mrsronweasley: (MCR - Frank and Jamia OTP)
mrsronweasley ([personal profile] mrsronweasley) wrote2011-08-28 08:48 pm
Entry tags:

Fic: "The Proof Is In Your Moves" (girl!Frank/Jamia, 5430 words, NC-17)

Title: "The Proof Is In Your Moves"
Fandom: MCR
Warning/Rating: No redeeming qualities/NC-17
Word Count: ~5430 words
Summary: Jamia decides to strip for Frankie. That's it. That's the entire plot. (High school, always a girl!Frank AU)
Notes: With huge thanks to [ profile] brooklinegirl who beta’ed this at lightning speed, and also egged me on. This was started a VERY long time ago, with the blessings of [ profile] shiningartifact & [ profile] swiiftly, who allowed me to play in their sandbox, because this fic comes from their girl!Frank/Jamia 'verse, which is SO FUN AND AWESOME, and you can find it here. The plot comes from this quote, which I couldn’t stop thinking about:

…except for maybe the first time that Jamia did that striptease for her that one night - that still wins…

Ladies, this one's for you. HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAYS, MY DEARS. I LOVE YOU. (Title from a Hawksley Workman song.)


Frankie hadn't really known what to expect from tonight, apart from sex. Which was the greatest thing to expect ever, as far as she was concerned. Frankie still wasn't used to this, to the fact that whenever she wanted to grab Jamia and kiss her, she could; and that if she wanted to reach out and pull her towards her, Jamia would go willingly. Knowing Jamia, she'd probably purr, which was so fucking hot, Frankie would stay up till the wee hours of the morning, thinking of the sounds Jamia made in bed and stroke herself off until she was sore. In all their years of friendship, Frankie could never have imagined that the closest description to Jamia in a relationship would be "sex-kitten," but it was kind of true.

And it was kind of awesome.

That morning, though, Jamia had texted Frankie to come over at around seven. Usually, they didn't really make plans – they were together most of the time, anyway, and if they could in any way swing it, they'd just hang out at each other's homes until either mom looked at them sternly and broke up the party.

So, tonight was clearly going to be something special. Frankie just didn't know in what way. She did ask, but Jamia just sent her a text that said >:) and that was the last Frankie had heard from her.

She couldn't actually concentrate on work at all that day. Nor did she remember how she spent the long hours between two and seven. She went downtown to look for that Portishead record Jamia had been asking about, and ran into Mikey and Pete. They shot the shit for a while, and Frankie wound up smoking so many cigarettes, she nearly made herself sick. Pete just laughed at her, the jerk, and Mikey kept grinning, but whatever, they didn't have to wait for hours and hours and hours for their boyfriends, they were already hanging out.

Frankie blasted Black Flag with the windows rolled down all the way to Jamia's house.

When she got there, she saw that both family cars were gone. Usually at this point, both of Jamia's parents were home and having dinner, so that was odd. Frankie thought about Jamia inside, just waiting for Frankie to show up, alone, and her body immediately went into a fevered overdrive, palms sweaty, heart speeding up, a low thrum in her belly.

Shit. Shit.

Frankie locked the car, only remembering to do it by sense memory or whatever, and made her way up the drive. She wiped her palms on the seat of her pants, but they were still clammy by the time she made it to the door.

Where a note was hanging on the Nestors' patented "A Dream A Day Keeps the Nightmares Away" note paper. Frankie squinted in the dark to read it.

F, it's unlocked. Come in and sit down on the chair. ♥, J

What the fuck? Frankie frowned at the paper, trying to figure it out, then gave up, ripped it off the door (J had some balls, leaving her door unlocked like that, Jesus) and turned the handle.

When she walked into the house, it was pretty dark, with weird flickering lighting going on somewhere in the vicinity of the living room. Frankie shucked off her shoes and walked towards it. Now, she could hear music filtering through there, as well. She couldn't quite tell what it was, but it was low, with a woman's voice singing huskily, so intensely sexy, somehow, her knees almost buckled.

