Work Text:
Miranda had been working at Burgers, Burgers, Burgers for 3 months, and by now she was settled and willfully numb to almost everything surrounding the job. Almost. The exception was currently leaning against the wall, scowl on her face and work cap low on her head. It's not anything negative, necessarily, it's just this feeling she can't shake off around Benson. She thought it would wear off with time, but nothing changed; everytime she saw her was like the first time, and it made Miranda tense up immediately. Her natural, ambient anxiety kicked up into another gear when she was around the older woman, like she carried the singular atom that would raze Miranda's entire life to the ground in her calloused hand. It led to her making stupid mistakes when she was on shift with Benson, stuttering and dropping things and messing orders up. It was never enough to be fully addressed, usually just chalked up to her being tired or something of the sort.
But today had been different. Today, while she was working beside Benson in the walk-in, the older woman had briefly brushed their arms together while pushing through inventory and Miranda had startled so bad she dropped an entire container of lettuce. As soon as the plastic bin clattered against the floor, Benson grit her teeth hard enough to audibly squeak.
"That's it-- Get out!" Benson growled, pointing at the door. The brim of her work cap cast a shadow over her eyes, making them appear eerily dim.
"I'm so sorry, I'll clean this up--" Miranda scrambled to find a broom but flinched at the sound of Benson's booming voice.
"Get the fuck out! I'll handle this shit, you just get out of my sight." It was a full shout now, and Miranda was immediately out the door, fighting back tears.
They didn't cross paths for the rest of the day but, regardless, throughout the remainder of her shift Miranda felt overwhelmed, vulnerable and raw like an exposed nerve. It shouldn't be a big deal. Her other coworkers have shouted at her before and, as much as it also sucked, she never felt like this after. Even just the thought of Benson so angry with her, disappointed, made Miranda nauseous. All she could do was wait for the moment she could clock out, go home and spend 40 minutes crying in her parked car in the driveway of her house.
Those plans were put to rest once she walked out into the parking lot and spotted Benson leaning against her Chrysler, still parked in its spot right beside Miranda's car. The sun was setting, bathing the entire area in a pink-orange glow. There was an inescapable tension in the air, growing worse with every footstep, being pulled taut. Benson was watching her, tracking her movements like an animal. Miranda awkwardly spoke up, "Bye, Benson."
Benson put an unlit cigarette between her lips, "Come here."
Miranda froze.
"That wasn't me asking. Fucking come here." Benson gestured with her entire arm.
Miranda, obediently, walked up to Benson and stood exactly where she pointed. They were far closer than Miranda would've expected, only about an arm's length away, close enough for the older woman's outstretched legs to cross with her's. Calmly, Benson brought her lighter up and cupped her hand around the flickering little flame and waited for it to ignite the end of her cig. While she took an unhurried drag and let the smoke trail out of her mouth, Miranda was restlessly shifting her weight from one foot to the other where she was still rooted to her spot.
The air settled around them in anticipation when Benson leaned in close, speaking slow, voice rough and deep, "Listen, I don't know what your problem with me is, and I don't give a shit, but you're gonna have to learn to keep it together. Because I'll tell you this, I know Hardy likes you a whole lot better than he likes me, and if I get fired 'cause of your bullshit, somethin' real bad is gonna happen to you."
Miranda's breath hitched at the warning but, before she could think better of it, her mouth was opening to speak, "I don't want you to be fired..."
"I wouldn't want that either, sweetheart." Benson responded easily, still a threat, as she tapped out the ash from her smoke.
"No, I mean it. I... like working with you." Miranda's body was stiff like it wanted to hold the words back, "Better than Chris and Jess, and Donnie. And even Carla."
Benson narrowed her big blue eyes, searching for something. They flickered from Miranda's face to her body a few times before the corner of Benson's lips pulled up into a smirk. Another drag, pregnant pause. She leaned in even closer, smiling in a way that flashed her teeth, "And what is it about me that you like so much?"
Miranda could smell the tar and tobacco, heavy through her sinuses and settling in her throat and behind her eyes. She hoped she could put the blame on that for how dizzy and warm she felt. "I... I don't know."
Benson smiled bigger. Her teeth looked sharp. "Well, I guess you'd better figure it out."
With that, she opened her car door and got in, and they didn't say anything else. Miranda just watched Benson's car disappear while she stood still. The shadows stretched out across the pavement under the setting sun, following the curve of the road. Everything felt like it was still and moving simultaneously, like a sweltering summer day with absolutely no wind, when you'd see the heat distortion. Miranda tried to sigh but it came out as a shaky exhale, something on the very edge of a sob.
