The Sacking of Rome

"I just... I mean..." Rome felt her cheeks coloring. "You already...I mean, I... I..."

"I'm sure," Daphne said, nodding slowly as she slipped her finger under Rome's panties and pulled them aside.

Her stomach muscles tensed, drawing taut, as she curled up to watch. Daphne slid one hooked finger inside of her, and sighed happily just as Rome was inhaling sharply. The harmony in their breathing was just the start of it.

"I think we can get that a little wetter," she said, biting her lip, finger trailing upward. Rome couldn't help but flinch.

Again, Daphne was looking at her, and again Rome couldn't look away. She just sank deeper and deeper into the warm fuzz spreading through her at Daphne's touch. She'd never been touched like that. Even earlier, at the mercy of Daphne's touch, it had been a I'm gonna get you off touch. Gentle, but focused. Goal-oriented. Nothing else was even on the same continent.

This was slow. Luxurious. Decadent and patient. Inexorable.

At some point, Daphne's other hand moved to cradle her thigh, reaching under and around, and Rome reached for that. At first, her hand settled over Daphne's, but before long they had twisted their palms together, fingers interlocked. She squeezed, and Daphne squeezed right back.

From there, things escalated. Daphne seemed eager to get it inside. Rome reached her other hand down to grab at the back of her thigh, at her ass, fingers sinking into the skin as she pulled herself open, and once Daphne was done guiding the head into her opening she reached for Rome's other hand as well.

Every thrust hit her like a hundred pounds of rubber, and she bounced. It was hard to tell how much of that was the bed, cushioning her, and how much was her own body. She had some softness to her, a bit more flesh here and there than she'd had in college. It didn't matter, really; what mattered was what the bouncing thrusts were doing to Daphne's body.

Daphne's breasts moved wildly, in the way that only large, natural breasts can. When she leaned forward, even just a little, the movement became pendulous, and Rome was entranced by it. No part of her had ever moved like that, but she wanted more. She wanted to be the cause of it.

The seed settled in the back of her head that this, using a strap-on, was something she could do too, and her mind was flooded with the mental image of their positions reversed. Somehow, even then, Daphne looked composed and she looked desperate.

Because she was. Desperate to cum again. Desperate to be seen. Desperate to be wanted. These were not things she let herself dwell on most of the time, and so they were all the more irrepressible for having been bottled.

Daphne's grin grew wider. Pleased with herself, by the look of it, which got more and more self-satisfied as Rome knew her own countenance was slipping. She couldn't hide her need. Whatever was happening between them, it had her caught in its clutches and she was powerless against it.

There, on her back in front of Daphne, it was easier to get the whole of her. She had a broad frame, and there was a roundness to her shoulders and upper arms that had been doing heavy lifting earlier underneath the leather jacket. Things she had picked up on in Daphne's posture in those first, opening moments, that made so much more sense now. There was a kind of androgyny to her build that had Rome salivating. A combination of body types, features, and confidence all coming together under tattooed, artful skin.

And that smirk.

The feeling inside her, the steady in and out, was lovely. Shivers up and down her skin, but it was the stare that was too much. Overwhelmed, she fell back against the bed, eyes drifting closed, and as soon as her scalp touched the sheets their shared grip broke. Rome brought her hands up to grab her tits, squeezing her nipples between palm and clumsy, numb fingertips. It was inelegant, uncoordinated, and there was a part of her that knew; she was drowning, flailing in the wake of the tidal wave that was Daphne.

For her part, Daphne went straight for her clit. The moment, the millisecond their twined fingers separated, Daphne had her thumb on Rome's button. Each of her other fingers furrowed through Rome's embarrassingly overgrown pubic hair, but there was no time to think about grooming. There was no space in her head for that when Daphne was stroking her like that.

Just like that.

"Okay," Daphne said, which was when Rome realized she'd been mumbling just like that over and over out loud. There was no room for that embarrassment either. She was already naked.

The panties stretched around her hips and waist, digging into the skin, pulled taught by having been pushed so far out of place, and in her mind she pictured Daphne ripping them off of her. She looked like she could do that, if she wanted to. Rome had never thought of herself as the kind of woman who wanted her clothes physically ripped off of her, but that was the least of the things she was learning about herself that night.