When she stepped softly into the living room, Frankie saw where the flickering lighting was coming from, holy shit. Every available surface was covered in candles – tall ones, fat ones, tiny tea candles in those hanging lanterns Jamia's mom liked so much. Frankie could feel their wrapping warmth all the way down to her toes, and every single part of her tingled in response. Were they gonna fuck right there, on the Nestors' living room floor, or what?

Then the meaning of Jamia's cryptic note became kind of clearer as Frankie's gaze landed on the chair sitting right in the middle of the living floor, facing the dining area. This was…definitely nothing Frankie could figure out, but at least she knew what she was supposed to do. Letting the music take her there, she walked towards the chair, setting herself down on it gingerly. Years and years of friendship with Jamia has taught her to be careful where and how she sat, because if there was one thing Jamia loved like a twelve-year old boy, it was fart jokes and whoopee cushions.

Frankie planted her ass down without incident, however, and swallowed. Her throat was dry. Where was J?

Frankie fidgeted while she waited, scratching her neck, patting down her hair in the back, ruffling it up where it had sagged down. She could not sit still. The seconds extended into what felt like hours, and she was just about to call out Jamia's name, or clear her throat, anything that would make her feel more connected to the real world in this humming, thrumming room of, like, sexpectation, when Jamia appeared in the entry way of the dining area, one hand still clutching the door frame, her entire body slanted sideways, as if she were getting ready to dance.

Frankie's jaw dropped of its own accord.

Jamia was wearing a tight black dress, the kind Frankie didn't even think she'd owned, much less was ever going to put on her body. The spaghetti straps looked like they were made out of glitter or fucking pixie dust or something, and the material itself was shimmery, picking up all the warmth of the candles and encasing Jamia's curves in a way that made all the blood in Frankie's body rush directly to her cunt.

The dress was short, too, ending just above mid-thigh, showing off those stunning fucking legs J had that were always hidden by knee-length skirts or baggy jeans. They were on full display now, round and gorgeous, in what looked like black tights, ending in –

Holy fuck. Stripper heels. Actual fucking stripper heels, these shoes that hurt Frankie's ankles just thinking about them, but that made Jamia's legs look even longer and hotter than usual, with a shiny silver strap across them, a rounded toe, and even a bit of a platform, too. Frankie swallowed again, this time audibly, and almost cringed.

She had no fucking idea what was going on, but seeing Jamia like that brought her up short and, when she finally met her eyes, Frankie forgot any embarrassment. Jamia was wearing shimmery eye make-up and her lips were a dark, dark red. Her hair was falling into her eyes on one side, making her look dangerous and almost not like her usual self in this light, fucking animalistic, or something. The look she was giving Frankie was so hot, she could almost feel it, and had to clamp her thighs together and squeeze just to get some relief.


"J – what –"

But Jamia lifted her finger to her lips, shook her head a little, and Frankie snapped her mouth shut. That was okay, because she couldn't get out any words, anyway. She just watched, mesmerized, as Jamia let go of the door frame, picked up a remote from the dining room table and pointed it at the stereo.

The song changed. It was still clearly the same woman singing, but the bass beat sped up right away, hard and intense, and Frankie felt her eyes go wide, because Jamia started to move.

She moved forward, but not just taking the regular steps that normal humans did, oh no. She was moving in a way that Frankie could only describe as slinky. She moved with intent, every single step deliberate, like her entire plan was to get Frankie so hot and bothered, she would actually die from it, which Frankie really, really thought she might. Even as Frankie sat there, rooted to the spot and clutching the sides of the chair, Jamia took another step, this one kind of sideways, and stopped, hands on her hips, head cocked to the side.

Then she grinned right at Frankie and blew her a kiss. "The only rule is," she said, voice low, "you can look, but you can't touch."

And then she started to dance.

Oh, holy hell.

