Chapter 8: Lace and Need
The damp heat soaked through the intricate black lace clinging to Natalie’s thigh. It wasn't just warmth; it was a distinct, spreading wetness, thick and slick where Molly’s hardened length pressed insistently against her. Natalie gasped, a sharp intake of breath that hitched in her throat. The sensation was shocking – the sheer fabric offered no real barrier, just amplified the heat, the reality of the rigid shape branding her skin through the delicate weave. Her own body answered instantly, a deep, involuntary clench low in her belly, followed by a hot rush of wetness that felt startlingly intense. She felt it seep, warm and undeniable, staining the black lace bodysuit between her legs, a stark contrast to the sophisticated garment.
"Shit," Molly hissed, jerking her hips back reflexively. Her face was a furious crimson, clashing violently with her pink-striped sock. The oversized grey tee tented obscenely where she’d pulled away. "Sorry! God, Natalie, I’m so sorry. It’s just… it does that. It has a goddamn mind of its own." She fumbled with the hem of the shirt, trying uselessly to flatten the obvious bulge, her movements frantic with embarrassment. "The lace… is it…?" She gestured helplessly at the damp spot on Natalie’s thigh, visible even in the dim fairy light glow.
Natalie didn’t look down at the stain. Her gaze was locked on Molly’s face, on the raw vulnerability warring with residual arousal in her wide eyes. The phantom ache in Natalie’s jaw, the memory of fullness, the lingering taste… it all surged back, colliding with the slick heat flooding her own core and the damp patch cooling on her lace-covered thigh. The absurdity – the delicate lingerie, Molly’s ridiculous socks, the sheer, overwhelming strangeness of it all – was suddenly secondary. There was only this charged space between them, thick with vanilla candle smoke and the scent of their bodies.
"It's fine, Mol," Natalie said, her voice lower than she intended. She didn’t move to cover herself. Instead, her hand, which had been resting near Molly’s shoulder, drifted down. Slowly, deliberately, her fingers brushed against the tented fabric of Molly’s t-shirt. Not gripping, just tracing the hard ridge beneath the soft cotton. Molly froze, her breath catching audibly. Natalie felt the rigid heat pulse faintly under her fingertips. "It's… real," she murmured, more to herself than to Molly. The confirmation sent another jolt through her own body, her inner muscles tightening again, pulling another bead of wetness that she knew was soaking further into the lace.
Molly whimpered, a tiny, desperate sound. "Too real," she choked out, staring at Natalie’s hand resting lightly on her arousal. "And it’s… it likes you. A lot. Which is incredibly awkward right now." She tried a shaky laugh that died instantly. "Please tell me I haven’t completely ruined the lace thing? You looked… you looked amazing." Her gaze flickered down Natalie’s body, lingering on the damp spot on her thigh, then darting away, cheeks flaming anew. "And now I’ve… christened it."
A small, genuine smile touched Natalie’s lips despite the thrumming tension. "Technically, you christened it," she pointed out, her thumb making a slow, idle circle over the cotton-covered shaft. She felt Molly shudder. "And it’s just fabric, Molly." She paused, her own breath becoming shallower as she watched the effect of her touch. "You didn't ruin anything." Her hand slid lower, following the hard line under the shirt, the tip of her middle finger brushing the softer swell at the very base where cotton met skin. Molly sucked in a sharp breath, her hips giving a minute, involuntary thrust against Natalie’s hand.
"Fuck," Molly breathed, closing her eyes for a second. When she opened them, the embarrassment was still there, but it was being drowned out by a dazed, helpless need. "Your hand…" She licked her lips. "It feels… different. Through the shirt. Not like… before." Her gaze dropped to where Natalie’s fingers rested. "You’re exploring."
Natalie nodded slowly, mesmerized by the pulse she could feel beneath her palm, by the way Molly swayed slightly into the contact. "Yeah," she admitted softly. "Exploring." Her fingers curled slightly, applying the faintest pressure, feeling the unyielding hardness. It was still bizarre, a surreal addition to the Molly she knew. But feeling Molly’s helpless reaction – the trembling, the hitched breaths, the way her body sought the touch – was undeniably powerful. Intoxicating. Her own wetness was a constant, insistent thrum now, the lace clinging damply. "Does it… hurt? Being that hard?"