This, though, she did not ponder for long. There was no bandwidth for it when Daphne started thrusting harder. The wet sound of the toy pushing into her got louder, echoing through the space.

"I can't," Daphne said, voice sounding tight in her throat. Rome only had time to peek an eye open before the toy exited her, and Daphne was dropping down to her knees beside the bed. When she managed to pry both eyes open, Daphne was descending on her. Both arms coming under and around her thighs. Again, Rome's stomach sucked in hard as she curled up off the bed in wonder.

She shouldn't have, though, because Daphne's gaze was waiting for her. Staring up along the length of her body. Whether it was that gravity, or the suction, or the tongue, Rome couldn't say, but it was too much. She tried to bring her thighs together in a way that surely would have forced Daphne away, but Daphne pried her legs even further apart with herculean strength.

The tongue swirled around, over and under. Rome felt her muscles turning to water, and she splashed back down into the bed without a shred of form or resistance. Her arms fell to her sides, groping across the sheets though for what she did not know. An anchor, her mind provided, though that seemed an unlikely find.

She did not notice when Daphne stopped. She didn't notice when the bed shifted next to her. What she noticed was how the light played off of Daphne's chin when she finally managed to open her eyes. It was wet, and that sent such ripples through her for reasons she could not fathom.

As she blinked herself back to conscious thought, Daphne propped her head on an open hand and looked away. There was a fingertip tracing shapes on her skin. She opened her mouth and breathed in new air for the first time in millenia, and life crept back into her.

"How," she said, starting a thought without finishing it. Her brain couldn't get that far. Daphne just chuckled, arched an eyebrow, and met her gaze briefly.

The exhaustion that had claimed her ebbed away, and Rome began to blink herself back toward more complex thought. The blurry vision faded, and when she reached her arms over her head, the stretching felt magnificent. As she moved her legs, her panties rolled partially back into place, bunching up in a place that was within earshot of discomfort, so she brought her knees up toward her chest to slide them off.

It was hard to put a source on the slow grin that spread over Daphne's lips.

"How do I do this?" Rome asked, in a voice barely above a whisper.

Because of her contorted, side-laying posture, Daphne's shrug was barely recognizable as such, but she said, "You don't have to do anything."

The other woman was giving her an out. An excuse. Rome wasn't having it. She shifted onto her side, mirroring Daphne's pose, and breathed life back into her body. Daphne's body was like hers. She knew how to make a body like that feel good. She didn't need Daphne's explicit say so or directions. When she reached for a clasp on one of the straps running over the side of Daphne's hip the woman started to turn her head to follow the action, but Rome leaned in to intercept her. The kiss was slow. Daphne made a happy little sound of surprise at first, and followed that with soft, throaty laughter the longer the kiss went on.

It only took Rome a few seconds of blind fumbling to pull the clasp loose, and then the rigging was slack enough for her to slip her hand underneath where the toy had been. Her lids were low over her eyes, but open enough to see the way Daphne flinched at the first touch. Little by little, Daphne spread her legs further apart. One leg straight, extended off the edge of the bed, while the other turned so that her knee formed a triangle in the air.

Every few seconds, Rome broke the kiss for just long enough to chance a glance at the other woman. There was a kind of nervous surprise at the corners of Daphne's eyes, a tightness, that Rome found particularly intriguing. Now that her senses were not under constant assault, it was easier to think a little deeper, and not hard to theorize that Daphne was not used to partners returning the favor. She couldn't be sure, of course, but plans were forming to ask the right questions in the morning, over breakfast.

Realizing she was thinking about sleeping over hit her with such a rush, and that came through somehow. The more she leaned into the kissing, the more Daphne began to turn unto her back. Rome followed right behind her, head and shoulders hovering over the other woman with one arm extended down the length of the taller woman's torso.

Daphne moved carefully around her, in a way that didn't interrupt her, she noted, to push the rigging for the strap-on down far enough to kick it off the rest of the way. It hit tile somewhere, and made a loud squeak as it tumbled. Because it's so wet, her mind supplied, and this caused her to giggle into the kiss.