All she could do to calm herself down enough to get in her car and go home was think Benson didn't look like she was angry at her anymore. The thought carried her through the ride home, all the way to her room. In her room, her thought began to morph, take the shape of the older woman more clearly. I guess you'd better figure it out. Her tone was teasing, like she knew something Miranda didn't. It was maddening. It made her body run hot with an embarrassment she'd never felt before. Tears were stinging at her eyes thinking about it. Even with everything, she still didn't think she was lying when she blurted out that Benson was her favourite coworker. The thought had never occurred to her before, but once it was out she knew it hadn't been an attempt at flattery-- and Benson sensed the same.
There was something painful in trying to figure out the why, and it was as if Benson was poking at a bruise. The Benson in her memories continued to dig around that sore, grinning wide and dangerous, and the Miranda in her memories just stood gaping, letting it happen. Eventually, they were no longer just slightly edited memories, they were entirely new scenes. They were Benson's bigger arms pinning her by the throat, their faces inches apart while the older woman was taunting her, 'Are you avoiding me, sweetheart?'. She could almost smell the smoke on Benson's breath. In real life-- lying on her bed with the lights turned off, still in her work uniform-- she nodded her head yes. Benson tilted her head, frowning, 'Why are you avoiding me, Bradley?', her elbow was pressed against Miranda's clavicle. She couldn't answer, even in her imagination. Without realising, Miranda had begun mouthing the word 'please', over and over again until she could see Benson respond. In her imagination, the older woman leaned in until her lips were brushing Miranda's ear, 'Don't try to hide it from me.' The forearm on her neck was pushing her further into the wall, blocking her airflow. Benson was laughing in her ear, the breath blowing across the sensitive skin of her neck, as Benson's other hand made contact with Miranda's abdomen, starting to trail lower and lower until--
With a violent shudder, Miranda opened her eyes. When she chanced a look down at her hands, she saw the familiar red crescents with stinging little pinpricks of blood decorating her palms. Frustration was bubbling up, scratching at her throat, trying to force itself out. She could feel the adrenaline from the day dwindling out and revealing the rot of exhaustion underneath, but her breathing was still coming out laboured and hurried like a cornered animal. Her inner-thighs were sticky with her own shameful, horrible arousal and there was nothing she could do to fight off the way her body reacted. This was what she'd been holding back all this time; this repulsive ache to be wanted and touched and consumed by the older woman, in a way that nobody else could. It was such a selfish desire, she felt sick on instinct. And now it was too late to forget. She cried and sobbed until fatigue took over and forced her into sleep, ignoring the way her body still thrummed with need.
The morning after, she woke up sore and miserable, grimacing at her alarm clock. Her next 2 shifts weren't with Benson, which means at least she got to go on autopilot at work and wouldn't have to address the problem. Even with her heightened workload when it was just Chris and Donnie (and, technically, Hardy) on with her, she preferred it over having to face Benson now. It was conflicting, though, because her eyes still scanned for Benson subconsciously whenever she started feeling tired or uncomfortable. She had to remind herself to feel relieved when she couldn't see the older woman's hunched figure anywhere.
To add to the already growing mess of frustration inside her, Miranda's car broke down coming home from work on Friday, and the repairs shop wasn't working on the weekend so she'd have to wait until Monday to get her car back. If she needed to cry before or after her night shift with Benson on Saturday, she'd have to do it on the bus. She was dreading it so much she considered calling in sick, but she knew if she did Hardy would get weird about it, and it's not like she could put the moment off forever. This was going to be like anything else in her life; she'd only make it worse if she reacted, so it was best if she just ignored it until it went dormant, or became just another bit of white noise in her psyche.
Miranda miraculously managed not to cry on the bus to work, instead using that time to reassess the small town cul-de-sacs she'd driven by a hundred times before. She supposed these neighbours had lawn decorations more personal to them than their lifestyles; the husbands would sooner notice a change in their American flag displays than in their wives. It wasn't often Miranda thought about getting married, but the idea of a potential future husband not taking any notice of her whatsoever was strangely comforting. Maybe it's easier to sleep at night when you've been hollowed out like a pumpkin.
When she hopped off the bus, the sun was low in the sky. The orange tint hit her like an echo of the conversation with Benson, like dejavu. It was more like a continuation, actually, as if it was picking up where they last left off. The pink sky was cast over the old tan paint of Benson's Chrysler, reflecting back as a sort of soft apricot colour. The parking spot next to it was empty, but Miranda could see Carla's car across the lot. She felt kind of embarrassed that the spot was visibly left free for her because she always assumed she was the only one who noticed.