Molly shook her head quickly, her eyes wide and dark. "No. It’s… intense. Like needing to stretch but… deeper. And it aches." She swallowed hard, her gaze locked on Natalie’s face. "Especially when you touch it. Even like this." A fragile vulnerability replaced the earlier flustered panic. "It’s so goddamn weird, Natalie. One minute I'm trying to figure out sourdough starters, the next… this thing has its own agenda and it’s apparently obsessed with your lace stockings." She tried for another weak joke, but it fell flat. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't know how to be like this."
Natalie’s other hand lifted, gently cupping Molly’s burning cheek again. Molly leaned into the touch, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment. The juxtaposition was jarring – the sheer power radiating from the hard ridge under Natalie’s other hand, and Molly’s utter vulnerability in her face. "You're still you, Mol," Natalie whispered, her thumb stroking Molly’s cheekbone. "Lost baker. Lover of inappropriate socks." She managed a small smile. "Owner of… unexpected plumbing." Her hand on Molly's cock shifted, fingers spreading, palm pressing more firmly against the solid heat through the cotton. Molly gasped, her own hand flying up to grip Natalie’s wrist – not pushing away, just holding on. "And right now," Natalie continued, her voice dropping, roughened by her own arousal, "you feel incredible."
Molly’s eyes snapped open, searching Natalie’s face. The need there was naked, raw. "Do I?" she breathed. "Even… like this? Bulging through a ratty tee?"
"Especially like this," Natalie murmured. She leaned in closer, her lace-covered chest brushing the soft cotton of Molly’s shirt. She could smell the clean cotton, the faint musk of Molly’s skin beneath, the lingering scent of tea that neither of them had finished. Her gaze dropped to Molly’s lips, then back to her eyes. "The tee’s part of it. The socks are definitely part of it." Her palm moved again, a slow, deliberate stroke up the rigid length beneath the fabric, feeling every thick inch. "The sheer ridiculousness of you, Molly. Trying to hide this," she squeezed gently, eliciting a choked moan, "under a tent and llamas." She tilted her head, her lips inches from Molly’s. "It’s… captivating."
Molly’s breath hitched. Her grip on Natalie’s wrist tightened. "Captivating?" she echoed, a desperate hope warring with disbelief in her voice. "Not terrifying? Or… grotesque?"
Natalie shook her head slowly, her gaze unwavering. "Real," she corrected softly. "Overwhelming." She brushed her lips against Molly’s, feather-light. "Mine to explore." The kiss deepened slowly, not demanding, but full of shared breath and the electric current running between them. Natalie felt Molly melt into it, her body pressing closer, the hard ridge against Natalie’s lace-covered thigh again, dampening it further. Natalie’s free hand slid down Molly’s back, under the loose shirt, finding the warm, smooth skin of her waist. She pulled Molly tighter.
When they broke apart, both were breathing raggedly. Molly’s eyes were glazed, her lips slightly parted. The damp patch on Natalie’s thigh felt cool in the apartment air, a stark counterpoint to the heat building inside her. Molly looked down at it, then at the prominent shape tenting her own shirt. She looked back at Natalie, a flicker of her old, daring self sparking through the haze. A slow, tentative smile touched her lips, still flushed from the kiss. "Okay," she breathed, her voice raspy but gaining strength. She glanced meaningfully down at herself, then back up to Natalie’s eyes, a challenge and an invitation dancing in her gaze. "So… explore." Her fingers uncurled from Natalie’s wrist and instead traced a hesitant path down Natalie’s arm, coming to rest lightly over Natalie’s own hand, still pressed firmly against her arousal through the shirt. "Maybe… lose the middleman?" Her thumb brushed Natalie’s knuckle. "See what it feels like… skin to skin?"
Natalie’s heart hammered against her ribs. The lace bodysuit felt simultaneously constricting and achingly erotic. The dampness between her legs was a persistent pulse. She looked from Molly’s hopeful, slightly anxious face down to the tented grey cotton. Skin to skin. No barrier. Just her hand, Molly’s cock, and the dizzying, terrifying intimacy of it. She took a slow, steadying breath, the scent of Molly, sweat, and vanilla filling her lungs. Her fingers tightened slightly under Molly’s encouraging touch. She met Molly’s eyes, seeing the trust, the need, the echo of her own swirling desire. The teacup sat forgotten on the cluttered coffee table, a relic of a simpler moment. Natalie slid her hand from under Molly’s, her fingertips finding the soft hem of the oversized t-shirt. Slowly, deliberately, she began to lift it. The worn cotton slid upwards, revealing a sliver of Molly’s toned stomach, the curve of her hip… and the base of the thick, flushed shaft, rising proudly from the dark curls beneath. Natalie’s breath caught. Her gaze locked onto it. Then she looked back up at Molly, her own need laid bare.
