read her so well, but you’re never going to hear her complain about it.

Her next words come out all in a rush, her voice gruff. “Use me. Mark me. That’s my last thing. Or, wait, fuck, is that four? Can that be–?”

Rumi doesn’t waste a second, surging up to latch onto Mira’s neck, cutting her ramble off. Sucking in that perfect way Mira knows will bruise instantly. Marking her territory.

“I’ll allow it,” Rumi rasps when she finally lets go, just before the point of true pain, soothing the spot over with her tongue. “What do you say: do you want your muzzle to go along with your collar?”

Rumi’s gone and read her mind again. Mira knows her underwear is already soaked, but she feels herself start dripping even more at the offer. Her fingers clench, nails digging into Rumi’s back. Yes, she would very much like her muzzle: she wants it so bad she doesn’t know if she can speak over the thought of it, and she hasn’t even gotten ahold of it yet, let alone put it on.

“I’m taking that’s a yes?” Rumi’s kisses trail down her shoulder, the fabric of her shirt stretching as she moves it out of the way. “Okay, good. That’s my choice then.”

Suddenly, Mira is being lifted by her hips, Rumi sliding out from under her so she can stand. She takes a moment to stretch, back arcing as her arms flex overhead.

“I’ll go get everything we need.” She grunts slightly as her spine pops, and then she leans down to kiss Mira’s cheek. “You stay right here and wait for me. You’re following my lead today; got it?”

Mira lets out a moan, throwing her head back as her thighs clamp together. “Yes.”

Rumi blows her another kiss before she goes, heading off to Mira’s room. Mira watches her walk off for as long as she can, craning her neck around, but then her mind snaps back into gear, thinking of the little she can do while she waits.

She turns the TV off, placing the remote safely on the coffee table, and then she finds the one for their floor-to-ceiling windows, hitting the button to darken them. While no one can see inside through the one-way glass anyway, Mira likes keeping the blinds closed, so to speak, for sex. It makes whatever room they’re in feel a little smaller, more intimate. It also helps stop any unwanted reflections, which can still throw Rumi off sometimes.

She almost sits on her waywardly-tossed phone when she moves back over to the couch, reminding her that she had left Zoey on read. She opens their text thread back up, teeth gnawing at her lip to try to stop the goofy smile that spreads across her face from Zoey’s contact photo.

Mira is so distracted by Zoey’s messages that she somehow misses Rumi coming back into the living room completely. She jumps as two hands reach out from behind her, only settling when she realizes one of her padded leather collars is being held up to her neck. She groans in relief as her hair is lifted out of the way, the collar getting fastened into place a second later. The front O-ring drops, resting cold on her throat, and Mira lifts her fingers to it, trying to warm it up a little.

“Is that comfortable?” Rumi asks in a purr. “Not too tight?”

“It’s perfect.” Mira tugs at the side to illustrate the room it still has: two fingers’ worth, just like they always recommend.

“Great. Now be a good girl and sit up for me.”

(Mira shoots up so fast she nearly launches herself to her feet.)

Rumi dumps the rest of her gathered supplies down as she makes her way around the end of the couch, only keeping hold of a scrunchie. She holds it up for Mira’s approval. “Want me to put your hair up?”

Mira gives a wordless nod: that way it won’t get snagged, will be out of the way for the muzzle Rumi had chosen. She’s thought of everything, Mira notes, taking in the extra towels, the strap, and the bottle of lube she’s brought as well.

Mira scooches down to join her near the end, letting Rumi be the one to take out her signature twin tails. Her eyes close as Rumi finger-combs her hair into a ponytail, a pleased groan escaping as Rumi’s hands stay there for a few moments after, nails scratching at her scalp.

“There,” Rumi says eventually, a gentle reminder that they have more pressing matters to attend to. When Mira turns to look, she finds Rumi admiring her handiwork with an adoring grin on her face. “Now how about we take that shirt off so we can finally get that pretty little mouth of yours locked up, huh?”