Miranda walked into BBB, greeting Carla on the way in, and immediately understood that any illusion she had of behaving normally around Benson was dispelled. As soon as the older woman was in sight, she could feel her face heating up and stomach twisting up in knots. She barely managed a 'hey' without stammering. The thing that put the nail in the coffin, however, was the difference in how Benson was behaving; where she would've put distance between them before, she began doing the opposite. Normally, when Miranda struggled with her words around Benson, or seemed nervous and clumsy, Benson rolled her eyes and grunted some complaint before pushing past her. Today, she lingered on every moment, curious and humoured. By the time their shift was over, Miranda was sure she was falling apart. Part of her wished Carla would've just let her close instead, but she knew if she insisted she'd get an earful.
It was dark outside, save for the dim suburban light pollution turning everything a sickly yellow. She could see Benson's car still in its spot. Against her better judgement, Miranda found herself walking towards it, the crunch of the gravel sounding loud to her own ears. It was then that the older woman came into view, perched on the trunk of her car and face lit by the cherry of her cigarette. Her work cap was crumpled up beside her and her uniform shirt was untucked and unbuttoned, revealing some sort of band-tee underneath. Benson's eyes darted over to Miranda, raking over her body silently before she smiled.
"No car today?" Benson tilted her head toward the empty spot in emphasis.
Miranda fought against the tightness in her throat, "No, it's in for repairs."
"Right." Benson flicked the cigarette and stomped on it to put it out, grinding her boot-clad heel down. "Well, it's pretty dark out right now. It's dangerous to be roaming around alone, y'know."
"The bus stop isn't too far from here." Miranda could feel her breathing picking up, some ineffable tension from this conversation etching it's way into her bloodstream.
"I could give you a ride." Benson took slow strides towards Miranda, circling her like she was a prey animal, herding her to be closer to her car.
"Y-you don't have to--" Miranda felt her back hit the side of the car, and then there were two big arms bracketing her, resting on the roof.
"You've been so nervous today, Bradley." Benson chuckled, inching closer, "Seems like you've figured something out."
In what can only be described as the most impulsive decision of Miranda's adult life, she threw herself into Benson, crashing their mouths together. It was messy and uncoordinated, more like a kiss for the gesture than for the experience. She pulled away as quickly as she had leaned in, as though she'd been burned, "Sorry! I don't know--", her words were interrupted by a rough hand grabbing hold of her jaw.
The tight hold on Miranda's jaw tugged her closer. Benson growled through her teeth, "Shut up."
For a split second, frigid dread raced through Miranda's veins, and she tried to ignore the way the thrill sent mixed signals to her body. It all came crashing down when she felt Benson's lips against hers again, though. It's like Miranda's brain couldn't even catch up to the sensation, couldn't process what was happening. Despite that, she still closed her eyes into the kiss, arching up to meet Benson. The kiss was hungry and harsh, perfect in the way it demanded enough attention to make Miranda's world narrow down to the point of contact between their bodies. Without even realising, she had started moaning into the kiss, opening her mouth for Benson. The taste of smoke and salt pressed against her teeth with every swipe of Benson's tongue. It wasn't pleasant, but maybe that was part of what made it so arousing; it was the taste of the life everyone dreaded so much, pushed into her mouth like it belonged there, showing her what she was missing out on. Miranda hoped it would linger even after this was all over, that she could taste the roof of her mouth and be reminded that, for a brief moment, she lived.
Benson's hand that had been on her jaw travelled down to her neck, collarbone, across her ribs to her spine, down until it reached her outer thigh, thumb grazing the hem of Miranda's shapeless, ill-fitting skirt. Her palm was so warm against Miranda's skin, and surprisingly gentle, index finger tracing slow circles leading up under her skirt.
With a shudder and a barely suppressed whine, Miranda tore away from the kiss, still gasping for air, "B-Benson, I've never... I've never done anything like this..."
Benson tilted her head, smile dancing at her lips. It wasn't the same teasing smile from before, it was a kind little curve of her mouth, twitching and shaky like somehow the act of comforting someone was too vulnerable. Still, her blue eyes turned calm, "It's not too different from being with a guy."
"No, I mean I've never... with anyone..." Miranda felt the embarrassment start to creep back in, all the shame that was being held back by the feeling of lips moving against her own.
"You're a virgin?" Benson's eyes widened a fraction, flitting across Miranda's features.
