Chapter 7: Swallowing Resistance
The thick heat searing Natalie’s lips stretched them wide. Wider than she thought possible. A choked gasp tore from her throat, muffled instantly as the impossibly smooth, hard crown of Molly’s cock surged past the point of resistance and pressed deep into her mouth. Her jaw screamed. Her throat convulsed violently on instinct, trying to reject the sudden, overwhelming invasion.
Tears sprang hot and immediate, blurring the sight of Molly’s flushed stomach, the dark thatch of curls framing the base of this terrifyingly real appendage. Panic surged, cold and sharp, a counterpoint to the searing heat filling her. Nathan! her mind screamed, a desperate echo of the name that felt like sinking sand.
Then, impossibly gentle, Molly’s thumb brushed the wet trail from Natalie’s cheek. Her voice, thick with arousal and something tender, cut through the gagging reflex. "Shhh, Nat. It’s okay. Just… just feel it. Breathe through your nose." A soft pressure on the back of Natalie’s head, not forcing, but anchoring. "Don’t fight. Just… be here."
Natalie squeezed her eyes shut, tears squeezing out. Feel it. The command was terrifying. She focused past the intrusion in her throat, past the burning stretch of her jaw. The texture against her tongue was velvety smooth, pulsing with a slow, powerful rhythm she could feel in her own bones. Heat radiated from it, intense and alive. The taste was richer, saltier than Molly’s usual essence, musky and undeniably male. It’s still her. It’s Molly. The thought was a lifeline, frayed but holding.
She relaxed her throat by fractions, fighting the instinct to clench. Sucked in a desperate, shuddering breath through her nose, the scent of vanilla candles mixing dizzyingly with sweat and sex and this new, potent musk. The convulsion eased slightly. The rigid shaft rested heavy on her tongue, filling her mouth completely. She felt the thick vein running its length throb against her palate.
Molly groaned, a low rumble that vibrated through the flesh in Natalie’s mouth. "Oh god… that’s… Nat, that’s so good." Her hips gave a minute, experimental thrust. Not deep, just a nudge. The broad head nudged the back of Natalie’s throat again, triggering a fresh wave of tears but no violent gag. Natalie whimpered, the sound vibrating around Molly’s cock.
She opened her eyes, blinking away tears, looking up the length of Molly’s body. Molly’s face was contorted, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted, lost in sensation. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Seeing her like that – vulnerable, powerful, transformed – unlocked something primal in Natalie. The fear didn’t vanish, but it was momentarily eclipsed by a fierce, possessive curiosity. She needs this. I can give her this. Her hands, which had been frozen on Molly’s thighs, slid upwards, gripping her hips.
Tentatively, experimentally, Natalie pulled back. Her lips clung to the slick shaft. Then, guided by the memory of Molly’s earlier command and the insistent pulse under her tongue, she pushed forward again, taking another inch into her mouth. Her throat protested, fluttering, but held.
Molly gasped. "Yes! Fuck, Natalie, yes! Like that." Her fingers tightened in Natalie’s hair, not painful, but insistent. "Don’t stop. Please."
Natalie found a rhythm. Slow. Careful. Pulling back until just the swollen head rested on her tongue, tasting the bead of salty pre-cum that gathered there. Then pushing forward, swallowing around the thickness, sinking deeper each time she dared. Her jaw ached, her throat burned, but the sounds Molly made – choked moans, breathless pleas, her name cracked with need – became her compass. The sheer power of it, holding Molly on the edge with her mouth, was intoxicating.
Her hand drifted from Molly’s hip. Trembling, slick with sweat, it slid between Molly’s thighs, seeking the familiar heat beneath the startling new hardness. Her fingers found slick folds, swollen and wet, untouched since her transformation. She pressed two fingers against Molly’s entrance, circling lightly, feeling the clench, the answering throb of the cock in her mouth.