Whether consciously or not, she’s putting on that playful, somewhat-coddling tone that drives Mira wild when she’s like this. It makes her melt into Rumi like putty, and she contributes absolutely nothing to said shirt-ridding process, just rocking into Rumi’s hands when she reaches up to unclip her bra. Torso finally freed, Mira scrambles up to get the muzzle, needing its weight on her face like, yesterday – needing to show Rumi how well-trained she is – but she’s stopped in her tracks by Rumi raising up a single finger.

“Ah-ah-ah,” she tsks, tone gentle, but still reprimanding. “Who’s doing the pampering today?”

Mira drops her eyes to the floor, shoulders shrinking in on themselves like a scolded puppy. It takes her a second to find her voice, staring down at the multi-colored carpet.

“You,” she whispers.

Rumi cups her ear, even though there’s no way she didn’t hear, not with how close she currently is. “What’s that?”

“You,” Mira repeats, louder, teeth baring in frustration. She knows what Rumi’s doing, knows she usually needs the foreplay or nothing will happen at all, but she’s so desperate for an orgasm that the wait to get there seems unbearable.

Rumi hooks a finger into the ring on her collar, tugging until Mira meets her gaze once more. “There’s my good girl,” she coos lovingly. “Now give me one more kiss before we start.”

Mira does so, gladly, moaning in relief when Rumi’s tongue snakes into her mouth. It’s the only downside to her muzzle that she can see, that it means no kisses for her as long as it’s on.

(Although Zoey likes to kiss her snout when she wears her more dog-like mask, and that’s always… Mmm. Mira shakes herself out of it, coming back into the moment at hand.)

Rumi’s pulling at her pants now, fingers fumbling to undo the button without letting Mira go. She pulls them down to Mira’s knees when she gets it, allowing Mira to step out of them all the way, but then their kiss is broken: Rumi’s attention is drawn downward as she inhales roughly through her nose. Mira looks too, taking in the mess she’s made of her underwear, the dark spot showing clear as day despite the black fabric she had chosen that morning. It hits her then, how uncomfortably wet they are, and she paws at Rumi’s hands, needing her to keep going, needing them off, off, off.

“I’ve got you.” Rumi slides them down her thighs without another word. “There, is that better? You’re so wet, babe. Is that all for me?”

“Mm-hmm.” Mira’s losing her voice again, she can feel it already. But it’s okay; she knows Rumi is right. She’s got her.

As if she can sense the thought, Rumi strokes at her head, humming soothingly. Mira’s knees almost buckle, and she’s left wavering when the touch disappears, Rumi needing both hands to spread the towels out on the seat of the couch. But then she’s back, guiding Mira to sit down on the double-layer.

“Just relax and sit pretty for me. I’ll join you in a second.” Rumi stands over her, shucking off her own shirt with much less care than she had for Mira’s. She drops it to the floor along with her bra, and then her fingers play at the waistband of her shorts, teasing. “I think I have some catching up to do. You’re way ahead of me today, baby.”

“I’ll help.” Mira reaches out, hands sliding down Rumi’s thighs. “Just tell me what to do.”

Rumi smirks. “That’s the plan.”

She turns back to the supply pile, picking up the purple strap-on Mira had requested. It’s a strapless vibrator, with not one, not two, but three built-in motors, all synced to a remote control. The shorter insertable end totes the part from which Mira has dubbed its name: a clitoral stimulation segment in the shape of a butterfly. The larger end is a rather plain dildo, smooth with a bent head, but it features an almost finger-print like impression on the tip, perfect for rubbing against the receiver’s front walls.

(Mira loves it. Wearing it is a guaranteed orgasm for her, even when she’s solo, and Zoey and Rumi have sung its praises whenever they’ve used it together as well.)

Rumi takes her time lubing it up carefully, paying special attention to the nooks and crannies of the butterfly’s body and forked antenna. Once she’s satisfied, she passes it to Mira before wiping her hands off on a towel. “I’ll let you put this on, but you’re leaving the muzzle to me,” she says, leaving no room for argument.