Miranda's throat tightened too much to respond verbally, so she just nodded her head. She could feel her ears and cheeks burning up, and she had to break eye contact.
"Alright... I'm taking you home." Benson eased herself away from Miranda, putting space between their bodies.
Miranda's eyes widened like a deer in headlights, shiny with the beginning of tears, "N-no, please! I want to! I want it so bad, Benson, please. I want you so bad."
Benson let Miranda finish her pleading before breaking out that teasing smile again, "Oh, sweetness, I meant I'm taking you back to my place." She laughed seeing Miranda flustered, but her eyes showed such immense fondness when she talked, "I'm not taking your virginity in a fuckin' parking lot; I'm not an animal."
Miranda didn't know if she felt disappointed or flattered, but she knew the gesture was doing funny things to her. Her chest felt tight when Benson opened the passenger's side door for her, smiling bright. There was something easier about being a dirty little hook-up, taken against a beat-up Chrysler and disposed of after use. The shame would feel like an easier pill to swallow if things were just as bitter as they seemed, but the sweet stuck to her tongue. It made the anticipation thrumming in her more prominent, more turbulent. She turned her head to watch Benson driving, one hand on the steering wheel and the other running through the mess of mousy brown hair in her overgrown mullet, elbow resting against the car window.
Seemingly, the older woman noticed the eyes on her, looking to Miranda expectantly. In response, Miranda said the first thing that came to mind, "So, what's your first name?"
"What?" One of Benson's eyebrows arched up before she shook her head incredulously, "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Your... your first name? It's stupid." Miranda got more timid as she continued, "I just-- I thought you were just using your surname at work too."
"Too?" Benson furrowed her eyebrows, "Is Bradley not your name?"
"Uh, no. Well, it's my surname, so yes, but no." Miranda shrugged.
Benson glanced at her, impatient, before huffing out, "So what the hell is your name then?"
"Miranda."
"Miranda?" Benson tested it out.
"Yeah."
They were both silent for a moment, but it didn't quite feel like the conversation was done. Benson's urge to say something else was tangible. Her previous look of confusion had long since been replaced by obvious amusement.
Benson's eyes darted to Miranda again, "How do you feel about nicknames?"
Miranda frowned instinctively, "I... I don't really know. I've never really had one, I guess."
One, two, three seconds of quiet before Benson spoke again, "Well, Benson's a nickname. The full name is 'Benicia Anne Rose Brown'."
Miranda let out a giggle before she could help it. She'd be worried about offending her if she didn't see Benson grinning back.
"Doesn't really suit me, does it? People used to call me all sorts: Bonnie, Ben, Benny, Rosie-- that one didn't stick at all-- but it was after I shaved my head in 9th grade that kids started calling me Benson to try to fuck with me. I didn't give a shit, though. Ended up liking the name." She shot a glance to Miranda, who was looking right back at her. She ran her tongue across her teeth, hissing in a breath, "I don't think 'Miranda' suits you either, doll."
Miranda's eyes were fixed on Benson now, bright and expectant, like a puppy dog about to get told its name for the first time. She fidgeted with the fabric of her skirt, legs restlessly shifting, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths-- How the hell was she horny from this conversation?
One of Benson's hands moved over the console and settled on Miranda's exposed knee, grinning when she heard a minute gasp. "Randy?" She looked at Miranda, roving over her glassy, unfocused eyes and parted lips, "Answer me when I talk to you, angel."
Miranda blinked back into focus, curling her hands into fists, "Sorry. What was it?"
"Randy." Benson's grip on Miranda's knee tightened, "How do you like that?"
"I l-like it. A lot." Miranda nodded fervently. Randy: she rolled the name around in her mind, considering it. It was traditionally masculine, but that didn't feel bad at all; quite frankly, with Benson, it felt like that didn't have to matter at all. The feeling settled warm under her skin.
"Good. Just what I like to hear." Benson jostled Miranda's leg approvingly.
Finally, the car slowed down once they approached a stretch of houses, pulling in to park across the street. Benson got out and walked around to open the door for Randy. The faulty, flickering streetlights weren't bright enough to illuminate anything past the curb, leaving the houses shrouded in darkness. The atmosphere should've been enough to make Miranda want to turn back around, but it wasn't. Any hesitation melted away with the feeling of Benson's hand on the small of her back.