"Okay," Natalie whispered, her voice thick. Her hand moved, not tentative now, but purposeful, bypassing the bunched-up shirt, fingers reaching out to trace the burning hot skin at the very root, just above the dark curls. Her touch was feather-light, a question, a promise. Molly shuddered violently, a low groan escaping her lips, her eyes fluttering shut as Natalie’s fingertips made contact with bare, straining flesh for the very first time. The heat was shocking, the texture velvety-smooth over iron hardness. Natalie’s own core clenched in response, a fresh wave of slickness soaking the delicate lace, the intricate patterns now clinging obscenely to her folds. She watched Molly’s face, the play of ecstasy and surrender, feeling the powerful pulse thrumming under her fingertips. The fairy lights glimmered on the scattered photographs on the walls, silent witnesses as Natalie’s fingers curled slowly, deliberately, around the impossibly thick girth.
Her fingers closed, and Molly choked, a sound halfway between a gasp and a sob. The heat under Natalie’s palm was immense, the hard shaft pulsing faintly against her skin like a separate heartbeat. She could feel the smooth, straining skin, the ridge of a prominent vein, the impossible reality of it all – and Molly’s wide, startled eyes locked onto hers.
“Christ, Nat,” Molly breathed, her voice ragged. Her hips twitched forward involuntarily, pressing the thick length harder into Natalie’s grip. “Your hand… it’s so much. Cool. Soft.” She shuddered, her fingers digging into Natalie’s shoulders. “Don’t stop. Please.”
Natalie didn’t. She tightened her hold fractionally, awed by the sheer solidity, the unfamiliar weight filling her hand. Her thumb traced the swollen head tentatively, finding the silky-smooth skin where a bead of moisture glistened. The slickness matched the damp patch cooling on her own lace-covered thigh, a mirrored arousal. Molly whimpered, low and pleading, her body trembling. “Like that. Exactly like that.”
The fairy lights seemed to pulse in time with Molly’s ragged breaths. Natalie glanced down, watching her own pale fingers wrapped around the flushed, thick shaft, a stark contrast against Molly’s flushed skin. The intricate black lace of her bodysuit clung obscenely to her own wetness, a visual echo. It was dizzying, this raw intimacy tangled with absurdity – Molly’s ridiculous llama socks peeking out beneath the bunched-up grey tee, the scent of vanilla and tea lingering beneath the sharper tang of sweat and arousal.
“Look at me,” Natalie murmured, her own voice husky with need. She needed to see Molly’s face, not just this impossible appendage. Molly dragged her gaze up, her eyes clouded with pleasure and something else – fear, maybe, or disbelief. Tears welled but didn’t fall. “You’re beautiful,” Natalie insisted, her thumb circling the slick head again, feeling Molly jerk against her. “All of this. Every impossible inch.” She slid her hand down slowly, feeling the thick vein throb, then back up, a deliberate stroke that stole Molly’s breath. “Tell me what feels good.”
“Everything,” Molly gasped. Her hand flew to Natalie’s, covering it, guiding it back down. “Slower. Here.” She pressed Natalie’s palm firmly against the base, a deep groan escaping her as Natalie’s fingers curled against the root, tangling slightly in dark curls. “God, the weight of your hand… the pressure…” Her eyes fluttered shut. “Feels like you’re holding me together.”
Natalie obeyed, shifting her grip, exploring the incredible girth, the heat radiating off it warming her whole palm. She felt powerful, holding this wild, vulnerable part of Molly. She remembered the ache in her jaw from earlier, the stretch, the helplessness as Molly pushed deeper. Now, the power dynamic had shifted. Molly was completely at her mercy, trembling under her touch. The damp lace between Natalie’s own legs felt like a furnace. She leaned forward, pressing a kiss just below Molly’s ear, her hand never stilling. “Tell me how badly you want this. How badly it wants this.”