(Like Mira would ever argue with that anyway.)

She’s so wet that she has no problem slipping the bulbous end inside, but the butterfly takes a small amount of bending to get settled just right: letting the arcing of the wings perfectly envelope her folds, the nubbed texture of the body right where she’ll need it most, and the antennae lined up with the top of her clit. Mira knows from experience that once the butterfly’s motor gets going on the special climax setting – she’s a goner.

Rumi straddles her the second it’s in place, pressing the strap against her belly as she leans in close. Mira jolts as the butterfly bumps her clit, a lovely warmth spreading through her, but her thoughts desert her as Rumi presses the muzzle to her face. Because, finally.

Finally, finally, finally.

“How’s that?” Rumi’s question brings her back down to earth as she finishes adjusting the head straps, taking care to situate Mira’s glasses back on her nose. They fit with the muzzle on, but just barely.  “I know talking’s getting a little hard, but just bear with me for a few check-ins please?”

Mira flexes her jaw, tilting her head side to side to test the pressure on the sides of face. This muzzle comes with an optional ball gag attachment, but she usually prefers to leave it off. She never breathes as easy with it, and while the weight of the cage makes it a little difficult, by itself it doesn’t prohibit speaking. If she really needs to say something, she can, and she can also let her girls hear every sound they make her feel.

“It’s on right,” she tells Rumi, struggling to come up with the words to express how euphoric she is right now. “Feels nice,” is what ends up coming out of her mouth, “Really nice.”

Rumi picks up her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of her knuckles. “Thank you. And if you can’t talk, what’s the signal to tell me to stop and reassess?”

“Three taps anywhere.” Mira demonstrates with her other hand on Rumi’s bicep, firm and pointed. “Or I’ll say stop.”

Rumi’s eyes melt, her shoulders sagging a fraction of an inch. “You look so pretty right now. Perfect; you’re perfect. God, I’m so lucky.”

Mira nuzzles into the hand still on her cheek, trying to express how she is the real lucky one here. For some reason, that seems to be the final straw for Rumi’s self-restraint. Her face hardens slightly, focusing, and then Mira is getting pushed back as hands roam over her chest greedily.

She feels the bottom clip of the muzzle get hooked onto the ring of her collar with a satisfying clink, further locking it in place, and then Rumi’s mouth is hot on her neck. She nips at the spot she’s already marked, sucking another hickey right below it. Her hips start to rock, pressing the toy between their bodies, every movement pulling at the end inside Mira.

Rumi goes for her breasts next, lips leaving a trail Mira knows will take weeks to disappear. Her teeth sink into skin every now and again, tasting, indenting, doing everything Mira had wanted and more.

“Mira,” Rumi gasps out – minutes? hours? – later when she comes up for air, gliding hard along the length of the strap. “I think I’m caught up now. I need you in me.”

Mira whines. Yes, yes, she needs to be inside Rumi too, she wants nothing else in the world right now – even the desire for her own orgasm has been put on the back burner – so when Rumi lifts off her completely, leaving her lap cold, empty, it takes her brain a few good seconds to compute. She lets out a confused noise, heart-hammering in her chest, arousal almost morphing into panic, scared she’s done something wrong, messed up somehow, but then–

She blinks and takes in Rumi standing there, eyes still clouded with desire, now with a mischievous smirk added to the mix. She’s holding her phone – has only stepped away to grab it, she hasn’t gone far, she’s still here, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, down, girl – the familiar sight of the swirl-patterned case soothing the rest of Mira’s nerves.

“Did Zoey ask you for details too? She told me she’s been pretty bored without us all day. What do you say: should we send a photo, spice it up for her?”

That gets her voice to come back. Mira barks out a laugh. “Are you trying to kill her?” she asks in a monotone. She shakes out her shoulders, resting her elbows on the back of the couch, letting her hands dangle. “How’s this?”