Frankie had seen Jamia dancing before – at the clubs they sometimes got into thanks to Mikey Way, and at gigs where everybody just jumped around and screamed a lot, which was Frankie's favorite kind of dancing, of course, sweaty and gross and awesome, but this – this was something else entirely.

Frankie had never seen Jamia's hips do that. She moved like she was a real stripper, the expensive kind in those clubs where old rich dudes would pay five grand for a lapdance, like she'd seen on TV. Her eyes closed and her mouth open in a light kind of grin, Jamia was the most beautiful thing Frankie had ever seen.

She started out swaying a bit from foot to foot, with her feet planted wide enough apart from that Frankie kept catching sight of what she thought was lace up under the very edge of the dress, but – it couldn't be, right? Frankie quickly lost that thread of thought as Jamia's hands moved slowly up her thighs then slid over her belly and up and up until they were cupping her tits and Frankie felt her entire body straining forward, aching with how much she wanted to just grab her. She forced herself to sit still, even it was kind of the hardest thing she had ever had to do in her entire life.

Jamia, in the meantime, bit her lower lip and ran her hands up over her head, catching fly-away strands of hair between her fingers and swayed harder now, right along to the beat thumping through the entire room, filling it with pressure. Frankie thought her chest might explode from how hot the air had gotten. And Jamia just danced on like she hadn't noticed.

She was beautiful. She was beautiful. If Frankie had ever wondered what a personal show like this would feel like, she would have probably thought it'd be awkward or embarrassing or just kind of lame. But this was so fucking off-the-charts intense, she couldn't even formulate a thought beyond holy shit.

And that got even harder to do when Jamia turned around and sashayed her ass like she'd been put on this Earth just to drive Frankie crazy with need. She ran her hands over her own curves, bunching the shiny material of her dress into wrinkly silvery lines, and Frankie bit her own lip and squirmed in the chair. She wanted her hands all over Jamia's perfect fucking ass, the way it moved under that dress, the way she knew it looked when she fucked Jamia from behind. Fuck. She wondered what that dress would feel like if she were to fuck Jamia in it.

"J –" Frankie's voice came out kind of broken, so she cleared her throat and tried again. "Jamia, J –"

But again, her voice died in her throat when Jamia's hands dropped to the hem of the dress and then rose again. This time with the hem clutched between her fingers, which could only mean one thing.

Jamia was not only giving Frankie a dance show. She was giving her a striptease.

And Frankie was the luckiest girl in the whole entire world.

She could only watch, her mouth gaping open, as Jamia's fingers tugged upwards, tugged until Frankie felt like she was going to shoot out of her chair like in one of those Tom & Jerry cartoons or whatever, because Jamia was most definitely wearing thigh-highs, oh, and a garter belt, and – Frank thought she might actually break the chair with how hard she was clutching it – a black. Lace. Thong.

A thong. Jesus fucking Christ, Jamia was wearing a thong.

Neither one of them ever wore thongs. They were stupid and uncomfortable, they'd bitch whenever they saw peeks of them on girls at school, oh and totally sexist and misogynist, to boot. Frankie preferred boy's underwear, anyway, and J wore the cute bikini-cut ones from, like, Target or whatever, that had patterns and bows on them, and sometimes said "Fabulous" across the ass. Frankie fucking loved those panties.

But no thongs. Until Frankie was suddenly forced to re-think her entire stance on the merits of female-oriented underwear, because Jamia's ass in a thong, seriously, she was going to die, plain and simple.

"Jesus," she ground out, straining more and more forward. She couldn't tell what J's reaction to that had been, because her face was obscured by the last of the dress falling away, and when she emerged again, her face was just a tiny bit flushed, her hair kind of messier than it had been. She suddenly looked like herself again, a mixture of vaguely awkward and kind of tough, with a tiny rueful grin. For a second, Frankie almost forgot about what the rest of her looked like.

