Chapter 9: Adoration and Worship
The jagged tear in the black lace bodysuit felt like a declaration, a surrender. Cool air kissed the exposed skin of Natalie’s inner thigh, a stark contrast to the furnace heat radiating from Molly’s cock beneath the thin grey tee. Molly stared, horrified, at the ruined lace. "Nat, I’m so–"
Natalie silenced her with a look, a slow, deliberate shake of her head. Her eyes, dark and certain, held Molly’s. The apology died on Molly’s lips. Natalie’s hands, already beneath the bunched fabric of the tee, tightened their grip. Not tentative now. Claiming. Molly gasped as Natalie’s fingers closed firmly around the thick, pulsing shaft, skin searing against skin. The sensation was electric, overwhelming – the velvet-over-steel hardness, the frantic throb echoing Molly’s own heartbeat, the slickness already coating Natalie’s palm.
"Don’t apologize," Natalie murmured, her voice low, rough with intent. Her thumbs traced the swollen ridge beneath the head, feeling the bead of moisture there. Molly shuddered violently, her knees buckling slightly. Natalie held her steady, her other arm sliding around Molly’s waist, pulling her back against the hallway wall. "This," Natalie whispered, her breath hot against Molly’s ear as she squeezed gently, "is better than lace."
Molly whimpered, her head falling back against the cool plaster. The sheer, terrifying intimacy of Natalie’s bare hand possessing her most vulnerable part left her breathless. She watched Natalie’s face in the dim light filtering from the living room, saw the focused intensity, the curl of satisfaction on her lips. "It… feels impossible," Molly breathed, her hips pushing helplessly into Natalie’s grip. "Your hand… so small, but… oh god." Her words dissolved into a moan as Natalie’s thumb swept firmly over the slick head again.
Natalie didn’t reply. She was mapping, learning. The weight in her hand was immense, the heat radiating up her arm. She felt the powerful flex of Molly’s thigh muscles against her hip, the tremor running through Molly’s small frame. The scent of Molly’s arousal, musky and sharp, mingled with the lingering vanilla and the faint, comforting aroma of stale coffee from the kitchen. Her own core clenched in response, a fresh pulse of wetness soaking the ripped lace against her sensitive skin. The tear felt less like damage and more like an opening, a pathway.
Slowly, deliberately, Natalie sank to her knees. The movement was fluid, purposeful, the worn wood floor cool against her skin through the torn bodysuit. She looked up the length of Molly’s body – the flushed skin above the shorts waistband, the dark curls barely visible beneath the bunched grey tee, the hard line straining against the fabric leading down to where her own hand was hidden. Molly stared down, eyes wide with disbelief and dawning, desperate hope.
"Nat?" The name was a ragged exhale.
Natalie met her gaze, holding it. The transformation felt complete in that moment. The unfamiliarity of her own curves, the lingering phantom sensations of a different body, the confusion about desire… it all coalesced into a singular, blazing certainty. This body, her body, kneeling before Molly, felt like the most natural thing in the world. A perfect complement to the impossible, beautiful reality of Molly’s need.
Her free hand slid slowly up Molly’s trembling thigh, pushing the loose leg of her shorts higher. Her touch was firm, grounding. She felt the fine tremor under her fingertips, the heat of Molly’s skin. She kept her eyes locked on Molly’s as her other hand emerged from under the tee, slick and glistening, to gently guide the thick, flushed shaft away from Molly’s stomach, angling it downward, towards her waiting mouth. The head, swollen and slick, brushed against her lower lip. She felt its heat, smelled its heady, intimate scent.
Molly made a sound like a sob caught in her throat. "Please," she whispered, the word cracking. Her hands hovered uncertainly, trembling, near Natalie’s shoulders.
Natalie held her gaze for one more heartbeat, seeing the vulnerability, the trust, the raw, terrifying need. Then, her lips parted. She tasted salt and musk, felt the silken-smooth skin of the crown against her tongue. The sheer size was daunting, overwhelming, but her resolve was iron. She closed her lips around the thick head, her tongue exploring the sensitive slit, swirling slowly.
Molly cried out, sharp and loud, her body jerking. Her hands flew to Natalie’s head, fingers tangling desperately in her dark hair – not pushing, not pulling, just holding on as if Natalie was the only anchor in a storm. "Oh god… Natalie… that’s…" Her words fragmented into gasping breaths. "Your mouth… it’s… cool… soft…"
Natalie hummed softly in response, the vibration sending another violent tremor through Molly’s frame. She took more, slowly, deliberately, feeling the incredible stretch of her jaw, the pressure, the way her lips strained to accommodate the girth. It was intense, almost painful, but the sounds Molly made – the choked gasps, the desperate whimpers – fueled her. She pulled back slightly, swirling her tongue around the head, tasting the essence of Molly’s arousal, before sinking down again, taking another impossible inch. Her nose pressed against the soft skin of Molly’s lower belly.
