Wake-up Call – Chapter 58

"So… why the Machine Army?" Taylor asks, apparently disinterested as she sits on the hotel's bed with me on her lap, my back against her slight bust, her uninjured arm around my waist, and her lips on my hair.

And I panic.

"I mean, by mere process of elimination—"

"Liz, you just told me about Ellisburg and the Machine Army and then off-handedly remarked that the other zones are not something the public knows about," she says, thin lips breathing hot words in my ear.

"I… remember something like that?" I tell her, not at all squirming on top of her and feeling my bare thighs press together over the elastic line of my white silk stockings.

"Liz…" she murmurs, dangerously making my whole back jerk against her. "When have you ever [not] poked at a secret dangled in front of you?"

I lick my lips, tasting the slight trace of the lip gloss I reapplied after our lunch, and try to come up with something I can say to answer [that].

"I have never asked you about your period?" I finally settle on.

Taylor goes still.

Then she bites my neck.

"That's for trying to gross me out," she says as I try not to moan even as my toes curl inside kitten heels that I'm now very glad aren't strap sandals.

"I mean, if even Mister TMI doesn't want to poke at—[hn!] Stop doing that!"

"Start answering my questions," she says, tone low even as she licks what I'm sure is a steadily reddening patch of my neck.

… This isn't helping me come up with an excuse [at all.

Purported benefits of arousal in Lisa Wilbourn's cognitive faculties—]

Ha. Ha. Ha.

"Liz?" she says, mouth dangerously close to my earlobe.

"Fine! I want to do the Machine Army! I'll suss out anything I can find about the other zones sooner or later, but I'm prioritizing that one! Happy now?"

"Well, I've got a cute blonde squirming on my lap, so—"

"You and Power like ganging up on me too much for two entities who have never even talked."

"You could always be an interpreter."

"… No."

[Social isolation key factor in abusive relationships' power dynamics—]

"Fuck, no! I'm not emotionally abusing you, Power! I'm not the one constantly pouring pure, undiluted, partially deniable snark directly inside my mind!"

[Propensity of younger family members to learn socialization through imitation of older role models—]

"No. No, [you] can't blame [me] for teaching you to be sarcastic. One of the first things you told me was that my jeans [did] make my butt look fat!"

[… Sincerity often highly valued in trusted acquaintances—]

"Fuck! Off!"

…

"Are you… done?" Taylor asks.

And I, once again, freeze.

Then, very slowly and cautiously, I turn my head back to look at her over my left shoulder, where I find green eyes staring at me beneath a cocked eyebrow.

"How much of that did I say out loud?" I ask, dreading the answer.

"How much does your throat hurt?" she replies.

… Fuck.

[Involuntary vocalizations in high-stress situations—]

Not. Helping.

[Use of 'halping' in Internet parlance—]

"Liz? You're turning an… interesting shade."

"Gee, I wonder why…"

"I certainly do," she has the gall to comment with the slight smirk of someone about to make a crack about the number six.

One may be the loneliest number, but six is about to get shanked.

"Not. One. Word."

Her grin widens.

"You know, I wonder if your threat rating goes down once everybody starts including your power in the conversation—" Taylor starts her mocking one-liner.

Then ends it with a loud and extremely satisfying 'eep.'

Because she's below me, her dark hair out of her ponytail and spread over the seafoam green of the duvet crinkling beneath her as she blinks up at me and I sit atop her hips, my skirt pooling over her body, and my hand pressing down on the middle of her chest.

"Tay, you should remember that I may be lazy, out of shape, and physically allergic to exerting unnecessary effort, but [I have memorized hours of martial arts training."]

"That's what? A Combat Thinker rating of one?" she says, the smirk making a comeback.

My eyes narrow.

And I lower my face until I'm just above her, our breathing mingling in puffs of warm air that taste a bit of a very expensive lunch and a lot like the girl I love and whose taste I've memorized.

"I should also remind you I've studied you in great detail. That I've memorized each and every single one of the spots that make you moan, bite your lip, clasp the bedsheets, [writhe beneath me—"]

"Are you… threatening me? Because it doesn't sound like it," she says, wetting her own lips.

Right before I take them.

I manage to be careful enough not to jostle her wound, but just barely, because there's something about this particular scene, about Taylor's eyes being almost yet not quite the same color as the bed beneath her, about her deliberately provoking me even more when she notices in which way I am going to take my frustrations out on her…

[Definition of 'switch'—]

Shut. Up. I'm not going to have an angry make-out with you.

[Westermarck effect—]

Thank God we agree on that…

"Liz…" Taylor breathes out when my lips stop moving, hers almost vibrating against me with the desperate syllable.

And I… I lean back, my body perpendicular to hers as I look right into her betrayed eyes before I teasingly pull up my dress until the ruffled hemline goes past the middle of my thighs and her stare goes down to devour every newly uncovered inch of my pale skin as if she's seeing me for the first time.

… She's so [unfair].

She couldn't play the distressed damsel for a single minute; no, she had to make me melt just with her eyes, with her desire and hunger for me. She had to make me shiver as I teasingly pull a too-transparent, too-[revealing] lace hem up until it's not only my thighs that she devours, until my white panties are shown in all their clinging wetness that leave nothing to the imagination.

