Chapter 7: Vanja watches the video with her legs spread on the couch, two fingers plunging deep into her own wet cunt while texting back 'Then get your fat ass over here and beg for it properly, slut.'
The buzz of her phone was an insect against the quiet hum of her laptop. Vanja was deep in a journal article on the psychosocial pressures of elite athletics, the text a dense block of theory that required her full attention. She ignored it. The phone buzzed again, insistently. With a sigh, she picked it up.
Lena’s name glowed on the screen. There was no text, only a video file.
Vanja tapped it. The video was dark, lit only by the blue glow of a phone screen reflecting off skin. The camera was close, unsteady. Then it focused. Lena’s face, flushed and tear-streaked, filled the frame for a second before the angle dropped, showing her hand shoved inside her loose sweatpants, fingers moving frantically beneath the fabric. A low, broken moan escaped the speaker.
“Vanja…” Lena’s voice was a ragged whisper. “Oh, god, Vanja…”
The camera dipped again, this time pulling the waistband down to show the slick, desperate work of her fingers, plunging in and out of her swollen, glistening cunt. The image was raw, obscene, and drenched in a pathetic need that made Vanja’s stomach clench.
The video ended. A text bubble appeared, then the message.
I need your tongue inside me RIGHT NOW.
Vanja stared at the screen, her heart a cold, hard stone in her chest. This wasn’t the powerful cousin from the club, or the pliant woman from her kitchen. This was something broken, leaking. A mess. And she had created it.
A familiar energy, sharp and focused, began to coil in her gut. It was the same feeling she got in the starting blocks, that moment of absolute clarity before the gun. A problem to be solved. A line to be crossed.
She didn’t reply. She stood, grabbed her keys, and left her apartment. The drive to Lena’s was a blur of streetlights and calculated silence. She didn’t knock. She used the key Lena had given her years ago, the lock turning with a soft, definitive click.
The living room was dark, the television off. Lena was curled on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, her phone glowing in her hand. She looked up, her eyes wide and startled, like a deer caught in headlights.
“You came,” she breathed.
Vanja didn’t answer. She dropped her keys on a side table with a metallic clatter and walked over to the sofa. She looked down at Lena, at the vulnerable curve of her neck, the tracks of dried tears on her cheeks.
“Get on the floor,” Vanja said, her voice low and devoid of warmth.
Lena hesitated for only a second before scrambling off the couch, the blanket falling away. She knelt on the rug, looking up at Vanja, her chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths.
Vanja unbuttoned her own jeans, pushed them and her underwear down her thighs in one efficient motion. She didn’t bother taking them all the way off. She moved forward, placing a knee on the cushion on either side of Lena’s shoulders, caging her in.
“You said you needed my tongue,” Vanja said, looking down at her. “But you don’t get to make the demands. You open your mouth. You take what I give you.”
She lowered herself, guiding Lena’s head with a hand tangled in her hair. She didn’t kiss her. She just ground her cunt down onto Lena’s face, the coarse blond hair of her mound scratching against Lena’s lips.
“Open,” Vanja commanded.
Lena’s mouth opened obediently. Her tongue, hot and timid, flicked out.
“More,” Vanja hissed, shifting her hips, pressing her swollen lips directly against Lena’s mouth. “Lick it. Properly. Like you mean it.”
Lena’s hands came up to grip Vanja’s hips, her fingers digging into the firm muscle. Her tongue became more insistent, lapping at Vanja’s folds, seeking out her clit. Vanja rocked against her, a slow, deliberate rhythm, using her face. She could feel the wet heat of Lena’s mouth, the clumsy, eager strokes of her tongue.
“That’s it,” Vanja moaned, her head falling back. “You’re a good little cunt-licker, aren’t you? Your only job is to make me come.”
She fucked Lena’s face harder, her movements becoming rougher, more selfish. This was nothing like the twisted intimacy of the night before. This was use. This was punishment. Lena’s moans were muffled, choked, her nose buried in Vanja’s flesh. She was drowning in it, and she was loving it.