Rumi steps back until her calves hit the coffee table, focused on the viewfinder. “Spread your legs a little more. You know, that manspread Zoey says you’re always doing. Yes, perfect. Now tilt your chin up, right… there.” The shutter sound clicks, and Rumi must pull up the gallery immediately because Mira sees a shiver run through her, and she almost goes weak in the knees. “Fuck, Mira. You are so hot. Fuck. You’re right: I think this might actually kill her. I’m going to have to send, like, ten warnings first.”

“Don’t forget Safe for Work Sasuke,” Mira reminds her, because Zoey had cry-laughed so hard when she first discovered that meme (and nearly every time she’s seen it since), that it’s somehow shifted into a nude/sexting necessity for her. (The things Mira will do for her girls. Honestly.)

“’Course not,” Rumi mutters, tongue sticking out as she concentrates on composing the message. Then she comes closer, flipping her phone around to show Mira the photo.

The muzzle takes center stage on her face, and she gets her first real look at the hickeys Rumi has given her so far, the teeth impressions scattered throughout. The smeared lube glistens on the strap-on jutting between her legs, especially on the thick head. Mira knows it’s just a trick of the light and the angle, because this particular toy isn’t supposed to be the most realistic looking, but oof. With the way she’s sitting, the photo almost makes it look natural, beyond the color.

“Okay if I send it?” Rumi asks, voice soft, making it clear it would be fine if Mira were to say no. Mira nods to give her the go ahead – because she can appreciate the fact that she looks hot as fuck in it, and she doesn’t want Zoey to miss out on this completely. It’s too bad they won’t be able to see their girlfriend’s reaction in person; Mira will just have to imagine the imminent total crash of Zoey.exe.

Rumi thumbs at the screen, sending off the messages, and then she places her phone face down on the coffee table, giving Mira her full, undivided attention. “You’ve been waiting so patiently for me; haven’t you, baby? I think you deserve your reward now.”

 Mira whimpers her agreement, desperation crashing back over her in an all-time high. She gasps as the vibrator inside her rumbles to life, nearly choking on her spit as Rumi climbs back on top of her. She’s salivating now, drool pooling in the corners of her mouth with nowhere for her teeth to go.

“Just a little something to get you started,” Rumi teases, putting the remote on the backrest somewhere over Mira’s shoulder. With both hands, she lines herself up with Mira’s cock, stroking at her clit, making sure Mira’s watching as she spreads her folds apart, sinking down onto the head.

The motion echoes all the way down, the double-headed end letting Mira feel every inch that Rumi takes. She holds herself as still as possible with the vibe going, nails digging into Rumi’s hips, unsure if she’s trying to help, or just holding on for dear life.

“Oh, Mira,” Rumi moans wantonly, once she’s sunk down as far as she can. “You feel so good; I love you so much.”

She gives a little test thrust, putting her breasts tantalizingly close to Mira’s face. Mira forgets about the muzzle for a second, teeth snapping together when the bars prevent her from leaning in to lick. Rumi laughs, but her eyes quickly roll back as Mira’s hips snap up in retaliation.

“Behave,” Rumi scolds, palm pressing into Mira’s chest to keep her down. “You’re the one who wanted to be used, aren’t you? So let me get myself off. You can help when I tell you to.”

Mira cries out as her vibe gets turned off. Thoroughly chastened, she lowers her head to Rumi. I’ll be good! her mind screams. All that comes out is a low keening sound. I’ll be good, I promise, I promise.

“I know, I know you didn’t mean it,” Rumi shushes her, petting her head. “Shh, you’re all right. I know you’ll make it up to me.”

To prove it, Mira doesn’t react as Rumi finds her rhythm, calves and thighs flexing as she lifts herself up, sinking back down when she’s a little over halfway. Mira keeps her hands right where they are though, needing to touch Rumi at least this much, needing the connection. She lets Rumi palm at her breasts, lets her squeeze as hard as she needs to, even as the texture at her clit serves as a reminder of what had gotten them here in the first place. Mira doesn’t know how long she’ll last, but she’s determined to hold off her own pleasure for as long as she can, wanting Rumi to have her fill.