Benson lead them through the back door, fingers pinching the fabric of Randy's work shirt at the waist. As they passed through the house, room by room, Benson kept all the lights off. Every corner Miranda strained her eyes to look into was crowded with belongings, visibly withered with age and seemingly forgotten. The entire place smelled like cigarettes and wood lacquer. Benson opened one of the doors in the narrow corridor, pulling them both in and closing the door behind them. Before she could even think of saying anything, Randy was pressed up against the door with Benson's lips against her's. She scrambled to hold onto something, landing on Benson's biceps, barely being able to curl her hands around them. The taste of smoke on Benson's tongue was fainter now but the kiss was no gentler, teeth pulling at Randy's bottom lip and breathing coming out in pants.
They barely parted before Randy was already chasing Benson's mouth again, but Benson pulled away again shortly after, huffing out her words, "Lights on or off?"
"On, please."
Benson laughed another one of those dry, mocking laughs, "So well-mannered..."
Then the lights flicked on. Benson's room was much like the rest of the house; well and truly lived-in, with clothes on the floor and posters and old receipts and all sorts of random belongings strewn about. It made Miranda feel small. There was so much of Benson and so little of Miranda. Even if they were in Miranda's room, it would feel the same.
"Hey." Benson's face turned stern, "You're too in your head. Stop fuckin' thinking so much."
Randy looked back with her sweet, perpetually wet eyes. The longer she stared into Benson's intense blue eyes, the more her body relaxed. With every flicker of Benson's gaze down to Randy's lips, or neck, or further down her body, Randy felt her mind getting cloudy again.
"I can get you all the way out of your head, Randy," Benson whispered between them, one hand fidgeting with the top button of Randy's shirt, "if you tell me you want it."
She nodded.
Benson grimaced, but it was more like a dog's snarl, "Did you not hear me? I said 'tell me', Randy. Use your words."
"Please, Benson." Randy whimpered, "I want you."
Benson closed the gap between them, mouth to mouth to teeth to tongue, all fast and desperate. In one swift movement, she lifted Randy up into her arms and carried them over to her bed, drinking in Randy's muffled gasps. As soon as her back hit the bed, Randy's shirt was being unbuttoned and pushed open. It felt like her ribcage was about to be pulled apart to show her warm, wet heart still squirming between her lungs, where Benson could burrow in and devour it. The line between Randy's imagination and reality blurred as Benson lowered her head, lips to Randy's sternum, and she could almost see the blood on Benson's mouth, dripping down her chin and staining her teeth. Randy let out a breathy moan, eyes almost fluttering shut. Benson's hands stroked up the length of her sides, sliding to her back to undo the clasp of her bra. It was awkward, but Randy's shirt was shoved off her shoulders completely and thrown aside, and her bra followed suit immediately after. Benson pulled back to look, maybe even admire, and Randy felt her skin burning with embarrassment and want.
"Stop staring..." Randy muttered, fighting back the urge to cover herself.
"What? You don't like 'em?" Benson laughed a little, but did bring her gaze back up to Randy's flushed face.
"No," Randy worried her bottom lip between her teeth, "it's just... embarrassing."
Benson leaned down, nose bumping against Randy's earlobe, "I thought you wanted me to get you out of your head, Randy."
"I do." Randy abruptly swiveled her head to face Benson, defensiveness making her voice shake.
Their lips were nearly brushing. Benson couldn't stop glancing down at them but, still, she didn't close the gap. She felt Randy's breathing coming out faster, fanning across her own lips, as she trailed her hands from Randy's shoulders, tracing the hollow of her collarbone, down to feel the swell of her breast. Every freckle, every mole dotted on her chest and shoulders was a spot for Benson to press her fingers into and watch the way Randy's pupils dilated. Her thumbs circled Randy's nipples, blunt nail catching on the dusty pink peak of it. Her back arched so beautifully under Benson, like the perfect muse. It was enough to make the older woman crack her neck, needing to relieve the pressure building inside of her.
"Feeling better?" Benson whispered.
Randy nodded.
"That's a good girl."
For the first time since she'd been carried to the bed, Randy moved her hands from where they'd been incessantly twisting the sheets and held onto Benson's broad shoulders instead. Whatever was left of Randy's apprehension left her body with a whimper. All she could think, all she could want, all she could say, was "Wanna be your good girl."
Benson unzipped Randy's skirt and pulled it down and off. Her lips were pressed against the shell of Randy's ear, one hand slipping into her underwear, "You are my good girl, Randy."
She gasped when she felt Benson's fingers grazing her clit. The warmth of her breath travelled from Randy's ear down to her jaw, then to her neck, further down to her pronounced collarbone. Her sharp nails dug into Benson's shoulders in time to Benson's fingers stroking her clit, leaving the same dents she had on her palms. They'd have matching marks, hidden right underneath Benson's work shirt. The thought made Randy let out a quiet, quivering moan. They had barely done anything, yet it was already so intense for her. Without a doubt, none of the times Miranda tried to get herself off compared to this.