Daphne giggled right back, and again the mask seemed to slip. Gone was Daphne's calculated smirk, the composed mask of superiority and disinterest. The other woman was turned on. Because of me, Rome thought, and that was maybe her favorite thought of the night. She redoubled her efforts.

"Right here," Daphne whispered, in between one kiss and the next. Rome opened her eyes, and saw Daphne tapping gentle on one of her wide, pale nipples. The skin was rippled and hardened, bulging where, before, it had been nearly flat and indistinct against the pale skin around it. Rome turned her head and pursed her lips.

In one hand, Daphne had scooped and lifted her breast, and with the other she squeezed and pulled on her other nipple. This shift away from kissing Daphne did two things that amazed Rome. For one, it left Daphne's mouth free, and for another it put Rome's ear in the perfect spot to hear all the little sounds Daphne made.

The heavy breathing. The soft moaning. The cursing. The loud moaning.

Somewhere in there Daphne had worked her arm free from underneath Rome, no longer cupping her breast, and those fingertips ran freely across Rome's back. Into the dip at the small, just above her ass. Up to her shoulder blades. Into her hair.

Her tongue found a little divot, where she thought there might have been a piercing in the nipple at one point, and this thought drove her wild. Feverish. There were so many things she wanted to know, so many places to explore, and the sheer breadth of them set her mind on fire.

"Oh fuck," Daphne groaned. This, paired with a sharp arch of her back, had Rome going double time. Suddenly, Daphne grabbed hold of her wrist, the one that was enthusiastically toying with the other woman's clit, and clamped down so tight that Rome almost yelped in pain.

It didn't hurt, but the suddenness of it was so surprising.

When Daphne came, it was quiet and still. Her whole body went as rigid as a post, and Rome was able to get her eyes open in time to gaze upon what she had done. She kept her lips tight, the suction pulsing, on Daphne's nipple, but her eyes took in the way veins were popping all along Daphne's arms, and neck, and maybe even her forehead. Daphne was a squeezer.

Good to know, Rome thought, at roughly the same time that she realized her own orgasms were almost the complete opposite; her peaks were a release.

Despite what she knew of Daphne's physical gifts, all she could think about was going down on Daphne so that her head was between those thighs, both of which were covered in rose vine strand tattoos.

"Can you go again?" she asked, staring down at Daphne's quivering legs, though she did not wait for an answer before she started crawling over the other woman.

"Look at you," Daphne said, out of breath but chuckling.

Daphne wiggled around as Rome straddled her, and when Rome felt hands on her hips she settled into place.

***

Hours later, well after midnight, Rome reluctantly-but-happily slipped back into her clothes. Daphne was still up, still excited, and, somehow, still horny, but Rome had hit her limit. Too much new. She didn't explain, and Daphne didn't ask, but there were smiles as she put herself back together. Daphne put on a robe and followed her downstairs, back through the store, and to the front door.

The light stayed on above the front door until Rome's car started backing out of the spot, and then it went as dark as the rest of the night.

Mitzy did not appear to have noticed her extended absence, though, once Rome was back in her own bed, the cat did seem curious about the smell.

"I'll tell you all about it tomorrow," Rome said, sleepily, as she closed her eyes.

***

Rome slept through almost all of Saturday. She woke up for a little while, enough to refill Mitzy's water and food dishes, and then fed herself. She was ravenous upon waking, and after having just about the most guilt-free food binge of her life she went right back to sleep.

Sunday was a little more normal. She still slept late, and spent most of the day curled up on the couch watching TV to distract her mind, but it was good. Quiet, but good.

The quiet got pretty loud by the end of the day, though.

***

On Monday morning, Rome pulled into work with a knot in her stomach, and the knot got bigger and bigger with every step she took toward the building. She didn't often see Jim before their nine o'clock team meeting, but she had her head on a swivel. Peeking into any office she could, the ones where the frosted glass wasn't obscuring everything anyway.

There was no sign of him until the meeting, and when he did come in he looked bad. The smile was in place, but he looked tired. His shirt was a little more wrinkled than usual. There were bags under his eyes, and his stubble was a little stubble-ier. His enthusiasm was always performative, more showmanship than actual, honest excitement, but there was an extra layer of fakeness to it that made Rome weirdly proud.

