Day 14 - Vintage Roleplay

Day 14 - Vintage Roleplay

The kitchen was a disaster. Thick smoke billowed from the oven, filling the room with the smell of charred food. Ava stood there, staring at what was once supposed to be a roast chicken, her heart sinking as reality hit. She'd completely messed it up. Grabbing a dishtowel, she tried to wave the smoke away, coughing lightly as she muttered under her breath, "This is fine. Totally fine. Women in the '40s had it worse, right?"

She glanced nervously toward the door, already imagining the look Deborah was going to give her—somewhere between amused and deeply unimpressed. Ava huffed, adjusting the apron tied around her waist. "God, I'm the worst fake housewife ever."

Sure, dinner was a catastrophe, but at least she looked the part. She'd gone all out for this little roleplay, pinning her hair up in perfect victory rolls, her lips painted a perfect shade of cherry red. Her polka-dotted dress hugged her curves in all the right places, cinched at the waist with a bow that made her feel like she'd stepped straight out of an old Hollywood movie. Tonight, she was playing the role of the perfect 1940s housewife—the kind that had dinner on the table when her husband came home and made sure his drink was ready.

Only, in this case, her "husband" was Deborah, and Ava was pretty much failing at the housewife part.

Ava grabbed the whiskey off the counter and poured a healthy amount into a glass, trying to ignore the trail of smoke still drifting from the oven. She heard the familiar click of Deborah's heels from the living room, the slow, steady sound of someone who knew exactly how much power they held. Ava quickly composed herself, holding the whiskey like it was some kind of peace offering.

Deborah appeared in the doorway, her eyebrow arching the second she laid eyes on the chaos. The kitchen was a war zone, and Ava could practically feel Deborah's amusement radiating off her.

"Oh, sweetheart," Deborah said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "you really know how to make a house feel like home. And by home, I mean something out of an arsonist's daydream."

Ava flashed a sheepish grin, stepping forward to offer the whiskey. "Whiskey's still good, though. You know, despite my best efforts to burn down the entire house."

Deborah accepted the glass, her eyes flicking over Ava's retro getup with an approving glance. "Well, you certainly look the part," she said, taking a slow sip, "but I'm guessing dinner's not going to be edible."

Ava winced, glancing back at the oven like it might suddenly fix itself. "I wouldn't recommend it. But hey, they can't all be perfect meals, right?"

Deborah chuckled, setting the glass down on the counter. "If this was the 1940s, you'd probably be fired from your housewife duties by now."

"Oh, absolutely," Ava agreed, stepping closer, her eyes gleaming with playful mischief. "I'm pretty sure my cooking skills would get me kicked out of any decade."

Deborah's hand slid around Ava's waist, pulling her in close. "Good thing cooking isn't the only thing you're good at," she murmured, her voice dipping low in that way that always made Ava's pulse quicken.

Ava grinned, resting her hands on Deborah's chest as she looked up at her. "Yeah? Got something else in mind, boss?"

Deborah's smirk deepened, her eyes gleaming with that wicked sense of amusement Ava loved so much. "You know exactly what I've got in mind, sweetheart."

Ava's breath hitched as Deborah's hand moved down, fingers brushing against the harness she wore beneath her perfectly tailored suit pants. Deborah always looked incredible in a suit, but tonight, with the whole vintage vibe going, she looked like someone straight out of a noir film. Commanding. In control.

Ava didn't need further encouragement. She dropped to her knees, her heart racing as she looked up at Deborah. "Guess I better earn my keep, huh?"

Deborah's smirk widened, her hand tangling in Ava's hair as she looked down at her. "Good girl," she said, her voice soft but filled with authority. "Let's see if you can make up for that culinary disaster."

Ava quickly undid Deborah's pants, her fingers trembling slightly with excitement as she pulled them down just enough to reveal the strap-on. She could feel Deborah's eyes on her, watching every move with that same, intense gaze that always made Ava feel like she was on fire. She leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of the strap-on before taking it into her mouth, her tongue swirling around it slowly.

Deborah's grip on her hair tightened slightly, guiding her movements as she began to take it deeper. "That's it," Deborah murmured, her voice thick with satisfaction. "Keep going."

Ava's lips stretched around the strap-on as she took it deeper, her eyes flicking up to meet Deborah's. There was something so incredibly hot about this—about being on her knees in a smoke-filled kitchen, dressed up like a 1940s housewife, giving Deborah a blowjob. The contrast between the sweet, innocent look she was going for and what she was actually doing made her pulse race even faster.

Deborah's breath hitched slightly, her grip on Ava's hair tightening. "You might be a terrible cook," Deborah muttered, her voice filled with that sarcastic edge she was so good at, "but at least you know how to handle this."

Ava pulled back for a second, a smirk playing on her lips. "Gotta play to my strengths," she teased, before leaning back down and taking Deborah even deeper.

Deborah chuckled, guiding her back to the strap-on with a firm hand. "Smart girl," she murmured, her voice full of approval. "Now don't stop until I tell you to."

Ava worked her mouth over the strap-on, her movements slow but eager, wanting nothing more than to hear Deborah's little approving noises. She could feel the power shift between them, and that only made her more determined. Her tongue flicked against the length of the strap-on as she took it in as deeply as she could, the taste of the material familiar but the thrill of the situation fresh and new.

Deborah's voice was rough when she finally spoke again, her tone filled with command. "I want to see how good you really are, Ava. Show me."

Without a second of hesitation, Deborah tightened her grip on Ava's hair and pushed her down harder, forcing the strap-on deeper into her mouth. Ava gagged slightly, her eyes watering as the length hit the back of her throat, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she fought to relax her throat, her hands gripping Deborah's thighs for balance.