"You shaved?" she comments, that damn eyebrow of hers…

Making everything so much [worse].

I nod, knowing perfectly well that there isn't a trace of short, curly, blonde hair to be found below my waist, and… and that Taylor just licked her lips, and…

OK. I can't take this anymore.

"Liz?" she asks as I stand up and unsteadily walk on the bed and over her until her face is between my legs, below my skirt, and I can no longer see her burning eyes, nor her hungry, teasing smile, nor…

…

Shouldn't this be [easier?]

I mean, I'm not looking at her, so why do I feel so… so…

"Liz, I don't think you are going to be able to wear those panties on the way back."

So damn [horny].

Because, yes, I don't see her, but… but I [imagine] her. Her and all the myriad ways she would be looking up at me, the ways her lips would quirk, or open, or be softly bitten into by white, gleaming teeth before her red tongue peeks out to lick any remaining traces of cherry Chapstick, and [fuck you, Alec] for making me weak-kneed at that chemical, artificial flavor—

She's touching me.

"These… these feel nice. Do you feel nice, [Liz]?" she asks, running playful fingers along the sensitive hollow beside my Achilles tendon (because she's finally showing her propensity for both the classics and her unwarranted ruthlessness). And then she stops, and soft lips press against smooth silk covering and smoothing my own skin, and… And I roll my panties down.

My hands are beneath my skirt, bunching it up, but I still don't see her, even as I can picture her perfectly when she stops kissing my left leg to look up at soaked lace obstructing her sight better now that it's no longer sticking to my every fold.

And the thought of those green eyes of hers looking up at me? The idea of what I'm doing to her even as she does this to me? It makes me almost whimper.

I go to take another step forward so that I can press my legs together and take my panties past my knees and all the way down, but when I do that, I feel her hair spread out behind her, and… I pause when my toes glide over it, but I then bite my lip as a thrill of anticipation pushes me to do it, to let my weight rest on it, sink into the duvet and the soft mattress beneath as I hear Taylor hiss and shift below me, shimmying up until the top of her head touches the back of my heel.

But she doesn't protest. Not a single word. And I can picture it, the way she's squirming in her tight jeans, how she's closing her eyes as I once again press her own weak point, and it is [glorious.]

So I bend down, my panties leaving a trace of glistening wetness on the inside of my legs as I do so, and then carefully and slowly lift first one foot, then another as Taylor writhes beneath me.

Then I close my eyes and…

Sit back.

On her.

Before I can even settle down, before I can think of how to better position myself so that I will tease her but not hurt her, her lips have already met mine, and her tongue is frantically lapping up between them, making me yelp, making me close my eyes as I scramble to lean back on my arms, shifting my feet so only a few strands of hair pull at her when she twists her head around, my belly spasming beyond my control when she licks up and flicks my clitoris, making a white bolt flash behind my eyes.

And I… I want to do more. I want to make her lose her mind like she makes me lose mine. I want to tease her and be, for once, the one in charge of making her feel as she should feel, overwhelmed by ecstasy, and love, and everything I can give her.

Lisa wants to.

But Sarah… Sarah has just been told she's loved for the first time in… in too long, and she can't do anything but bask in it, letting the girl that Lisa met show her how true those words are.

So I just stare at the cream skirt of my dress stretched between my open thighs, shifting with each movement of the girl beneath me trying her best to bring me pleasure, to make me unable to do anything other than biting my lip as I keep trying to suppress my moans, as I almost fall back on top of her, only the knowledge of her arm on a sling being beneath me forcing me to shift my hands on the seafoam cover so that I will remain trembling upon them rather than sprawl over the body of the girl I desperately love, even as she teases me and infuriates me, and…

And shifts up below me so she can grab the inside of my thigh with clawed fingers, holding herself up before latching her lips around my clitoris and sucking hard enough I take in a sharp breath that makes my breasts tremble.

I… I need to move. I need to move before I fall, but Taylor isn't letting me. She's holding me in place, captive, and I can't even conceive to—

"I want you to moan. I want you to writhe. I want you to cry out [my name]," she whispers, each word a bolt of something warm, and wet, and primal that surges up my spine.

I'm about to lose my strength, I'm about to fall on top of her and [hurt her], and that's the one thing I can't allow, so…

So I [push]. My arms tremble with the effort, and the bed bounces beneath us, Taylor's lips losing their purchase on my own and allowing me a moment of clarity as I reposition myself, my hands going from her sides to her shoulders right before I pull hard enough to propel me forward and shove Taylor back so she can't get to my clitoris. I barely have the time to shift above her, bending my legs so my feet slide beneath her back, and then she's once more in place to [assault me].

And she does.

Her free hand is grabbing my thigh possessively, her fingers sinking into soft flesh, two of them above the edge of my white stockings, and her lips… She's kissing me, lapping up the wetness that has spread below my weeping [hole], her tongue tracing each sticky rivulet back to its origin before moving down and switching sides, leaving trails of wet fire instead, making my skin beat to the tune of a wet tongue pausing, advancing, and retreating.