Vanja’s orgasm built quickly, a tight, sharp coil of pleasure deep in her belly. She rode Lena’s mouth faster, her breaths coming in sharp gasps. “Don’t you dare stop. Make me come. Do it.”
Lena’s tongue worked furiously, a desperate, worshiping pressure. That was all it took. Vanja’s body seized, a silent, shuddering climax that ripped through her. She ground down hard, holding Lena’s face trapped against her as the waves pulsed through her, milking every last drop of sensation.
When it was over, she pushed herself off, standing up on shaky legs and pulling her jeans back on. She looked down at Lena, who was still on her knees, panting, her face glistening with Vanja’s wetness. She looked used. Wrecked. Grateful.
The gratitude in Lena’s eyes was a cheap veneer over a depth of need Vanja had no intention of filling. She turned without a word, the slam of the apartment door a period at the end of a filthy sentence. The drive home was a silent void, the ghost of Lena’s tongue a fading itch between her legs.
Back in her own space, the sterile quiet felt accusing. Vanja stripped off her clothes, letting them fall to the bathroom floor. Her skin still hummed with a restless energy, the brutal release with Lena having unlocked something deeper, hungrier. She caught her own gaze in the mirror—a cold, green-eyed assessment.
Julian’s text was a splinter in her mind. He’s waiting for you. But another kind of waiting suffused the room, a pressure building in her own body. It wasn’t about him anymore. It was about the raw, naked command she had wielded. The power was a drug, and the crash left her wanting more.
She lay back on her bed, the sheets cool against her overheated skin. Her hands, which had been so cruel and deliberate with Lena, felt oddly gentle as they traveled down her own stomach. This was different. This was hers.
Her fingertips brushed through the coarse blond hair, finding the slick, swollen flesh beneath. A low groan escaped her as she touched herself, not with Lena’s desperate fury, but with a slow, possessive curiosity. She was so wet, her own arousal a testament to the scene she had orchestrated.
She pictured Lena’s prone form, the absolute submission. Her middle finger circled her clit, a sharp, bright spark of pleasure making her hips jerk. “That’s it,” she whispered to the empty room, her voice rough. “Just like that.”
Another finger joined, sliding easily into her own tight heat. Her back arched off the bed as she fucked herself with the same relentless rhythm she’d imposed on her cousin. But this was deeper, more intimate. She could feel every ridge, every pulse of her own body responding. Her thumb pressed hard on her clit, a brutal counterpoint to the deep plunging of her fingers.
“Fuck,” she hissed, the word a sharp exhalation. Her mind flickered to Julian waiting, to Manuel’s orchestration, but those thoughts were eclipsed by the building storm in her gut. This was the only reality—the sweat-slick skin, the muffled sound of her own movement, the raw, animal need.
Her pace quickened, becoming frantic, selfish. She was chasing something just for herself, a climax divorced from anyone else’s control. Her breaths came in ragged pants, her muscles tightening. “Come on,” she growled at herself, driving her fingers deeper, curling them to hit that perfect, blinding spot.
The orgasm tore through her with a violence that startled her—a silent, seizing wave that left her trembling and empty. She lay there, spent, her fingers still nestled inside her. The quiet of the room returned, but it was different now. It was her quiet. Her victory.
She pulled her fingers out, staring at the glistening evidence. A faint, cold smile touched her lips. Everything else was just noise. This was the core. Pulling on a clean shirt, she picked up her phone. The response to Manuel was simple, absolute.
Tell him I’m on my way.
The three words glowed on the screen, a declaration of war sent into the night. Tell him I’m on my way. Vanja tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, the engine of her car roaring to life like an extension of her own pulse. She pulled out into the dark, empty street, the city lights streaking past the windows.
Her body still hummed from the twin releases—first with Lena’s broken submission, then her own solitary, commanding climax. The power was a clean, sharp taste in her mouth. She was a blade being honed. Another buzz, insistent, came from the passenger seat. She glanced over. Lena’s name. Another video.