Molly was trembling violently now, her hips making tiny, involuntary thrusts. "Natalie… I can’t… I’m gonna…" Her voice was high-pitched, frantic. "It’s too much… too good… please don’t stop… oh fuck…" Her fingers tightened in Natalie’s hair.
Natalie pulled back just enough to speak, her lips glistening. "Shirt off," she breathed, the words rough but clear against Molly’s feverish skin. "I need to see you. All of you."
Molly whimpered, her hands fumbling clumsily at the hem of her grey tee. She hesitated, a flicker of self-consciousness crossing her flushed face. "It's... a lot," she mumbled, the shirt bunched around her ribs.
"Please, Molly." Natalie’s voice was insistent, her gaze steady. "You’re beautiful. Every part." Her thumb traced the slick head resting against her lower lip, a silent promise. Molly shivered, sucked in a breath, and yanked the shirt over her head in one frantic motion, tossing it aside onto the pile of discarded lace.
Natalie just stared. The soft glow of the string lights caught the curve of Molly’s supple breasts, the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips. Her eyes traced the lines of muscle in Molly’s abdomen, the dark curls lower down, and the impossible, thick length of her cock, hard and ruddy against her pale belly. It was a jumble of softness and shocking hardness. "God, Mol," Natalie whispered, her voice thick. "You’re fucking stunning. Look at you." She reached up, her fingers tracing the tense line of Molly’s stomach just above the root of her cock, feeling the tremor beneath her touch.
Molly flushed deeper, biting her lip. "Natalie..."
"Look," Natalie commanded softly, her gaze shifting towards the tall, leaning mirror framed with Polaroids near the cluttered bookshelf. "Over there. Go stand in front of it." She nudged Molly’s hip gently. "I want you to watch."
"Watch?" Molly’s voice cracked, her eyes wide with a mix of apprehension and intense curiosity. "What I'm doing?" She stumbled the few steps to the mirror, her reflection showing flushed skin, wild eyes, and the undeniable, thick evidence of her arousal standing proud between her legs. She looked both vulnerable and powerfully aroused.
"Watch me," Natalie murmured, shifting on her knees to follow Molly, positioning herself directly behind Molly’s reflection. Her eyes locked onto Molly’s in the glass. "Watch how good I make you feel." Her hands slid up the backs of Molly’s trembling thighs, pulling her back just slightly, angling her hips. She leaned forward, her breath ghosting over the sensitive skin at the base of Molly’s cock. In the mirror, Molly’s gaze followed every movement, her breath hitching.
Natalie’s lips parted again, her tongue flicking out to taste the salty bead welling at the tip. She saw Molly’s reflection flinch, her knuckles whitening where she gripped the edge of a nearby shelf. "Oh god," Molly breathed, the sound echoing slightly in the quiet room filled only with their ragged breaths and the faint hum of the record player. Natalie smiled up at Molly’s reflection, a slow, confident curve of her lips, then lowered her head.
She took the thick head back into her mouth, her tongue swirling deliberately around the crown. Molly gasped, her eyes glued to the mirror, watching Natalie’s dark head bobbing slightly at her groin. "Fuck, Nat... that’s..." Her words dissolved into a moan as Natalie pushed forward, taking more. The stretch was intense, jaw aching, but Natalie focused on the reflection, on Molly biting her lip, eyes huge and dark with arousal and disbelief.
"Look at you," Natalie managed around the thick intrusion, pulling back slightly, her voice muffled but clear. Her own reflection showed flushed cheeks, determination in her eyes. "Look how you take it." She pushed down again, deeper this time, forcing her throat open. In the mirror, Molly’s expression shifted to pure shock mixed with overwhelming sensation as Natalie’s nose pressed against her skin, the thick shaft disappearing past Natalie’s stretched lips. A choked cry tore from Molly’s throat, her reflection showing her arching back, eyes squeezing shut for a second before snapping open, desperate not to miss a moment. Natalie held the deep position, her throat working, her eyes locked on Molly's reflection. Molly stared back, transfixed, watching herself being consumed.