But as soon as J's dress landed in a heap by her feet, and her hips suddenly swayed in a sharp arc, Frankie, in the grand tradition of all horny dudes everywhere, completely forgot to look at Jamia's face, because she had never seen anything hotter in her entire life. Jamia's full hips covered in flimsy bits of lace, the garter straps connected to the thigh highs with little bows – she had to squeeze her legs tight enough to bruise, because not being able to grab Jamia and stick her face between Jamia's legs was getting harder and harder to handle.

Frankie was pretty sure she had whined at some point, and when she finally forced herself to look away from how Jamia's tits were filling out that ridiculous lace bra with the sparkly jewel in the middle, she saw that J was grinning at her reaction, her lips still that bright, sexy red. Frankie lifted her chin, like, yeah, bring it, whatever and shifted in her seat, determined to ignore how much she needed to fucking touch herself already.

"You know," Jamia suddenly said, still swaying her hips with her hands wandering all over her torso, from tits to belly to thighs and suddenly dipping, just the tiniest bit, between her thighs, before circling her legs again. "I said you couldn't touch me. I never said anything about yourself." Before Frankie could react, Jamia suddenly took a step forward, twirled (on those ridiculous heels, what the fuck) and there was her ass – full and perfect and mere inches from Frankie's face, swaying to the music.

Frankie gulped and couldn't undo her pants fast enough before she was throwing back her head and squeezing her legs around her own fingers, stroking herself hard and fast, just how she fucking needed it right then. It was sixty to a thousand, because she couldn't remember a time when she wasn't so turned on, she was nearly blind from it. Biting her lip so hard she could feel it all the way in her toes, she stuck two fingers right inside herself and went at it, fucking herself with her fingers, rough and fast, as J's ass swayed in front of her, her thighs so fucking perfect, her back arching, the music getting harder and harder, swelling, like Frankie could feel her cunt swelling, more and more, sweeter with each stroke, until finally she grabbed her own hair and felt the chair nearly skidding out from under her, the feeling of need rolling into a wave of yes, yes, yes. Her eyes squeezing shut despite her best intentions, she came so fucking hard, she thrashed on that motherfucking chair, her whole body shuddering and convulsing, feeling it around her fingers, the squeeze of it, Jesus Christ. Her heart hammered loud in her ears, the relief of her orgasm spreading through every bit of skin and muscle and bone, until finally she was slack-jawed and panting, her hand lying still in her pants, against her wet cunt.

When she opened her eyes, Jamia was no longer dancing, and no longer had her back to Frankie. Instead, Frankie barely had a chance to take a breath before Jamia was striding the two steps it took her to reach Frankie and straddle her, heels and all.

"Fuck, I love it when you come," Jamia breathed before kissing her, her lacy bra scratching against Frankie's t-shirt, her cunt hot even through the few layers between them. Frankie moaned and dropped her hands to feel up Jamia's ass, God, finally. Her hips and ass were really kind of what Frankie'd been living for since they finally got together, and they made all the hours of waiting worth it. Soft and pliable and basically put on this Earth to make her happy.

And Jamia's rack was like the tastiest cherry on top, pressed up against Frankie's own flat boobs (she made do with them, and J liked them and all, but they were nothing compared to the D's J had suddenly sprouted in the last year or so). Her own need kind of muted by her orgasm, Frankie got into the kiss, having missed J's mouth since the last time she got to do this, which was a whole day ago. Jamia didn't wear lipstick often, and it tasted strange on her lips now, but Frankie – liked it. She kissed her harder, grabbing Jamia's hair to tilt her face just so, biting her lower lip. Jamia ground up against her, showing she'd liked that, but Frankie would have known it anyway. Jamia fucking loved it when Frankie pushed her around in bed. Or on the floor. Or, that one glorious time, in the girls' locker room showers after the track meet where Frankie had almost busted her ankle and decided that track really wasn't worth it if she'd be injured for the next punk gig, hello.

But fucking Jamia in the empty girls' showers had definitely been more than worth the fear of getting busted by the head coach.