A cold smirk touched her lips. She let it ring, focusing on the road, letting the anticipation build in the digital silence. At a red light, she finally picked it up. She tapped the screen. The video was darker, shakier than the last. Lena was in her bathroom, the camera propped on the sink. Her face was a mess of tears and running mascara. She was completely naked, her body slumped against the tiled wall.
One hand was splayed over her lower belly, the other was out of frame, between her legs. The audio was a ragged, wet panting. “You… you made me like this,” Lena slurred, her voice thick with alcohol and despair. The camera angle dropped, showing her fingers, slick and glistening, frantically working her clit. “I can’t stop. It’s all I can think about. Your cunt on my mouth.”
She spread her lips with two fingers, exposing the pink, swollen flesh, and began fucking herself with a thick, black hairbrush handle. The plastic glistened, going in and out with a wet, rhythmic sound. “This is you,” she moaned, her eyes rolling back. “I’m fucking myself with you, Vanja. I’m your fucking toy.”
Vanja watched, utterly still, as Lena came with a guttural, choking cry, her body convulsing against the cold tiles.
Vanja’s breath hitched, the video ending abruptly, leaving only the dark reflection of her own face in the phone’s screen. A slow, hot pulse throbbed between her legs, her underwear soaked through from Lena’s desperate performance and the memory of her own power. She ignored the text from Manuel about Julian, her thumbs instead flying across the screen with predatory speed.
Come to my place, now. Keep the brush in.
She tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and slammed her foot on the accelerator, the car lurching forward as the light turned green. The city blurred into a smear of light and shadow, her entire being focused on the destination, on the control she was about to exert. She needed to see the proof of her influence up close, to taste the broken desperation on Lena’s skin.
Vanja’s apartment door swung open before Lena could even knock, revealing her cousin shivering in the hallway, a coat thrown over what was clearly nothing else. Vanja yanked her inside by the wrist, the door clicking shut with finality. She pushed Lena against it, her eyes raking over the tear-streaked face, the trembling lips.
“You are so beautiful, Lena,” Vanja whispered, her voice a low scrape. “So broken.” Her fingers traced the line of Lena’s jaw, then dipped to the collar of her coat, pushing it off her shoulders until it pooled on the floor. “Your beautiful face. Your luscious body.”
Lena stood exposed, the cold air raising goosebumps on her skin, the dark handle of the brush still protruding obscenely from between her legs. Vanja’s gaze burned with a possessive fire. She leaned in, her mouth finding Lena’s neck, biting down lightly before moving lower. She took a nipple into her mouth, sucking hard, her tongue swirling around the erect peak until Lena cried out.
“Your huge fucking tits,” Vanja groaned against her flesh, her hands kneading the heavy weight of them. “Fuck.” She dropped to her knees, her face level with the brush handle. She gripped Lena’s hips, holding her steady against the door. “Did you come all the way here with this inside you?”
“Yes,” Lena gasped, her head falling back with a thud.
Vanja wrapped her lips around the base of the brush, not removing it, but tasting the plastic, the mixed scent of Lena’s arousal and her own command. She sucked on it, then slowly, deliberately, began to pull it out, inch by slick inch, watching Lena’s face contort with each movement. When it was free, she tossed it aside with a clatter and replaced it with her mouth, her tongue diving deep into the wet, open heat.
She devoured Lena with a ruthless hunger, her tongue lashing at her clit, her fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs. Lena’s moans escalated into screams, her hands tangling in Vanja’s hair, pushing her deeper. Vanja fucked her with her tongue until Lena’s legs buckled, until she was coming again, a hot, salty flood against Vanja’s mouth.
Vanja stood up, wiping her chin with the back of her hand. She looked at Lena, slumped and panting against the door, completely spent. The power surge was absolute, intoxicating. She turned away, leaving Lena there, and walked toward her bedroom. There was another game to play, but this one had been a necessary appetizer.