The warmth in her belly spreads to an almost overwhelming fire as Rumi’s mouth finds her shoulder again, biting down hard. She’s circling her hips now, and Mira knows she’s close, can physically feel Rumi’s muscles pulling at the strap, trying to bring it deeper. Mira moves her hands up, rubbing Rumi’s back as she cries out, panting into Mira’s arms.

Rumi doesn’t even give herself a second to catch her breath. She hits some buttons on the remote, turning both her and Mira’s vibrators on, jumping straight to a middle setting. A squelching sound starts up as Rumi begins to move again and oh fuck, does it drive Mira wild. She whines, desperate, not even sure what she wants, but Rumi knows. She brings Mira’s hand down, maneuvering her thumb onto her clit, the pressure on her wrist a warning that she better keep it there. Then she drags Mira’s other hand up to her breast, so Mira rolls her nipple between her fingers, hoping Rumi will see how obedient she’s trying to be.

Her efforts must pay off, because all of the sudden, the butterfly jumps to life. Rumi keeps it on low, but even that makes Mira pitch forward, hips stuttering.

“R–” the sound forces its way of her teeth, but she has to concentrate to voice the rest of the syllables. “Rumi– I can’t–”

Her thighs are twitching now, needing to thrust, to move, to do something. She can’t keep still any longer, there’s no way–

“You’re okay,” Rumi tells her, cradling the bars of the muzzle in her hand, as close as she can get to Mira’s cheek. “Just breathe.”

Mira listens, closing her eyes as she inhales deeply through her nose. After a beat, the overwhelming sensation settles into something a little more manageable, allowing her to think, to focus on her own ministrations again. The next few minutes are a bit of a blur, all hands and roaming touch, as she coaxes Rumi to another orgasm.

Rumi shifts when she comes back down, seating herself more closely on Mira’s lap, legs crisscrossing behind her back. Rumi tucks her face into Mira’s neck, breath shuddering against her skin, and Mira isn’t surprised when the vibrators turn off again a second later.

“Sorry. Need a minute,” Rumi murmurs. “Sensitive.”

“’Sokay,” Mira promises, because it isn’t like she has plans to go anywhere anytime soon. She loves getting to see Rumi like this, all disheveled and undone, nothing left but pure self. Her clit is achy with need, echoes of the vibrations still playing under the surface, but Mira knows it will come eventually. A little bit of edging will just make it all the sweeter when it does.

Rumi stays in her embrace for a few minutes, until her breathing is closer to normal. Only then does she begin to kiss Mira again, right at the base of the muzzle. “Did you come?” she asks softly, touches feather-light, lazy, compared to her ferocity from a bit ago.

Mira shakes her head, tracing circles into Rumi’s back with one finger. “Got close.”

“Mmm.” Rumi copies her motions, hands warm on Mira’s shoulder blades. “Promise I’ll change that in a bit. Your turn next.”

“No.”

The word falls out of Mira’s mouth without any input from her brain.

Rumi sits up to look at her, confusion warping her face – confusion that Mira has no answer for, because she honestly has no idea why she’s suddenly against the very thing she’s been longing for this whole time. But her tongue only doubles down, betrays her further, as she continues, “Want to focus on you.”

Rumi blinks for a moment, contemplating this. Then her brow raises, amusement dancing at the corners of her lips. “And what if I tell you that you have to come with me? That’s an order.”

Oh. That’s what Mira’s subconscious has been waiting for. She sucks in a deep breath, clamping down on the toy inside her. Oh yeah. She can do that. She knows she can: she would never dream of disobeying Rumi now.

Rumi’s knowing grin nearly splits her face in half, but she doesn’t tease, fingers playing with the end of Mira’s ponytail. “Oh, that got you, did it? I should have realized sooner.” She grinds down on the strap, taking extra care to thrust right up into Mira. “You really are being so well-behaved today, baby. Think you can do this one last thing for me?”

