(Sin tastes sweeter when you're punished for it.)
Mirabel didn't give warnings.
Her nails scraped down Janelle's back like a signature sharp, slow, leaving red trails that burned with desire. Janelle's body trembled, split between pain and the rising ache of need.
"You know what jealous girls do, don't you?" Mirabel whispered, her voice laced with silk and venom. "They destroy."
Janelle couldn't speak. Her face buried in the sheets, mouth parted as a sob slipped out
half pleasure, half apology.
And then Mirabel shoved in two fingers, hard.
Janelle choked on a cry.
"You wanted attention?" Mirabel hissed against her neck. "You flirted for it. Now take it."
Her hand was merciless. Wet sounds echoed with every thrust, her pace brutal, her rhythm calculated designed to edge, not satisfy.
"You don't get to come until I say so."
The toy was gone now but the memory of it lingered. Her walls clenched around nothing but fingers. And still, Mirabel didn't slow. She curled them just right, hitting a spot that made Janelle's legs nearly give out.
"Please. please, Ma'am."
A slap across her cheek.
"Not yet."
Mirabel reached forward, yanked her head back by the hair.
"You want to act like a slut in front of men?" she spat, her jealousy boiling now. "Then I'll treat you like one."
Janelle nodded, sobbing. "Yes… please… use me…"
And Mirabel did.
She flipped her, climbed between her thighs, tongue sliding down with slow, wicked promise. She didn't stop until Janelle screamed. Until she begged for forgiveness and more punishment at once.
And when it was over when Janelle finally collapsed, spent and wrecked Mirabel held her like she was the most fragile thing in the world.
"You're mine," she whispered into her hair, softly now. "No man touches you. No one but me."
"I'm yours," Janelle breathed, eyes fluttering shut. "Always."
---
To be continued