"Take it," Deborah growled, her voice thick with satisfaction. She watched with dark amusement as Ava's lips stretched around the strap-on, her breath quickening with the effort of keeping up. Deborah was relentless, her hand controlling Ava's movements, setting a pace that left Ava gasping for air in between. The roughness in Deborah's actions, the way she took complete control, sent a wave of heat through Ava's body.

Ava's nails dug into Deborah's thighs as she struggled to take more, her chest heaving as she fought to hold her breath. The combination of Deborah's dominance and the intensity of the moment had Ava's pulse racing, her mind swimming with the dizzying sensation of being completely at her mercy.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was really just a few breathless minutes, Deborah pulled back, letting Ava breathe. Ava gasped, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath, her lips red and swollen from the effort.

Deborah looked down at her, that satisfied smirk still playing on her lips. "Good girl," she muttered, her voice low and filled with approval. "You're learning."

Ava could barely form a coherent thought. Her throat was raw, her body trembling, but the praise in Deborah's voice—the way she called her a "good girl"—had her feeling heady and more desperate than before. Her body was practically buzzing with excitement, a heat pooling low in her stomach that she couldn't ignore.

Deborah leaned down, her fingers tracing Ava's jaw as she tilted her chin up. "Now," she said softly, her eyes gleaming with command, "bend over the counter, honey. Show your husband what a good little cum dumpster wife you are."

Ava's heart skipped at the words, the crude language only adding to the heat between them. She didn't waste any time getting up, pushing herself to her feet and moving to the counter. The fantasy they'd set up—the 1940s housewife roleplay—had shifted into something more raw, something that felt so much more real than just pretending.

Ava bent over the counter, her chest pressed against the cool surface as she spread her legs slightly, feeling the air hit her exposed skin. She could hear Deborah's footsteps behind her as she stepped closer.

The atmosphere in the room was thick with anticipation, every breath Ava took feeling heavy with the weight of what was about to happen. She could sense Deborah standing behind her, her presence commanding and powerful, her eyes raking over Ava's body as she took her time, making Ava wait.

"That's it," Deborah murmured, her voice low and satisfied as her hands trailed over Ava's hips, slowly tracing the curve of her waist. "You really do know how to play your part, don't you?"

Ava let out a soft moan, her body already aching for more as Deborah's hands roamed lower, teasing her without giving her what she wanted just yet. Every touch was electric, sending shivers down Ava's spine as she pressed her hips back, hoping for more.

Deborah chuckled softly, her fingers brushing against Ava's inner thighs as she leaned in closer. "Do you like this?" she asked, her voice filled with that familiar taunting edge. "Do you like being treated like this?"

"Yes," Ava whimpered, her voice barely a whisper as she pressed herself back against Deborah's touch, desperate for more.

Deborah's hand hovered just over Ava's entrance, teasing her without actually giving her any real contact. "Of course you do," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You wouldn't have begged me to play this little game if you didn't."

With one swift motion, Deborah lined herself up behind Ava, the tip of the strap-on pressing against Ava's slick entrance. She didn't bother with any more teasing. With a sharp thrust, Deborah pushed herself deep inside Ava, burying the strap-on all the way in with one rough motion that made Ava gasp.

Ava's hands gripped the edge of the counter, her fingers curling into the surface as the sensation overwhelmed her. The stretch was intense, the pressure almost too much at first, but it was exactly what she needed. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps as Deborah's hips pressed hard against her, the sound of their bodies colliding filling the room.

"That's it," Deborah growled, her hands gripping Ava's hips tightly as she started to move, her thrusts hard and unforgiving. "Take it, honey. Show me what a good little housewife you are."

Ava moaned loudly, her body rocking with each of Deborah's thrusts. She felt completely exposed, bent over the counter like this, but the feeling of being taken so roughly, of being dominated so completely, was intoxicating. Each sharp thrust pushed her deeper into that headspace, where she was nothing but Deborah's to control.

Deborah's hands roamed over Ava's body as she fucked her, her grip rough and possessive. "You're mine," Deborah muttered, her voice low and full of control. "Don't ever forget that."

Ava whimpered, her body trembling under Deborah's grip. She wanted to respond, to say something, but her brain was fogged with pleasure, her voice lost in the overwhelming sensations crashing through her.

Deborah's pace quickened, her thrusts coming faster and harder, her hands gripping Ava's hips so tightly that Ava knew she'd have marks the next day. The counter dug into her stomach, her body pinned between the hard surface and Deborah's relentless thrusts, but she didn't care. The roughness, the intensity, it was all pushing her closer to the edge.

"You're going to come for me, aren't you?" Deborah growled, her voice dripping with authority. "You're going to come like the good little wife you are."

Ava's breath hitched, her body trembling as the pleasure built inside her, the pressure becoming too much to handle. "Yes," she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. "Please..."

Deborah's hand slipped between Ava's legs, her fingers finding her clit and rubbing it in time with her thrusts. The combined sensation was too much, and Ava's body responded immediately, the orgasm building inside her like a wave she couldn't stop.

When it hit, it tore through her with such force that she cried out, her body shaking as the pleasure washed over her. She collapsed against the counter, her legs trembling as Deborah continued to move inside her, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until Ava was spent, completely and utterly wrecked.

When Deborah finally pulled away, she leaned down, her breath hot against Ava's ear. "You really do play your part well," she murmured, her voice full of satisfaction.

Ava's chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. "I try," she muttered, her voice weak but full of affection. "Though I'm still never going to make dinner again."

"There are some miracles after all."