Mira gives a drawn-out moan as all three motors switch back on at the same time. She doesn’t even try to hold back the way her hips jump, driving up into Rumi.

“That’s it,” Rumi encourages her, bouncing along with the movement. The vibes crank up to a middle setting, the butterfly’s antennae hammering into Mira’s clit on the way down. “I made you wait long enough. You’ve been such a good girl for me. Go ahead and fuck me now.”

Mira grunts with the permission, elbows bracing in the couch cushions to give her thrusts more leverage. Rumi matches her pace, kneading at Mira’s breasts like she can’t get enough. Sweat drips down their skin, and Mira’s nose wrinkles as her teeth bare, straining at the muzzle that won’t allow her to put her mouth where she wants.

Rumi has no such problem, latching onto the sweet spot on Mira’s earlobe and tugging, clearly determined to do everything in her power to push Mira over the edge. Mira would probably appreciate it more if she wasn’t so dead-set on lasting long enough to get Rumi there again too.

The butterfly just might be her undoing. Rumi cranks it up a notch, clearly enjoying how choppy Mira's motions get in response, if the pleased moan that fills her ears is any indication. Mira can’t keep her eyes open for much longer, head falling back onto the couch as her senses are overwhelmed. Rumi uses it as an opportunity to mark her neck even further, sucking a hickey into the side she hasn’t gotten to yet.

It’s everything Mira wanted: Rumi on her, over her, everywhere. She honestly feels close to tears – in the best way possible – and she lets the feeling out in a strangled half-whimper, half-groan, using every last shred of willpower to keep up the driving of her hips, figuring she just has to last a few minutes more at most, and–

She shifts slightly to adjust her angle, trying to drag along Rumi’s front wall just right, and she’s rewarded by Rumi leaning back into it, her gasping, breathy, “Yes, Mira, right there, I – fuck – I’m so close.”

Rumi scrambles to pick the remote up again, tugging on the front of Mira’s collar until they lock eyes.

“You ready?” Rumi asks.

Mira’s hand reaches for Rumi’s, a clumsy gesture of permission, a yes, please, please, please, and Rumi doesn’t try to drag it out any longer. She pushes the climax button, all three motors ramping up to max speed at once.

The orgasm hits so suddenly, Mira’s pretty sure she blacks out for a second.

All she knows is that when she blinks her eyes back open – when had she closed them again? – she’s wailing, clenching hard around the strap-on, nails digging into Rumi’s back with no recollection of how they got there.

“That’s it, baby,” Rumi is saying. Her motions have pretty much stopped, focused solely on holding Mira. “Such a good girl for me.”

“Fuck.” Mira tenses around the toy one last time, voice coming back to her all at once. “Holy shit, Rumi. I didn’t even last a second.”

Rumi beams at her, chest puffing up with pride. She lets out a soft chuckle as she turns the vibrators off, stroking her fingers through Mira’s sweaty hair that’s half fallen out of her ponytail. “Trust me, I was right there with you,” she purrs, but then her gaze drops to Mira’s shoulder and she winces. “We’re going to need clean that. I didn’t mean to break through the skin, sorry.”

Through the bars of the muzzle, Mira can just barely make out the bite mark bleeding slightly from Rumi’s canines. She has no idea how she had missed Rumi doing that, which means she definitely lost a few seconds there. It sends a thrill through her all over again.

“Don’t be sorry,” she whispers, her throat parched. “This is the best thing that’s happened to me all week. Possibly ever.”

Rumi preens. “Say that again when Zoey gets home. I dare you.”

“I am not encouraging your little competition over who can make me cum the most times,” Mira jokes pointedly. “Face it, you’ll both be tied for eternity.”

Rumi hums noncommittally, fingers stroking the cage above Mira’s nose. “Can I take this off? I really need to kiss you again.”

Mira feels a little floaty still, a fuzziness in her head that tingles its way down her spine as Rumi undoes the straps holding the muzzle to her face. She misses its weight immediately, but then Rumi’s lips are on hers, kisses warm and gentle and grounding her back into something a little more resembling herself.

