This story is part of Tagg After Dark, a sapphic erotica collection exclusively for readers 18+.
Just jumping in? This is part 2 of a 4 part story. Go back and read part 1 before you continue!
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CW: blood, a dead animal, a gun
As promised, it doesn’t take too long. I’ve started to lose focus, daydreaming about her hands and my thighs and a hunting knife, but a flicker in the corner of my eye brings me back. We both watch the rabbit, frolicking unwittingly at the edge of the clearing. There’s a funny urge inside me to cry out, to startle it away, but I swallow it down. Adrenaline is coursing through me, making my body thrum, and I hold my breath until I hear the muffled bang.
I feel it more than hear it, really, in the way her whole body hitches with the force of the shot. I exhale, air rushing back into my lungs and making my head spin. She sits up with a triumphant shout, and I follow suit quickly, ripping my headset off. The faint chirps of birds and insects are suddenly too loud, ringing in my ears.
“Did you get it?” I ask, breathless again.
“Go find out,” she says, confident and grinning. I raise myself onto shaky legs and wade through the tall grass until a splash of color makes me stop short. Red blood and pink guts, clashing luridly with the pale end-of-summer grass and the rabbit’s brown fur. Acrid gunpowder and hot copper fill my nostrils. It makes me dizzy, and it doesn’t help when I feel her hands snaking around my waist.
I let myself be led, docile, to the nearest tree, against which she pushes me up. Her gun-warm hand finds my leg. I let her trail it up and up and up, under the waistband of my panties. She laughs when she feels how wet I am, and the hot lick of shame makes me ache with want.
“You’re fucked up,” she says, but I can tell she’s pleased with it because she doesn’t tease like usual. Two fingers right away. No foreplay. No mercy. I throw my head back and let my hair tangle in the leaves. Her sweet little hands are smaller than mine, but somehow I can never fill myself up the way she does. She curls her fingers inside me, the way they did around the trigger, and my body jerks in the cage of her embrace.
“Shhh,” she whispers into my neck with a warning bite. I try to swallow my pitchy whimpers, but it’s just too good, too much. Her tongue is tracing wetly along the shell of my ear and my shoulder blades are getting scratched up by the tree bark and oh, fuck, she’s pushing in another finger, and she grunts in satisfaction when she manages to force it in, and how can I possibly keep quiet? The more I try to stifle my sounds, the more urgent and pathetic they come out, little lamb bleats.
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Curious to see where these two will take their desire?
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