Benson kissed her, wet and soft on her collarbone, trailing down to her breast to meet her nipple. Randy's teeth clicked shut as her jaw clenched, a harsh sound amidst the humid gasps and rushed breathing that were occupying the room. Benson's eyes flicked up at the noise and she brought her free hand up to the sharp line of Randy's jaw, where the muscles were so tense they ached, and traced it with her thumb. Slow and careful, like she was dealing with a wild animal, she coaxed Randy's jaw open. As soon as her lips parted again, Benson started rubbing tight circles on her clit, fast and hard.
"Benson! God, please--" Randy cried.
"What is it, doll? You ready for more?" Benson half-laughed some breathy thing.
Randy nodded her head, twitchy and tense with neediness.
Benson didn't stop teasing Randy's clit even as she lowered herself to be level with her pussy. Her elbows were on either side of Randy's hips, one holding up her weight while her other arm was busy. Not wanting to sacrifice either hand to this function, Benson opted to pull Randy's panties down with her teeth. She got as far as her knees before Miranda kicked them the rest of the way off. Randy's pussy, now exposed before Benson's famished eyes, was perfect; dark blonde, trimmed bush surrounding a puffy, pink inner labia and a throbbing clit, everything wet and dripping and pleading, all for her, and when Benson pulled one of Randy's legs up to open up more room, her inner labia parted with a sticky sound and showed her fluttering hole.
Despite how tempting it was to dive right in with everything she's got, Benson started nice and slow, with a kiss to Randy's already blood-fat clit and then a kiss to her folds. Further up on the bed, she could hear a stuttered gasp and a high-pitched, choked little sound. Her tongue pressed flat against Randy's hole as she planted both of her hands on the soft meat of the thighs on either side of her head. The girl seemed to squirm at the feeling, hips pushing up off the mattress, but Benson pulled her back down with a firm grip. She curled her tongue into Randy's hole and savoured her arousal as it flowed freely. Benson shamelessly loved the experience of eating a girl out for all its primal, gritty, desperate glory. In her mouth, on her tongue, all degrading prose on how sugary sweet women should be pales in comparison to the sweat-salty, tangy, animalistic taste of her cunt when it's saturated with need. The feeling of Randy clawing at her shoulders only spurred her on. The tip of Benson's nose was nudging Randy's clit with every push of her tongue. Randy would've clamped her legs shut if it weren't for Benson's grip on her thighs, so rough it would surely leave bruises.
One of her hands left Benson's shoulder to cover her mouth. Even muffled, Randy's moans were loud as she shook with the force of her orgasm, "Oh God-- Mmmfh... Bensohm..."
Benson changed the rhythm of her tongue to work Randy through her climax, sticking to gentle, languid strokes. When she pulled away, her chin was completely covered in slick and she was breathing hard. Before Randy could even catch her breath, Benson was pushing two fingers into her twitching cunt.
"Ah! F-fuck," Randy whined, sucking a sharp breath in, "still s-sensitive..."
"Want to stop?" Benson cocked her head.
Randy nodded her head no, but just to make sure she took her one hand that was still on Benson's shoulder and moved it to hold Benson's wrist, tentatively pushing it to action.
"Fucking greedy." Benson scoffed. Her fingers pushed past the second knuckle, curling and caressing the tight heat of Randy's pussy. It was a squeeze to push any further, and she could hear Randy half-gasped whimpers when she went too far, but she kept stretching her slowly. She used her thumb to play with Randy's clit while her hymen was being worn down, helping her loosen a little bit. "How about you show your tits some attention, baby?"
"O-Okay... What do you want me to do?" Randy shyly brought both hands up to her chest, just hovering.
"Just have fun." Benson winked.
Randy traced her nipples with feather-light touches, shy at first, before getting a little bolder and pinching it lightly between her index and middle finger. At one particular twist, she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and furrowed her eyebrows deep. As Randy started getting bolder with her touches, Benson thrust her fingers in deeper. Her manicured hands groped at her breasts until she was bucking her hips into Benson's touch. Before Randy came a second time, Benson took her fingers out and pulled away.
"Why did you stop?" She asked, petulance at the edge of her voice.
"To fetch my cock." Benson gestured to a shoebox under the bedside table. She opened the shoebox, still on the floor, and pulled a leather harness and a silicone cock that matched her own skintone out of it.
Randy's eyes widened a fraction, "Oh..."