Molly’s cry this time was ragged, torn from deep within. Her hips bucked wildly, driving her cock deeper into Natalie’s throat. Natalie gagged, eyes watering, but held on, her fingers pressing harder, curling slightly inside the familiar wet heat she knew so well. The juxtaposition was dizzying – the hard, demanding presence in her mouth, the soft, yielding heat under her fingers. Both radiating the same frantic energy. Both Molly.
"Oh fuck! Oh god, Natalie! Both! Don’t stop! I’m… I’m gonna…" Molly’s voice hitched, became a choked sob of pure sensation. Her body tightened like a drawn bowstring. The cock in Natalie’s mouth pulsed violently, swelling impossibly harder. The pressure against Natalie’s fingers inside her intensified, clenching rhythmically.
Natalie worked her mouth faster, sucking hard as she pulled back, swallowing the salty fluid leaking onto her tongue. She drove her fingers deep, curling them upwards, seeking the spot she knew would unravel Molly completely.
Molly shattered. Her cry wasn’t a word, just raw, animal sound. Her hips pistoned forward, burying her cock to the hilt in Natalie’s throat. Natalie felt the hot, thick pulse against her palate, the unmistakable surge of release. Simultaneously, hot wetness gushed over her fingers, Molly’s climax triggering a secondary pulse from her core. The scent of sex exploded, thick and primal in the candlelit air. Molly convulsed, trembling violently, her fingers spasming in Natalie’s hair.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the tremors subsided. Molly’s cock softened slightly in Natalie’s mouth, still thick and warm but no longer rigid. Natalie carefully pulled off, gasping for air, her jaw throbbing. She wiped her mouth with the back of a shaky hand, looking down at her fingers, glistening with Molly’s combined release. The sight was profoundly intimate, shocking.
Molly lay sprawled on the rug, utterly spent, breathing in ragged gulps. Sweat slicked her skin. Her eyes were closed, but a dazed, almost disbelieving smile touched her lips. Her hand weakly reached out, fingers brushing Natalie’s damp cheek. "Holy… shit," she breathed, voice wrecked. "Natalie… that was…" Words failed her. She gestured vaguely towards her own body, then towards Natalie. "Like… fireworks. And earthquakes. Simultaneously." A shaky laugh escaped her. "Definitely not sourdough."
Natalie managed a weak, breathless laugh, collapsing back onto her heels. Her own body felt like jelly, trembling with residual adrenaline and the deep, echoing ache between her legs that hadn't been touched. She stared at the thick, softening cock resting against Molly’s thigh. It seemed slightly less alien now, glistening under the fairy lights. Still utterly bizarre. Still undeniably part of the woman she loved. "Fireworks and earthquakes," she echoed hoarsely. "Yeah. Apocalyptic." She swallowed, the phantom sensation still thick in her throat. "Is it… does it… go away?"
Molly cracked an eye open, looking down at herself. She reached a tentative hand, her fingers gingerly brushing the smooth flesh. "Dunno," she murmured, a mix of awe and bewilderment in her tone. "Still feels pretty… present." She looked at Natalie, her gaze lingering on her swollen lips. "You okay? Your jaw must be…"
"Sore," Natalie admitted, rubbing it. "Like I tried to swallow a baseball bat." She met Molly’s eyes, the shared absurdity hanging between them. "Worth it, though. Seeing you…" She gestured vaguely towards Molly’s blissed-out state. "That."
The silence settled like warm dust motes dancing in the fairy light glow. Molly’s breath evened out, her chest rising and falling softly against the worn rug. Her gaze, hazy and sated, drifted lazily over Natalie’s body where she sat back on her heels, still trembling slightly.
"God, Natalie," Molly breathed, her voice a raspy whisper. Her eyes traced the curve of Natalie’s shoulder, lingered on the subtle swell of her breasts beneath the soft cotton t-shirt, roamed down the newly defined lines of her waist. "Look at you." Awe softened her features, replacing the intense focus of moments ago. "You’re just… stunning."