"Shit," J panted, breaking off from the kiss. "That was so fucking hot."

Frankie snorted, because seriously. "That was fucking hot? What about you, striptease girl, Jesus Christ, are your parents out all night? They better fucking be, by the way, because I'll never forgive you if you-mpphph."

J had shut her up with her mouth on Frankie's lips, and her hand unerringly going for Frankie's nipple right through her t-shirt. "Shut the fuck up and fuck me," she ordered. "They're away till tomorrow night. Business trip."

It took Frankie approximately two seconds to lever J off of her, then another second to drop to her knees and push the chair away, sending it skidding across the floor, and then she was scrambling for J, hands gripping Jamia's hips and pulling her down until they were knees to knees and face to face on the living room floor, Frankie's hands sliding down between J's tits and caressing her belly.

"Where's the – where is it?" she panted against Jamia's mouth.

"Somewhere, wait… Wait, hang on, it's in the bag," Jamia waved her hand over Frankie's shoulder. "It was behind the fucking chair, but you –"

Frankie swiveled around and spotted the black "Astrophysicists On Tour 2007" tote bag, lying halfway to the couch.

They only had one harness so far, but Frankie was saving up for a new one – she'd seen it in this one shop, made of gorgeous deep-red leather, soft and perfect. This one was black and it definitely did its job, even if it was the only one they had been able to afford. It always took for-fucking-ever to strap all the buckles in, but it was fucking worth it for when, after struggling with kicking off her shoes, pants, and underwear and shimming out of her shirt, she strapped that sucker on while Jamia giggled behind her, and turned around to see J on all fours, ass in the air, the straps from the thong and the garter all cutting into her skin like it was motherfucking porn.

Frankie gulped, and suddenly, it was like she hadn't come at all two minutes ago. "Like that, then?" she asked breathlessly, dropping to her knees on the living room rug. "You sure you don't wanna, like, go to your room?" The rug didn't bother Frankie any, as long as she got to stick it in her girlfriend, but J was the one about to get fucked on all fours here. That shit could burn.

Jamia just tossed her hair back and grinned at Frankie over her shoulder. "Just fucking fuck me, pussy, waited long enough."

Frank shrugged and gave up worrying. "Fucking…hell, yes."

She shuffled up right against J's ass, the purple dildo swaying with each movement, kind of pretty and shimmery in the candlelight. The music was still pumping through the room, the air kind of hot and still around them. It was weird being in Jamia's parents' living room, naked except for her strap-on, but she was also so fucking turned on, it was crazy. J loved getting fucked like that, and Frankie loved giving it to her, feeling invincible and powerful and all kinds of things she couldn't quite put her finger on, but that all added up to "weird but fucking awesome."

It wasn't until she slipped her fingers under the ridiculous fucking thong that J was still sporting that Frankie spotted a problem.


"What, what?" Jamia panted, arching her back and making Frankie lose her thread of thought for a second. "C'mon, baby…"

"Your, uh –" Frankie tugged the underwear down as far as she could, which wasn't very far, as it snagged and stopped at the garter straps right below J's ass. "Thing. Won't. Uh -"

"Oh, fuck," Jamia moaned and dropped her head down onto her arms. "I meant to put the fucking – underwear over the garter belt, like you're supposed to, but forgot, oh fuck me." She'd mumbled it all into her arms, but Frank got the gist and couldn't stop herself from bursting out laughing and sagging against Jamia's back as she giggled.

"You're such a – such an amateur stripper, baby," she wheezed, while Jamia grumbled and groaned beneath her.

"Fuck you, Frankie, that shit took me, like, half an hour to get right, okay, and it was all for your dumb ass, so – oh, shit."

"What - oh." Frankie felt the dildo skim the thong where it had nestled between her thighs and the giggles somehow died down in her throat.