Natalie held the position, throat stretched impossibly wide around Molly’s thickness, her jaw screaming. A few hours ago, the thought pierced through the haze of sensation, sharp and sudden, I had one of these. The sheer absurdity of that reality—Nathan, grabbing a beer after practice, utterly unaware—clashed violently with the current reality: Natalie, on her knees, swallowing her best friend’s cock. Molly’s muffled whimpers vibrated through the shaft pressed against her tongue.
She pulled back slowly, gasping for air, saliva and precome slicking her chin. Cool air hit the wet length as it slipped free. In the mirror, Molly’s reflection shuddered, eyes wide and glassy, watching Natalie’s flushed face. "Fuck, Nat," Molly breathed, her voice shredded. "Your face… seeing you…"
Natalie didn’t look away from Molly’s reflection. She dragged the back of her hand across her mouth, smearing the wetness. "Weirdest fucking day," she muttered, the casualness belying the tremor in her voice. Her gaze dropped to the thick, glistening shaft bobbing inches from her lips. Was mine ever that big? The thought was fleeting, irrelevant. "Doesn’t matter now. Only this matters." Her hand wrapped around the base again, the heat and pulse familiar yet still staggering. "Just want to make you feel good, Mol. So good."
She leaned in again, tongue tracing the rigid vein along the underside. Molly’s hips jerked. "So good," Molly echoed, a desperate whine. "Too good. Please… more." Her knuckles were white on the bookshelf.
Natalie took just the swollen head back between her lips, sucking firmly. The taste was salty, musky, uniquely Molly. Her tongue flicked the sensitive slit. Molly cried out, a sharp, gasping sound. "Oh god! Right there! Don’t… don’t stop!"
Nathan wouldn’t have known how to do this, Natalie thought, swirling her tongue. Wouldn’t have craved it like air. She pushed down, taking half the length this time, feeling the strain deep in her jaw. Molly’s reflection showed her biting her knuckle, eyes squeezed shut then snapping open, fixed on Natalie’s movements. Her thighs trembled violently against Natalie’s shoulders. "Natalie… I’m… I’m close. So fucking close." Panic edged her voice. "I don’t want it to stop but…"
Natalie pulled off just enough, her lips brushing the slick head. "Look at me," she commanded, her voice thick. Molly’s tear-bright eyes met hers in the glass. "Don’t hold back. Let me see it." Her hand stroked the slick length firmly. "Give it to me. All of it."
The words tipped Molly over. A full-body shudder racked her. "Nat!" It was a raw scream. Her cock pulsed violently in Natalie’s grip, then thick, hot spurts hit Natalie’s chin, her cheek, the corner of her open mouth. The scent, pungent and primal, filled the air. Natalie kept stroking, milking the release, watching Molly’s face in the mirror contort with overwhelming ecstasy. Tears tracked through the flush on Molly’s cheeks.
Molly collapsed forward, slumping against the bookshelf, gasping like she’d run miles. Natalie stayed kneeling, breathing hard, the taste salty and strange on her lips. She looked down at the cooling streaks on her skin, then up at Molly’s utterly spent reflection. "Okay?" Natalie asked quietly, wiping her cheek with the back of her wrist.
Molly turned, sinking gracelessly to her own knees in front of Natalie. Her small hands cupped Natalie’s face, thumbs smearing the mess. "Okay?" She gave a shaky, disbelieving laugh. "Natalie… that was…" Words failed her. She leaned in, kissing Natalie fiercely, tasting herself on Natalie’s lips. It was messy, desperate, affirming.
Molly’s kiss was frantic, tasting of salt and herself, a wild affirmation against Natalie’s lips. Natalie met it, the lingering musk sharp on her tongue, the cool smear on her cheek forgotten. They broke apart, breathing raggedly, foreheads resting together in the dim glow. Molly’s small frame still trembled against her.
"Okay?" Natalie repeated softly, her thumb brushing a stray tear from Molly’s flushed cheek. The dampness mingled with the cooling streaks on her own skin.
Molly let out a shaky laugh, leaning back just enough to look at Natalie properly. Her eyes, still wide and dark with spent intensity, scanned Natalie’s face. "Okay? Natalie, I think you just rewired my brain." She touched Natalie’s chin, her fingertip coming away sticky. "Look at you."
Natalie glanced down briefly, then back up, a slow, satisfied smile spreading. "Worth it." She reached behind her, fumbling for a discarded throw pillow from the nearby sofa, and dragged it closer. "Here. Sit. Before your legs give out completely."