Heat flooded Natalie’s cheeks, warmer than the afterglow. She pulled her knees up, suddenly self-conscious under the intensity of that look. She glanced down at her own hands, the unfamiliar smoothness of her painted nails catching the low light. "Still getting used to seeing it myself," she murmured, a shy smile touching her lips. "Feels like someone else’s reflection sometimes."
Molly pushed herself up onto one elbow, wincing slightly as her softened cock shifted against her thigh. Her gaze, however, remained fixed on Natalie, drinking her in. "It suits you," she said with sudden conviction. "The confidence. The way you move now. It’s… different. Good different." She reached out, her fingertips lightly brushing the bare skin of Natalie’s ankle above her sock.
A shiver traced up Natalie’s spine at the contact. The air crackled again, different now. Less urgent, more… tender. She met Molly’s eyes, seeing the lingering warmth, the open admiration. It was a look Nathan had longed for, but never quite received like this. "Yeah?" Natalie asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Molly nodded, her own cheeks flushing a delicate pink. She bit her lower lip, a gesture Natalie recognized as pure, adorable hesitation. "So," Molly started, her gaze dipping briefly before meeting Natalie’s again, sheepishness radiating from her. "I know this might sound… kinda weird? After… that?" She gestured vaguely between them, encompassing the charged atmosphere and the lingering scent of sex and vanilla. "But… um… would it be totally bizarre if I… dressed you up? Just… something… really sexy?"
Natalie blinked. The request, so unexpected, so vulnerable, hung in the air. A laugh bubbled up in her throat, surprised and breathless. She looked at Molly, the woman she adored, flushed and disheveled and asking to play dress-up after an encounter that had left them both wrecked. The absurdity of it, juxtaposed with the profound intimacy, was pure Molly. "Dress me up?" Natalie echoed, her smile widening. A spark of curiosity ignited, chasing away the last shreds of self-consciousness. "Like… what did you have in mind?"
The low thrum of the record player filled the quiet space between them, the only sound besides their slowly steadying breaths. Molly pushed herself fully upright, wincing slightly as her softened length shifted against her thigh. A sudden, mischievous spark lit her eyes, chasing away the lingering haze of spent pleasure. "Okay, don't judge," she warned, scrambling up with surprising energy despite her recent collapse. "Be right back!"
She darted towards her cluttered bedroom, bare feet padding on the worn wood floor, leaving Natalie blinking in the dim, fairy-lit living room. The scent of vanilla and sex hung heavy, mixing with the faint fragrance of old books and dust. Natalie touched her lower lip, still slightly swollen and tender. Dress me up? After... that? The absurdity was pure Molly, disarming and strangely sweet. She heard rustling, the scrape of a drawer, a muffled "Aha!"
Molly reappeared, clutching a bundle of dark, silky fabric against her chest like contraband. Her cheeks were flushed, but her grin was wide and unashamed. "Okay, look!" She unfurled it with a flourish, revealing a jumble of black lace, sheer nylon, and delicate straps. "Stockings! With actual seams up the back! And this... this lace thing? Bodysuit? I dunno, it looked amazing online, but I chickened out." She held up a complex-looking scrap of black lace, intricate patterns webbing across what would be the torso. "And this," she added, producing a tiny pair of barely-there black panties. "Always wanted to see someone... confident... wear it."
Natalie stared, the air suddenly thick with anticipation again, but of a different kind. The outfit was undeniably sexy, sophisticated even. A stark contrast to the raw, primal act they’d just shared. The thought of those sheer stockings gliding up her own legs... the lace hugging her new curves... It sent a shiver of both nerves and unexpected desire through her. "Wow, Mol. That's... serious lingerie." She managed a shaky smile. "You really bought this?"
Molly shifted her weight, suddenly bashful, the bundle clutched tighter. "Impulse buy. After... well." She gestured vaguely towards her own altered body. "Felt like trying to reclaim something? Feel powerful? Mostly, it just sat in the drawer." Her eyes met Natalie’s, hopeful, vulnerable. "So... will you? Please? I wanna see you in it. All of it."