Rumi shifts on her lap as she lets the kiss deepen – she usually needs a few minutes before she’s ready to get up, Mira never one to mind some cock-warming – the muzzle slipping forgotten from her fingers. But then Mira’s head jerks as the weight of it, still clipped to her collar, yanks her down, and their noses bump together painfully.

“Okay, ow.” Rumi pulls back with a laugh, rubbing at the corner of her eye. “Your glasses got me. That is not what I meant to do. Sorry, babe.” She unclips the muzzle fully, tossing it to the side, before caressing her thumb over Mira’s cheek. “There’s my pretty girl.”

The pet names bring Mira’s need back to the forefront of her mind. She rocks forward, grabbing Rumi’s hand and guiding it between them, shifting back just enough to bend the butterfly out of the way. Rumi takes the hint immediately, rolling her thumb over Mira’s clit, starting up a gentle circling motion.

Mira curls her spine to rest her forehead on Rumi’s chest, letting the pleasure wash over her. There’s something about just letting Rumi touch her like this, even when an orgasm isn’t the end goal. Especially when an orgasm isn’t the end goal.

Mira stops her just before the overstimulation becomes too much. She brings Rumi’s hand up, kissing along every one of her knuckles in turn. “Was it good?” she asks quietly.

“So good,” Rumi sighs, eyes dreamy. “You ready for me to get up now?”

As much as Mira would like to stay like this for longer, forever, her butt is starting to get a little numb. She helps guide Rumi off the strap, chuckling at the way Rumi cups a hand between her legs and scrambles for a hand towel as soon as she gets to her feet.

Not that Mira’s faring any better: a literal puddle is revealed underneath her as she eases the toy out, handing it over for Rumi to wipe off. Rumi sees the way her brow furrows and makes a point to catch her eye, reminding her, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Mira says back. She’ll be grateful for all eternity that she gets to share moments like this with the two people that mean the most to her, no judgement, just love.

Rumi rejoins her, passing over another hand towel, but Mira forgoes wiping herself off for now, opting to instead pull Rumi down to her side. They settle in, cuddling together in content post-haze silence, or at least until it’s broken by a repetitive chiming from the direction of the coffee table a few minutes later.

Rumi laughs, her breath warm against Mira’s skin. “I put my phone on do not disturb, but it was blowing up earlier too, so that means Zoey’s definitely seen the photo,” she says. “Scale of one to ten: how bad of a wreck do you think she is?”

“Oh, colossal.” Mira smirks just thinking about it. “I’m surprised she didn’t barge out of there and come straight home.”

Rumi gets up long enough to grab her phone, snuggling back in as she turns the screen on, angling it so Mira can see too. She pulls up their group text, which has a whole slew of notifications and a wall of messages from Zoey. The first chunk is from about twenty minutes after Rumi had sent the picture, and are uncharacteristically devoid of Zoey’s normal texting slang and emoji-filled abbreviations:

And then just a moment ago, clearly a lot calmer and back to her regular typing:

Rumi grins devilishly as soon as they reach the end of the thread. “Should we send her one more photo?”

Mira throws an arm over her eyes, but she can’t stop the mischievous smile that spreads across her face as Rumi stands to line up another shot. She passes it over for approval: Mira, clearly fucked out and flushed with it, the imprint lines from the muzzle still clear on what shows of her face, her exhausted posture and the puddle on the towel between her legs a testament to the job Rumi had done.

Mira hits send on it before she scours for her own phone, finding it sticking out of the cushions where it must have landed some time ago. She sends Zoey a thumbs up followed by a kissy face, the emojis being just about the only response she has left in her.

(She swears she can hear Zoey yelling for their driver to break every traffic law in existence from all the way up in their penthouse.)

She turns to regard Rumi. “We owe her big time now, don’t we?”

“Oh, so big,” Rumi laughs. “Bigger than big. I can’t wait.”