"Somethin' wrong?" Benson glanced at her between putting the strap on over her boxers.
"No." Randy shook her head, "It's... uhm... realistic."
"You think so?" Benson laughed through her nose, grabbing her cock by the base and shaking it.
Randy's eyes were resolutely focused on Benson's cock, breathing getting faster the longer she stared. Benson crawled closer, grabbing one of Randy's hands and placing it on the silicone toy, encouraging her to close her fist around it. Her breathing stuttered as she moved her hand around it, dry friction pulling at the skin of her palm. Benson grunted something approvingly before squirting some lube on her palm and replacing Randy's hand on the dildo. She kissed Randy's mouth, briefly, then dropped down to her neck.
"You still nice and wet for me?" Benson asked into the crook of her neck, two fingers going back to Randy's pussy. She sucked at the skin of Randy's neck and stressed it between her teeth, leaving a rapidly darkening bruise.
"B-Benson! People might notice..." Randy whined.
"You sure you want me to stop? Cause I can feel you getting wet when you say that, Randy." Benson's fingers thrust in faster, "I think you want everyone to see how bad you've been."
Randy's hands scrambled to hold Benson's shoulders, but Benson shook them off and grabbed hold of both of her thin wrists in one hand. She held Randy's wrists above her head on the bed, pushing her weight down on them. She was on the verge of bringing Randy to climax again, but pulled her fingers out just in time. Tears spilled from Randy's eyes as she was denied again, a full whimper escaping her mouth.
"Aww..." Benson cooed with mock sympathy, "Do you want to cum?"
"Yes," Randy begged, "please, Benson."
"I'll make you cum, baby, don't worry." Benson kissed her cheek before lining up her cock to Randy's hole. As soon as she began pushing in, Randy was whining again, "Shhhh... it won't hurt for long. Just relax for me."
Benson pushed halfway in and then paused, waiting for Randy's breathing to even out. The way she was still holding her wrists above her head made her chest look so open and vulnerable. The shaking of her breasts as she sucked in another shuddering breath made Benson's neck tense. She gave her a shallow thrust as impatience settled in her spine. Randy squirmed under her, hips pushing toward Benson's cock. Benson gritted her teeth as she repeated the motion, grip tightening on Randy's wrists. Shiny green-blue eyes blinking up at her, wet mouth gasping, pink flush spotting her cheeks, blond bangs sticking to her forehead. Another thrust, deeper this time. Breathy moan, something that sounded like her name. Even deeper, almost flush to Randy's hips. Back arching under her, enough to touch her bare chest to Benson's still clothed torso. Her hand that wasn't on Randy's wrists was holding her waist, thumb sinking into the soft skin. Her thrusting got faster, harder, jostling Randy under her. Her tits were bouncing in time to Benson's thrusts. She threw her head back in a way that exposed the column of her throat, that emphasised the sharp line of her collarbone. Benson wanted to bite, licked her teeth, but didn't. Harder, until Randy was keening, pleading, sobbing. Slower when Randy was shaking under her, eyes squeezed shut, cuming a second time.
"Good girl." Benson breathed out, finally back in her own body, "That's my good girl, Randy."
Miranda was still panting, but managed to moan weakly at that.
Benson was still buried to the hilt in Randy's cunt. It was like she wasn't ready to move on. Somehow, this wasn't over yet. She planted a kiss on Randy's lips, slow and sensual, intimate like a real couple, "You want another one, doll?"
Randy responded with a strange noise, but it didn't sound like a protest. Benson held her down as she ground her cock into Randy's pussy. She let out a shaky moan, but still didn't protest. Benson pulled back until only the head was inside, then slowly pushed back in. The sound it made was filthy, a sinfully loud squelch as she fucked her past two orgasms worth of wetness. She focused her movements on the roll of her hips rather than the in-and-out motion. They kissed again, Randy seeking Benson's mouth even past being out of breath. Tongue to tongue, slowly moving inside one another's mouths, lips meet even as they are barely aligned, just feeling each other. Randy's tits pressed against Benson's, nipples rubbing on the worn out fabric of Benson's muscle tee. She let go of Randy's waist to play with her clit, feeling the way the silicone cock pushed it up. Heavy breathing into her mouth, moaning, whining, swallowed up by Benson's hungry mouth. God. God. Is that what she was trying to say? Benson parted from the kiss.
"Ben--" Randy gasped, tongue almost lolling out of her mouth, "Oh-- Benson--"
"Can't believe nobody's ever seen you like this." Benson was talking before she could help it, "Only I've had you like this. Fuck, Randy."