She really needed to fuck Jamia, and she needed to do it now. She could feel the scratching fabric of J's thigh-highs against her own skin and the sharp edges of J's heels scraping her ankles. She didn't even ask before she went for the first garter strap, trying to figure out how to unsnap it from the stockings with shaking fingers. When the strap finally gave, she lunged for the other one, flattening one hand against Jamia's thigh, just for a second, just to – just to feel her.

They barely breathed, and didn't say a single word, as she slowly made her way through all of them, arms looping around Jamia's body to get at the ones at the front.

Finally, she whispered, "This okay?"

Jamia nodded, her hair whipping Frankie in the face a little. "Yeah, yeah, I didn't –I don't need them to hold anything up, I just…it was just…"

"Fucking hot," Frankie finished for her. "We're doing this again, you know," she added as she finally hooked her fingers into the lowered thong and slipped it down until Jamia had to raise her knees, one by one, to get it all the way off.

Jamia just hummed and arched her back again.

Frankie was really fucking glad she didn't have a real dick, because the sight of J, bare-assed and still wearing all the fucking strappy lacy things scattered over her body, would have forced her to blow her load before she ever got inside her. And that would have sucked.

"Okay," she said, almost to herself. "Okay."

She kneed her way up until her hips were flush up against J's ass, her dildo hanging heavy right up against Jamia's pussy. This part took a lot more finesse than Frankie thought she was capable of at the moment, but she wanted to make it perfect for J, wanted to fuck her just right.

She wrapped her arm around Jamia's waist and dipped her hand between her legs, feeling how fucking hot and wet she was. Jamia hummed and pushed up against her, her cunt sliding right along the dildo. "Fuck yeah," she breathed and Frankie felt her thighs spread out a bit, bearing right the fuck down.

"Jesus, J," Frankie panted against her back. "Fuck. Help – help me get this –"

She broke off when Jamia's fingers slipped against her own and then gripped the dildo, forcing Frankie back so Jamia could slip it inside herself. Slowly, fucking torturously slowly, she finally did, letting out a satisfied kind of hum as it slid home in increments and Frankie waited, not breathing, as Jamia settled into it, wiggling her hips on the final thrust.

"Ohh, fuck," Jamia breathed out and bumped her ass against Frankie. "Do it, I'm good," she whispered.

Oh, and Frankie did. Her hands white-knuckling Jamia's hips, she pushed back and slid back in, exhaling, thighs tensing as she struggled to find a rhythm. Guys probably had it a little easier, what with being able to feel exactly what was happening with their dicks, but in the amount of time they've been fucking with the dildo, Frankie's learned to control it pretty well, even with the shitty harness. The harder she went, the louder J moaned, until Frankie could let herself get creative, even, canting her hips in a way that got Jamia's g-spot hard and J would let out staccato ah's and oh's, moaning almost continuously, like she couldn't stop if she wanted to.

Frankie really, really didn't want her to. She skimmed her hands all up and down J's back, squeezing her waist and hips when she got to them, then scratching back up her spine, feeling the tingle of her own orgasm building. She hadn't realized, the first time they did this, that she would be able to feel it, but she did, the harness and the base of the dildo digging right up against her clit, giving her the perfect friction to rub against as she pounded J again and again, her thighs starting to shake, her neck beginning to sweat.

"Fuck, fuck, yeah," J moaned and dropped down to rest her head on her folded arms. Frankie bit her lip and fucked her harder, knowing that she wouldn't be able to go for J's clit if she tried, but she wanted her to come so bad, even if she couldn't feel it. She wanted to see it.

"J, J… J, touch yourself," she panted and thrust a bit harder, letting her nails dig into the soft skin of Jamia's ass, feeling how damp it was from sweat, how she'd done that to her. God, she fucking loved doing this, fucking loved how crazy it made them both.