Molly sank onto the pillow gratefully, her legs folding beneath her on the worn rug. The movement made her wince slightly, a fresh trickle of fluid escaping her softening length. She looked down at herself, then quickly back at Natalie, a flicker of that familiar self-consciousness returning. "It’s… uh… messy."
Natalie leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her ripped lace bodysuit gaping at the thigh. She didn't look away. "So?" The single word held a universe of acceptance. "Give me your shirt." She gestured towards the discarded grey tee nearby.
Molly blinked, confused, but grabbed it, handing it over. Natalie took it, the soft cotton warm. Instead of cleaning herself, Natalie dipped a corner into the mug of lukewarm tea sitting forgotten on the coffee table. She squeezed it out, then gently, deliberately, began wiping Molly’s lower belly, her thighs, the sensitive skin around her cock. The cool dampness made Molly gasp.
"Nat, you don’t have to—"
"I want to," Natalie interrupted, her touch firm yet tender. She worked methodically, cleaning away the evidence of Molly’s climax. Her gaze was focused, almost clinical, but the tenderness in her fingers belied it. "See? Just skin, Mol. Beautiful skin." She paused, looking directly at the softening shaft resting against Molly’s thigh. "And this. It’s just… part of you. A really intense, kinda amazing part."
Molly watched Natalie’s face, the concentration, the utter lack of disgust. The simple, practical care was more intimate, somehow, than what had just happened. Tears welled again, blurring the string lights. "Nobody… nobody’s ever just… seen it," she whispered. "Not like this. Not without freaking out. Or wanting something weird."
Natalie finished wiping and tossed the damp shirt aside. She reached out, not touching Molly’s cock, but tracing the defined curve of her hipbone instead, a familiar anchor point. "Well, I see you." Her voice was quiet, steady. "All of you. And it’s not weird. It’s… Molly." She met Molly’s tear-filled eyes. "The girl I brought coffee when she was hungover after Tom’s stupid party. The one who laughs at my terrible jokes. Who lets me steal her fries. Who has terrible taste in reality TV." A small smile touched her lips. "Who now also happens to have a massive, inconvenient dick."
Molly choked on a laugh, swiping at her eyes. "Inconvenient is one word for it."
"Surprising?" Natalie offered. "Life-changing?" She shifted, wincing slightly herself as wet lace clung uncomfortably to her own core. A fresh pulse of slickness soaked into the already damp material. She ignored it, focusing on Molly. "How do you feel? Truly."
Molly took a deep, shuddering breath, letting it out slowly. She looked down at her own body, her gaze lingering where Natalie’s hand rested possessively on her hip. The panic and disbelief from earlier had subsided, replaced by a profound exhaustion and a dazed sort of wonder. "I feel… wrung out," she admitted. "Like I just ran a marathon backwards. And… seen. Like you said." She looked back up, a flicker of her usual spark returning. "Also, kinda starving? Like, post-apocalypse levels of hungry."
Natalie laughed, the sound bright in the quiet room. "Right? Me too. Performance energy." She pushed herself up onto her knees, the movement making the torn lace pull taut over her damp thigh. "I saw leftover pizza in your fridge. Pepperoni and pineapple abomination?"
"Hey! It’s a classic!" Molly protested weakly, attempting to push herself up. Her legs wobbled. "Whoa. Okay. Legs are officially on strike."
Natalie stood, offering her hands. "Come on. Lean on me." She hauled Molly up, staggering slightly under her weight but holding firm. Molly looped an arm around Natalie’s waist, her head resting briefly on Natalie’s shoulder. Natalie caught their reflection in the leaning mirror – two women clinging together, one flushed and wobbly, the other’s face smudged, her ripped bodysuit revealing a long stretch of thigh, her expression fiercely protective despite the exhaustion. The sheer domesticity of the moment, after the raw intensity, felt surreal.
They shuffled towards the tiny kitchen nook, Molly’s weight warm against Natalie’s side. Natalie grabbed the pizza box, flipped it open one-handed. The scent of cold pepperoni and tangy pineapple hit them. Molly grabbed a slice, taking an enormous bite, groaning almost as loudly as she had earlier.
Natalie watched her, a wave of warmth washing over her that had nothing to do with arousal. This. This closeness. This absurd, messy reality. She reached for a slice, the cool cardboard under her fingers grounding. As she bit into the pizza, the sweet and salty tang exploding on her tongue, she became acutely aware again of the damp lace clinging insistently between her own legs, a persistent, slick reminder of her body’s own urgent, unanswered response. The warmth spread, a low thrum building beneath the exhaustion. The pizza suddenly felt unimportant.