Natalie looked from the delicate lace to Molly’s earnest, flushed face. The request felt enormous, vulnerable. Dressing up in that, after everything, laid bare in a different way. She took a slow breath, the vanilla-scented air filling her lungs. "Okay," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. "But only if you dress up too." She held Molly’s gaze, the challenge clear. "No fair making me the only spectacle. Find something equally ridiculous. Or sexy. Whatever you’ve got hiding."
Molly's eyes widened comically. "Me?" She looked down at herself, at the cock resting soft against her thigh, then back at Natalie. A slow, delighted grin spread across her face. "Oh, you are on. Okay. Deal." She dumped the bundle of lingerie into Natalie’s lap – the soft lace cool against her skin – and spun back towards the bedroom. "Don't peek! I've got... ideas."
Left alone, Natalie ran her fingers over the intricate lace bodysuit. The texture was both delicate and surprisingly substantial. She stood, shedding her own soft t-shirt and worn leggings, the cool air raising goosebumps on her skin. Her reflection in the dark windowpane was fragmented, a pale shape with unfamiliar curves. Stunning, Molly had called her. Tentatively, she stepped into the tiny black panties, the silk-like material surprisingly soft against her skin. They fit snugly, hugging her hips, the cut high on her thighs.
Next, the stockings. She sat back on the rug, carefully rolling the sheer, dark nylon up one leg. The sensation was foreign, smooth and cool. She fastened the delicate clasp of the first stocking to the garter belt sewn into the bodysuit, her fingers clumsy. The seam ran straight up the back of her calf, a tiny, precise detail. She repeated the process with the other leg, the act strangely intimate even alone.
Then, the bodysuit. It was a puzzle of straps and hooks. She stepped into it, pulling the lace up over her hips, wriggling slightly to settle it. The intricate pattern stretched taut across her stomach, the deep plunge of the neckline revealing the swell of her breasts. She fumbled with the clasp between her legs, finally securing it. The lace cupped her, supportive yet revealing. She stood again, facing the dark window.
The fragmented reflection was transformed. The lace traced the lines of her waist, emphasized the curve of her hips, the sheer stockings making her legs look impossibly long. It was alien, sophisticated, undeniably erotic. Her breath hitched. Is that... me?
The bedroom door creaked open. "Ready or not," Molly called, her voice tight with nerves.
Natalie turned.
Molly stood framed in the doorway. She’d opted for a different kind of ensemble. She wore an oversized, incredibly soft-looking grey t-shirt that fell to mid-thigh. It was clearly chosen for comfort, but its bagginess somehow emphasized her small frame and the prominent bulge beneath it. The only nod to 'dressing up' were the bright, mismatched, knee-high socks she wore – one striped in pink and white, the other covered in tiny cartoon llamas – pulled up over her calves. Her hair was slightly mussed, and a shy, hopeful smile played on her lips. "So? My turn for humiliation?"
Natalie stared. The contrast was jarring, hilarious, and utterly endearing. The sophisticated black lace and sheer stockings versus the oversized tee and ridiculous socks. The quiet power of her own reflection versus Molly’s vulnerable, self-deprecating charm. A bubble of laughter escaped Natalie, warm and genuine. "Llamas, Mol? Seriously?"
Molly looked down at her socks, wiggling her toes. "They make me happy! And the shirt... well, it hides... you know." She gestured vaguely downwards, her blush deepening. She looked up, her gaze finally sweeping over Natalie fully. Her playful expression vanished, replaced by pure, stunned awe. Her mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. She took a step forward, then another, her eyes tracing the lines of the lace, the sheer stockings, the unfamiliar elegance Natalie projected. "Natalie... you... holy shit." Her voice was barely a whisper, thick with reverence. "You look... unreal. Like a dream. Or a... a goddess wrapped in night." She reached out, her fingertips hovering inches from the lace covering Natalie's hip, afraid to touch and shatter the image. "Is... is this okay? Me looking?"