"N-no, wait," Jamia panted. "Want more, just – just keep fucking me, Frankie, please, please." And fuck if Frankie was going to say no to that, even though her legs were getting sore and it was becoming harder and harder to keep up the rhythm, with her second orgasm building in her belly and under her pits, all the way down in the soles of her fucking feet. Her ears suddenly popped and the music, which she hadn't even noticed had been muted, flooded in, curling her spine and forcing her head back. She spasmed as she came, still gripping J's ass, gasping so loud she briefly rejoiced that Jamia didn't have neighbors on either side of them.

"Oh fuck, you came, didn't you," Jamia exhaled in a wondering kind of whisper, her voice echoing across the floor, and Frankie just gripped her hips, letting her hands answer for her. Fuck. She couldn't stop shaking. "That's so fucking hot when that happens, Jesus."

"Hmrmm," Frankie finally managed before getting her shit together enough to keep fucking J into the floor.

This time, Jamia's hand went directly for her pussy. Frankie could see it working underneath, Jamia's muscles shifting and sliding in the darkened room, her voice winding with the music. Frankie zoned out on it all, thrusting mindlessly, mind ricocheting between the sounds and the visuals, forcing herself to keep the rhythm that threatened to deteriorate any second now.

It felt like an eternity – a really hot, ridiculously fucking amazing eternity – before she felt Jamia tensing beneath her, her voice hitching, her arm shaking, and then she was convulsing all over – no words, just vowels skittering across the air as she came, again and again it felt like, right up against Frankie, the contact between their bodies wet and electric at the same time, zinging all across Frankie's skin.

Fucking hell.

She managed to pull out before collapsing in a heap on the floor, blinking over at where Jamia slowly slid to the floor and turned herself over to face Frankie. She licked her lips. "I have the best fucking plans."

"Mmmm." Frankie agreed, she just wasn't sure she could verbalize how much. In fact, she wasn't sure if her tongue could even work after this. She pawed at J's thigh to show her she got it. Her heart was still going a million miles an hour, though it was finally hiccuping its winding way down.

"The floor's cold," J noted without making the slightest move to get up. "And I'm pretty sure I'm gonna have to mop up the wet spot. Ugh."

Frankie snorted and rolled over onto her side, half off the rug. She managed to find her voice enough to say, "The dildo is poking at your hardwood floors now. Sorry, I guess."

"Hardwood," Jamia repeated, watching Frankie.

"Haha, hard," Frankie slurred and gripped the dildo, aiming it at J. "Look at me, I'm a dildo, I'm gonna hard wood your ass," she squeaked.

Jamia cracked up and rolled over onto her back. "You're such a doofus, Jesus Christ. I can't believe I stripped for you. You're, like, a twelve-year old boy with that thing."

"Aw, come on, like you don't play with it when you're wearing it." And it wasn't like Frankie didn't know J liked to wear it every now and then, just for herself.

"I don't make fucking jokes about it, though," Jamia pointed out with all the dignity of a half-naked chick lying on her parents' floor all fucked-out and still wearing stripper heels.

"No, you just send me fucking pictures of it, you sexting fiend," Frankie replied.

J pursed her lips and scratched her nose. "Well, yeah. But that's awesome."

"It is," Frankie sighed, and went to unbuckle the harness. It was digging into her skin now, no longer so much hot as pretty damn uncomfortable. She gingerly eased it out from between her legs and wrinkled her nose at it. "Yep, totally came all over it."

"You're washing it, then," Jamia answered breezily. Frankie took the dildo out and threw the harness at J's face in retaliation. "Ew, gross," J complained laughing, batting the straps away.

"You don't think it's gross when I come all over your face," Frankie noted, pushing herself up and levering to her feet.

"Mmmm, true," Jamia smiled and licked her lips. Frankie laughed and offered her a hand up.


"Yeah, but I'm your harlot," Jamia answered with a sweet smile, her tits bouncing as she got to her feet.

Frankie wouldn't even want to deny it. This harlot was all her own.

She smacked J's ass as they giggled their way out of the living room and up the stairs, leaving the mess to be dealt with at a later time. "And don't you fucking forget it," she laughed and chased Jamia all the way up to her bedroom.


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