"Yours..." Randy's eyes were glassy, full of nothing but bliss.
"Mine." Benson groaned, grinding her cock in deeper. She eased herself out, only to push herself back in again. Her thumb drew circles on Randy's clit under its hood. If she took deep breaths, she could almost feel the way Randy's tight cunt felt around her. The wetness from Randy's pussy was soaking through Benson's boxers. It was a little nauseating. Blood rushing to her ears so fast she could barely hear herself think. Frustrated, Benson cracked her neck. She wasn't a kid anymore. Here and now, she thought. Be here and now, focus only on here and now.
"So close-- Please, please," Randy was squirming under her, "more, one more."
Benson was back home again. She thrust in, deep and slow, a couple more times before Randy was tensing up again. Benson spoke, running out of breath herself, "Deep breaths. Relax. C'mon, Randy. Deep breaths."
Randy furrowed her eyebrows as she concentrated on her breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Her clit was throbbing in time with her breaths. She could almost feel everywhere her blood flowed to. Benson was looking down at her with hooded eyes, so intense, still thrusting into her, still thumbing at her clit, still squeezing her wrists. Her toes curled as she felt every inch of her body come alive with her climax. It ran up to her hairline and down to her feet, everything going lax and heavy. Her eyes struggled to stay open.
When Benson finally pulled out completely, slick ran down and pooled in the bedsheets. A string of fluid still connected the silicone to Randy's red cunt. "Almost makes me want to eat you out again."
Randy shook her head no, whining, "Can't... can't do anymore. Too much."
"I know, I know." Benson smiled, "You handled that well, Randy."
Randy was a mess, hair more dishevelled than Benson had ever seen it be, sheen of sweat covering her body, sticky proof of tonight's ventures coating her thighs down to the knee, reddish purple bruise on her neck, on her thighs, on her waist, on her wrists, cunt still spasming with oversensitivity, even more slick flowing out with every clench. Benson felt uneasy looking at her like this.
Benson unbuckled then stepped out of her harness, throwing her pants back on, "Are you staying the night or do you want me to drive you home?"
Randy lifted herself up on shaky arms, "Shit. I forgot to call my mom when my shift ended... she's gonna be so mad."
"What? You need mommy's permission to go home?" Benson scoffed.
"No, it's... Whatever." Randy crossed her arms over her exposed chest, embarrassed, "She just... worries about me."
"Whatever." Benson echoed, "So, what's it gonna be?"
"What time is it?"
Benson glanced at the alarm clock on her bedside table, "Ten. Fifteen minutes past ten."
"Shit. How have I been here for two hours?" Randy ran a hand across her face, "It's too late to call her now. I should go home."
"Is she gonna be waiting for you with the lights turned off like in the movies?" Benson joked.
"She's out of town this week. She's chaperoning an out of state trip for my sister's dance team." Miranda frowned, "I wouldn't be doing the night shift with no car if she were here."
"Seems healthy." Benson mocked.
Randy retrieved whatever portion of her clothes she could see strewn across the room, "It's complicated."
"Whatever." Benson rolled her eyes, "Just hurry up and get dressed."
Randy looked over to Benson and, for a moment, she looked wounded. Naked, exhausted, on Benson's bed looking at her like she still needed to be protected. Benson felt her throat tighten, dry and scratchy. Anger pricked under her skin. She cracked her neck, took a deep breath, clenched her jaw. Randy was still struggling to find all her clothes, so Benson just sighed and reached in her own closet, throwing the first thing she grabbed to Randy.
She held the jeans and Motörhead shirt with both hands, looking it over, "Thanks..."
Benson softened a little, "Are you sure you wanna go home right now?"
"There's morning chores I need to take care of," Randy fidgeted with the clothes, "but thank you."
"Alright." Benson felt a sting, like she wanted Randy to stay.
"Was this..." Randy kept her eyes fixed on the clothes in her lap, "Was this a one time thing?"
"Up to you." Benson's face was stern, serious, "You say the word and I never put my hands on you again."
Randy looked up at Benson, but didn't say anything. She put on Benson's clothes in silence, then stumbled out of bed. They looked massive on her in a way that made it obvious she was wearing someone else's clothes. If anyone saw her, it would be as clear as day that she just got fucked.
Benson fished for Randy's actual clothes and carried the pile under her arm as she walked Randy out, back to her car.
Once they were inside the car, Randy spoke up, "I really liked that."
Benson lifted one eyebrow in question.
"I had a really good time tonight so thank you." Randy looked shy, "Maybe... we could do this again."