The air crackled, thick with the scent of vanilla, the low hum of the record, and the sheer, overwhelming tension of being seen. Truly seen. Natalie didn’t answer with words. She stepped forward, closing the distance, her body encased in fragile lace, radiating a newfound, tentative power. Her hand lifted, reaching not for Molly’s shirt, but gently cupping her cheek. Her thumb brushed the warm skin. Her gaze held Molly's, wide and dark and full of everything unsaid. The question hung between them, vibrating in the charged silence.
The question hung between them, vibrating in the charged silence. Natalie’s thumb rested warm against Molly’s cheekbone, the delicate lace of the bodysuit whispering against Molly’s oversized shirt sleeve. Molly’s eyes, wide and dark, held Natalie’s, flickering with vulnerability and a dazed kind of wonder. That familiar scent, vanilla mixed with something uniquely Molly – sweat, skin, a faint trace of clean laundry – wrapped around them.
"Looking?" Natalie finally murmured, her voice husky. Her gaze drifted lower, tracing the soft drape of the grey cotton t-shirt. "Mol. You’re always okay." She saw the pulse jump in Molly’s throat. "Always."
Molly swallowed, a tiny, visible click. Her cheeks flushed a deeper pink, clashing adorably with the cartoon llamas on her sock. "Even like this?" she breathed, gesturing awkwardly at her baggy shirt covering the impossible shape beneath. "Socks and… everything?"
Natalie’s laugh was soft, a puff of air. "Especially like this." Her fingers slid gently from Molly’s cheek, trailing down her neck, coming to rest lightly on the worn cotton covering her shoulder. She felt the slight tremor running through Molly’s body. The air hummed, thick with the unspoken shift between them – the raw intimacy of before now softened into something warmer, deeper, laced with this new, playful vulnerability. Molly was just so… cute. Endearingly awkward and breathtakingly desirable, all at once.
Natalie’s eyes swept down Molly’s body again, appreciating the contrast – the ridiculous socks, the comforting bulk of the tee. Her gaze paused, snagging on the loose fabric hanging low over Molly’s hips. It wasn’t loose there anymore. A distinct, undeniable ridge pressed against the soft grey cotton, tenting the material outward. Subtle at first, then becoming more pronounced, thickening visibly even as Natalie watched. The sight sent a jolt through her, a sharp intake of breath catching in her own lace-constricted chest.
Molly followed her gaze downwards. Her breath hitched, a tiny, mortified sound escaping her lips. "Oh," she whispered, voice tight. She instinctively tried to pull the shirt lower, but it only emphasized the shape beneath. Her cheeks burned crimson, clashing violently with the pink stripes on her sock. Her eyes darted back to Natalie’s, wide with embarrassment and something else – a flicker of that earlier, desperate need. "Sorry. I don’t know how to control it. It just… happens sometimes. Especially when you…" She trailed off, biting her lip.
Natalie didn’t move her hand from Molly’s shoulder. She just watched. The ridge beneath the cotton pulsed faintly, a silent, insistent counterpoint to Molly’s flustered apology. The sheer stockings suddenly felt impossibly smooth against Natalie’s own skin, the lace bodysuit a second pulse point over her ribs. That primal curiosity, the possessiveness she’d felt earlier with Molly in her mouth, surged back, hotter, more insistent. Her fingers tightened slightly on the worn cotton of Molly’s shirt. The silence stretched, charged with the soft hiss of the dying candle, the low thrum of the record player, and Molly’s shallow, audible breaths. Natalie’s gaze traveled slowly back up, locking onto Molly’s flushed face, seeing the warring emotions – shame, desire, hope. Her own pulse hammered in her throat, a frantic drumbeat echoing the insistent pressure beneath Molly’s shirt. She leaned in, just a fraction, her other hand lifting, hovering near the tented fabric, drawn like a magnet.