"Tay… I love you, Tay, I love you, love you, love you—ah!"

She… She's taken my lips inside hers, sucking on them, making me feel stretched as her tongue frantically taps at them, taking each drop of my wetness as soon as I let it out.

And I'm on my knees, above her, bent over her head, and I can't resist the temptation to slide my hands beneath my skirt and grab her hair, two handfuls of wavy strands feeling far more luxurious than the silk wrapping my legs.

She lets me go, her lips smacking in a sound that makes me rub my thighs against the sides of her face, against the soft hair trapped between us.

And she [moans.]

Then she lets go of my leg and shoves two fingers inside of me, roughly enough I would've protested if my mouth hadn't dropped open and the sight of the glittering ocean in front of me hadn't been suddenly replaced by that of the back of my head as I gaped silently, my throat taut with how far back I've thrown my head.

"Come. Come all over me. Shake, and shiver, and [scream]," she whispers, even if I can only barely make out the words through my flesh, my clothes, and the pink fog slowing my thoughts.

"Tay… Oh, God, Tay,…"

She doesn't answer.

No, she just takes her fingers away, leaving an aching emptiness behind, and dives back in, her tongue briefly replacing them before slowly dragging up to flick my clitoris before she circles it, and presses it, and pushes it left to right, the tip of her tongue pointed and hard, yet thankfully wet with both me and her.

My arms shiver, barely restraining myself from pulling [hard] on her hair even as my breasts shake between them, my hard nipples not poking through my bra, but rubbing against it, desperately craving a stimulation Tay can't give them and I restrain myself not to, as if punishing myself when I focus on the lack of touch above for the brief moment I can do so before she drags my attention back to her caresses, to her hungry kisses and demanding licks.

I'm almost there. I'm shivering, and moaning, and biting my lip to not do something even more shameful before I'm overwhelmed and start back again. I keep getting louder and louder, and I can't stop my body from shimmying side to side as if dancing to the music Taylor plays on and across my body.

I'm almost there.

And then I hear her.

I hear her gasping and panting, her breath washing over my hot, feverish, wet skin. But it's not the heat, but the sound that makes my eyes fly wide open, because that's how Taylor sounds when she's excited, when she's about to lose herself as much as I always do as soon as she looks at me with a certain gleam in her eye.

That's the sound of Taylor being eager, aroused, [enthusiastic] about eating me out.

And that's…

My nails dig into her scalp as I arch my back and yell to the ceiling above right before it disappears, fading away into whiteness streaked with sparks of color as the pleasure Taylor forces on me surges up my body. And I remain like that, my mouth still open even as my scream fades, because I keep venting out the sheer, overwhelming, pure sensation ravaging me from the inside out.

And then, finally, it stops, and I fall forward, my face buried in the seafoam duvet even as my arms are trapped beneath me, beneath a limp body devoid of anything but an emptiness shaped like the pleasure Taylor just inflicted on me.

It… I don't know how much time passes before her long fingers gently prompt mine to let her go, her soft tresses sliding out from between my own fingers as she moves back down, away from me, out of the bed.

But I don't have the strength to move, so I remain kneeling where I fell, the duvet beneath my face wet with saliva that I just now realize I've been drooling since she… since she did to me what she often does.

The mattress shifts in front of me. I try to close my mouth.

I fail.

"Liz?" she asks.

I moan.

"I'm going to take that as a sign that you're listening."

I whimper.

"And that as confirmation."

Another, unexpected wave of pleasure shoots through me, and I feel my ass quiver and the skirt swish.

"Right. Be that as it may…" she leans forward, her mouth right beside my ear, and I try not to let out a needy cry. "I know you're hiding something. I know you want to tackle the Machine Army because of a plot of yours that you're not telling me about. I know that you are hiding something from me."

She caresses my hair, and I shiver.

"And I don't care," she says with a loving, warm tone before leaning forward to gently kiss the crown of my head.

==================

This work is a repost of my most popular fic on QQ (https://forum.questionablequesting.com/threads/wake-up-call-worm.15638/), where it can be found up to date except for the latest two chapters that are currently only available on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/Agrippa?fan_landing=true)—as an added perk, both those sites have italicized and bolded text. I'll be posting the chapters here twice weekly, on Wednesday and Friday, until we're caught up. Unless something drastic happens, it will be updated at a daily rate until it catches up to the currently written 88 chapters (or my brain is consumed by the overwhelming amounts of snark, whichever happens first).

Speaking of Italics, this story's original format relied on conveying Power's intrusions into Lisa's inner monologue through the use of italics. I'm using square brackets ([]) to portray that same effect, but the work is more than 300k words at the moment, so I have to resort to the use of macros to make that light edit and the process may not be perfect. My apologies in advance

Also, I'd like to thank my credited supporters on Patreon: Niklarus, Tinkerware, Varosch, Xalgeon, and aj0413. If you feel like maybe giving me a hand and helping me keep writing snarky, useless lesbians, consider joining them or buying one of my books on https://www.amazon.com/stores/Terry-Lavere/author/B0BL7LSX2S. Thank you for reading!