Molly’s head dropped back against the couch cushion, exposing the pale column of her throat. “So bad,” she whispered, raw. “Fucking desperate. It aches… deep inside. Like a cramp that won’t stop tightening.” Her hips rocked in tiny, helpless circles into Natalie’s stroking hand. “Needs… needs you to…” Her voice hitched. “Harder, Nat. Please. Squeeze a little. Show me you’re not afraid of it.”
Natalie complied, tightening her fist just enough to make the shaft flex against her palm. Molly cried out, a sharp, strangled sound. Her body arched, pressing her lace-covered chest against Natalie’s. The sensation of the hard ridge against Natalie’s thigh intensified, the damp patch growing cold against her skin. She felt Molly’s cock jump violently in her fist, a fresh bead of wetness slicking her thumb. The scent of it, musky and sharp, filled the space between them.
Suddenly, Molly’s eyes snapped open, wide with a different kind of panic. “Oh god,” she breathed, staring past Natalie’s shoulder. Her body tensed, trying instinctively to pull away from the hand still firmly clasping her. “The mirror. Hallway mirror.” Her face crumpled. “I haven’t… I can’t even look at myself like this. Not fully. Not… not with someone else.”
Natalie understood instantly. The fear wasn’t just of the act, but of seeing the monstrous reality reflected back. She kept her grip firm, anchoring Molly. “Okay,” she said softly, decisively. “Then we look together.” She released Molly’s cock only to grab her hand tightly. Natalie pushed herself up from the couch, the lace bodysuit pulling taut over her damp skin. She tugged Molly to her feet. Molly stumbled, her legs shaky, the tented grey tee falling back down, hiding nothing. Her face was a mask of terrified anticipation.
“Natalie, I don’t know if I–”
“Shhh.” Natalie squeezed her hand, pulling her towards the hallway where a tall, frameless mirror leaned against the wall beside a stack of leaning vinyl records. Natalie positioned them directly in front of it, facing their reflections. Molly flinched, trying to turn her head away, but Natalie gently cupped her chin, forcing her gaze forward. “Look,” she murmured, her voice low and steady beside Molly’s ear. “Look at us.”
The image hit Molly like a physical blow. Her small frame dwarfed by the obscene bulge tenting the thin grey cotton. Natalie beside her, stunning in the intricate, now slightly damp black lace bodysuit, one hand holding Molly’s, the other resting possessively on the tented fabric over Molly’s cock. It was jarring, surreal. Molly made a small, wounded sound, her free hand instinctively flying to cover the bulge, her eyes darting away again. Tears finally spilled over. “It’s… grotesque,” she choked out. “I look like a fucking… freak.”
Natalie turned Molly slightly, pressing herself flush against Molly’s back. She slid her free hand around Molly’s waist, her palm splaying low on Molly’s belly, just above the waistband of her shorts. She felt the hard ridge pressing against her own lace-covered stomach now. Her other hand guided Molly’s away from the bulge, then slowly, deliberately, she slid her own hand under the bunched hem of the tee. Her fingers found bare skin, then the hot, slick hardness again. Molly gasped, her body rigid against Natalie’s.
In the mirror, Natalie watched her own reflection. She saw the intense focus in her eyes, the slight flush on her cheeks. She saw her hand disappear under Molly’s shirt, fingers visibly gripping the thick shaft just above the root. She saw Molly’s reflection – eyes wide and wet, mouth slightly open, the way her whole body seemed to yield backward into Natalie’s embrace as Natalie’s fingers began to move, slowly stroking the base.
“See?” Natalie whispered against the shell of Molly’s ear, her gaze locked on their reflection, on her own hand moving under the fabric. “See how you feel? How this feels me?” Her fingers tightened, feeling the powerful throb deep within the shaft. “It’s not grotesque. It’s just… ours. This heat. This ache.” She pressed her lips to Molly’s temple. “Now look at your eyes, Molly. Look how dark they are. Look how you lean into my hand.” She moved her fingers again, a slow, possessive slide. “That’s not a freak. That’s just you, wanting me.”