Proud was definitely the right word, but it was a weird kind of pride; pride she strove to hide, which was almost antithetical to the first premise roots of the word. She sat back in the meeting, and didn't speak up any more than was absolutely necessary. This was not out of character for her, and by the time the meeting was over Rome was starting to feel a little more comfortable.

"I see that smile," came a voice from behind her, as Rome was making coffee in the break room just after the meeting. Rome looked back over her shoulder, and was confused by her coworker Nick's wide grin. "I saw it!" He was looking right at her.

"Saw what?" she said, shrinking in on herself. Others around her were looking around at each other.

"You," he said, enthusiastically. "Good for you!"

There was a high pitched sound, a tone, ringing in her ears. A frequency she was sure should have been beyond hearing. "Good for me... why? Exactly?"

"You're carrying yourself different," he said, adjusting his body to something resembling 'proper' posture: shoulders back, chin up, back straight. "You did it, right?"

Rome had no poker face. She had never been one to carry on a lie, and didn't know how. Her eyes went straight to Jim, who was nearby but, seemingly, only partially paying attention.

"You and that big titty goth girlfriend of yours."

At this, Jim looked up, looked at Nick, looked at Rome, and the two of them locked eyes.

"Good for you! I had no idea, but, you know, right on! Girl power!"

It had lasted only a few seconds, four at most, but it felt unending. Jim turned and left the room, and Rome's stomach dropped.

"No," she said, raising her voice a little to make sure the retreating Jim heard her, though she did her best to address herself toward Nick. "No, no. She's just a friend."

"Okay," Nick said, giving her a nod like they were sharing some kind of secret...

...except that he'd said it out loud, in front of her whole team. More. Bubbling underneath the outright panic of having maybe alerted Jim to what she'd been doing on Friday night, she was also aware that everyone was looking at her. Looking her up and down. Judging her gay credentials, she was sure. Reframing her shy nature into a new context. Was that disgust she saw play briefly across Darla's features?

"I didn't know you were gay," said someone.

"I'm not," she said, looking around, though she didn't know where to look because she couldn't tell who had said it. "I mean, I... I don't..."

She had never felt so singled out in all her life, and so she took her coffee and returned to her desk. It was hard to think about the long term ramifications of having been outed, wrongly, maybe, in front of so many people when, in the short term...

It was just noise in her head. Unprocessable. Unapproachable. She tried to focus on the code fragments in front of her, but her vision was, at times, blurry, swirling, or doubled. She pulled out her phone no less than eight times, to text Daphne, but never got farther than typing the letter H. The clock on her desktop said fifteen minutes had passed when she got up, abruptly, to go to the bathroom.

She got to the sink, fully intending to splash water on her face until she remembered that her eyeliner was not waterproof, and so she just planted her hands on the sink and stood there, breathing heavily. When she looked up, for just a split second, Daphne was behind her.

A trick of the eye, and not an unwelcome one. It did not scare her; the location was so fixed in her mind under a different context that she couldn't escape thinking about it even then.

But then her brain caught up to her. Hey wait a minute, she thought, this is my life! Why does that matter? I don't go poking into what Nick does on his own time. In the same breath, though, came the panic. The panic was much less cohesive, not strung together into sentences with structure, but it was there.

She felt naked. Everyone could see her. Even now, they probably all knew she was hiding in the bathroom. They knew she was freaking out.

"I'm still me," she said, out loud, to her reflection. "Nothing's changed. I'm the same person I've always been. Nothing's changed." She noticed her breathing getting faster and faster, and clamped down on the sink until her knuckles were white.

This is bullshit!

It was this fire, this rage, that made up her mind to text Daphne, consequences be damned. If she was going to get branded then she might as well do the thing they were all so concerned with. Complete fucking bullshit. Standing around, gawking at me as if my personal life is any of their fucking business. After a few seconds of calm breathing she went back out into the office area. More heads were turning, across the open office space. Peeking up over cubicle walls. She got back to her desk, fished her phone out of her purse, and was just going through the unlock process when she noticed that she had received an email while she was in the bathroom.