Molly finally looked. Really looked. At the flush spreading down her neck. At the way Natalie held her, anchored her. At Natalie’s focused expression, the raw desire there. At the visible movement under her shirt where Natalie’s hand worked. A shudder ran through her, deeper this time. Not revulsion. Release. Her breathing hitched, catching on a sob that wasn’t entirely pain. She leaned back heavier into Natalie, her head falling back onto Natalie’s shoulder, her gaze fixed on the mirror, on Natalie’s hand claiming her. A single tear tracked down her cheek, catching the fairy light glow from the living room.
“Okay,” Molly breathed, the word barely audible, trembling. Her free hand lifted, trembling, and rested over Natalie’s hand where it was hidden under her shirt, pressing it harder against the rigid heat. “Okay. Together.”
Molly’s breath hitched as Natalie’s hand moved firmly beneath the soft grey cotton, fingers wrapping the hot, solid base. "Together," Molly echoed, the word thick with tears and surrender, her body leaning heavily into Natalie’s support before the mirror. The reflection showed Natalie’s focused intensity, her fingers visibly shifting beneath the fabric, gripping, exploring the unfamiliar terrain of Molly’s straining cock. Molly watched, transfixed, the initial horror softening into a dazed fascination as Natalie’s touch anchored her in the reality of the moment.
"See?" Natalie murmured, her lips brushing Molly’s temple, her gaze locked on their reflection. "Just us. Just this heat." Her thumb found a distinct ridge along the underside, pressing lightly. Molly gasped, her head falling back against Natalie’s shoulder, hips pushing instinctively into the pressure. "Oh god… there," she rasped, the plea raw. Natalie smiled faintly, a curve of lips Molly felt against her skin, and repeated the motion, firmer. Molly’s eyes squeezed shut, a low moan escaping her as her body arched.
Natalie shifted her stance, pressing Molly slightly forward against the hallway wall for better leverage. The movement brought Molly’s rigid length trapped between them, grinding against the intricate black lace covering Natalie’s lower stomach. The lace, already damp from Molly’s earlier release and Natalie’s own slickness, snagged briefly on the rough texture of Molly’s denim shorts. Natalie’s grip on Molly tightened possessively as she ground her lace-covered mound down, seeking friction, her other hand working a slow rhythm beneath the tee. The mirror reflected the flush creeping down Molly’s chest, her parted lips, the desperate cant of her hips as she met Natalie’s movements. "Nat… please… harder," Molly choked out, her hand scrabbling against the wall for purchase.
Natalie complied, her own need a sharp throb between her legs, the lace clinging wetly. She increased the pressure under the shirt, her knuckles white against the flushed skin she could feel but not fully see. Molly cried out, a sharp, startled sound, her body locking. "Yes! Just like–" Her words dissolved into wordless gasps as her hips jerked roughly forward. The sudden, forceful motion pressed her trapped cock hard against the delicate lace barrier between Natalie’s thighs.
The sound was sharp. Distinct. A tiny, vicious rrrrip as the intricate black lace, already strained and damp-weakened, gave way under the combined pressure of Molly’s thrust and Natalie’s own pressing weight. Cool air rushed against suddenly exposed skin. Natalie froze. Molly froze. Their eyes met in the mirror – wide, shocked. A jagged tear marred the elegant bodysuit just below Natalie’s hip, revealing a crescent of pale skin and the darker triangle of curls beneath.
"Oh, shit! Nat, your… your beautiful thing!" Molly’s voice was a horrified whisper, her arousal instantly eclipsed by dismay. She jerked back as if burned, trying to see the damage, her face crumpling. "I ripped it! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean–" Panic flared in her eyes, the vulnerability back in full force. "It was expensive, I ruined it..."
Natalie looked down at the tear, then back up at Molly’s distraught face. A slow, unexpected laugh bubbled up from deep within her – warm, genuine, cutting through the tension. She caught Molly’s chin, forcing her gaze away from the torn lace and back to her eyes. "Molly," she said, her voice thick with amusement and something far deeper. "It’s lace. Just thread." Her thumb brushed Molly’s lower lip. "You didn’t ruin anything important." She leaned in, her breath mingling with Molly’s. "Besides," she added, a spark of daring in her gaze as her hands, no longer impeded by the fragile fabric barrier, slid boldly under Molly’s bunched-up shirt, finding bare, burning skin and the rigid heat of her cock. "Now it’s easier to touch you." Her fingers curled possessively around the thick shaft, skin to fevered skin this time. Molly’s gasp was pure, shuddering relief.