While Thinking of Angelina Jolie

Perhaps she'd have Maleficent punish Emma. The little idiot holding herself open as Maleficent thrust her staff inside. Regina had once thought she wouldn't touch Emma with a six-foot pole. Perhaps there'd been some wisdom to that. The thought of Emma, desperate for more intimate contact but having to settle for only the most perfunctory of encounters, was delightful. Stimulating.

Regina let go of the vibrator. Not time for that yet. She wanted it like Emma did it. That insouciant waiting, that little look, the smirking 'not yet, your Majesty' that could get her off harder than her tongue—oh, Regina had forgotten her tongue...

She stroked the lush softness of her belly. Long, slender fingers, well-trained for a woman's sex. Her own. Emma's. Maleficent's. Oh, wouldn't that be fun, watching Maleficent's carefully composed face shatter as she gave her finger after finger after finger.

The temptation to touch her clit then and there was overwhelming; she could feel that orgasm closer than ever. But not yet. It had to be more intense, even sweeter than it was already. That was an important lesson Emma had taught her. However hard it was to wait, suffering the whips and lashes of that damn tongue, it was always, always worth it.

Enough of the vibrator. She wanted to be touched. She opened her legs, dropping it moistly to the bed and letting it buzz away there, adding to the atmosphere of wicked delight she had cultivated. Now she put both her hands between her legs, over her sex, pressing with her palms, feeling just how intensely her cunt was throbbing. She wondered if would ever be able to satisfy such intense need...

She and Maleficent wouldn't be finished. Oh no, not by a long shot. Eating pussy was a mutual obligation, a shared delight, and having seen how much Maleficent enjoying eating her out, Regina's appetite would be quite whetted. But she wouldn't be satisfied with just making Maleficent come. Oh no. As she set her mouth on that succulent little cunt like it was a throne, she would stay there a while, tasting, exploring, going harder and harder. Feeling the clench of Maleficent's pussy. Again and again. Until she'd screamed herself hoarse. So pleasured it had to take form. Liquid form. She would make Maleficent gush.

Regina stroked one finger between the lowest point of her sex and her anus, the tender expanse of flesh where Emma dearly loved tingling her tongue. Two fingers, the pads of them caressing up and down her labia, top to bottom. Regina groaned again, surprised by how good it felt. She wanted to lick her fingers clean, taste a woman's pleasure even if it was her own, but she didn't dare stop. It was happening too good, too fast, and she just needed to let it, she just needed to be consumed.

Regina whimpered, writhing on the bed, dancing feverishly with her tightly clasped hands. Her head tossed from side to side, her hair a lattice of frizzy curls across her face. All her muscles tensed. She touched herself just above her clit. Then stroked two sets of two fingers to either side of it. God, it was screaming to be touched. She wouldn't let herself. This wanting was too good to stop.

Fuck, I'm even a bitch to myself, she thought with a bashful smile. Dragged the tip of her finger within a hair of her clit, didn't touch, saved that pleasure for the very last.

"Mmmmm," she moaned aloud, running her fingers inside her pussy, along the glossy wetness within her. Everything so slick and ready. Like it was hungry for her fingers, her touch, her Emma.

Between the wet lips. Two fingers. She pushed them in gently, spreading herself a little, opening herself up just enough. She could feel the waves of pressure from within; everything was tightening, resonating. Her clit blared out pleasure. She knew its loveliness extended throughout her core. She thought she could feel it, ever so gently, from the inside.

"Yes," she whispered to herself. "Oh yes."

She wouldn't be teaching Maleficent this one. It was all for her.

She would fuck the bitch, though. She'd neglected to bend her over something, and that was fun. Something about it seemed so urgent, so impatient. Even if they were on a bed, it could've been a desk, a table, anywhere. The pleasure was that eager and that immediate.

"Say what you want," Regina would pant as she pumped into her.

Maleficent would push herself back against Regina's strokes. Wanting more. More than even Regina could give. "Ride my pussy, fuck my pussy!" she'd exclaim. "That's what I want! I want you!"

And Regina would give her what she wanted. A bigger strap-on, this time. One with studs.

She squirmed about on the bed, pushing her finger deeper and deeper inside herself. God, it went so far—she was so wet, the ache of desire a physical thing, a heaviness she could feel all through her womanhood. She wanted to touch it all, to feel where she'd never felt before. Her breath came in wild gasps. Her breasts heaved on her chest, smoldering with the fire she'd started. She would come soon, whether or not she touched her clit. She could feel the edge, feel the start of it, the breathlessness. She wanted to stay there forever. The majesty of it—this pleasure was all hers. No one else had done this for her. She was in control, and that gave her permission to lose control.

Fingertips delved over her mound, brushing aside the sparse curls of her pubic hair. She touched her clit lightly, the most gentle of caresses. A lightning bolt shot through her. She clenched her teeth together tightly. Touched it again. It was almost unbearable—the feelings she got from describing one circle upon her clit. She felt her cunt contract hard, like a blow, the pitch as her ecstasy began, the gulping completion of it. She felt it in her clit, a sudden overwhelming satiation, and it burned and danced and blew inside her like a hurricane on fire. It was a wet feeling. She felt wet, so wet, she felt it inside and out—God, she was squirting...

It spread all the way to her fingertips, to her toes. Her mind numbed under the weight of it. She lost all sense of time and place, preferring the knowledge of just how contentedly pleasured she was. She wasn't sure if it had ended or if it was still going, the satisfaction was so complete. But she was Regina. She wanted more.

Arching her back sharply, Regina lifted her hips, pressing her trembling clit hard against her frozen fingers. A jagged explosion of pleasure burst inside her. All of that lovely feeling that had spread through her now turned burning hot, just for a flash. She sizzled, the room spinning around her, her hands invertebrate on her clit. Stroking, rolling, pressing, only because she couldn't stop.

"Soooo good," Regina moaned to herself, almost laughing. Who needed Emma? The one person in their relationship absolutely necessary for great sex was Mayor Regina Mills.

It was then that she heard faint applause. Emma clapped rather well for a woman with one arm immobile.

"Anyone ever tell you you're a light sleeper?" Regina asked.

"Anyone ever tell you that you come louder than you snore?"

"I do not snore!"

But Regina's anger couldn't catch the necessary spark. She was too relieved by... recent events to really care much about anything. Her breathing gradually returned to normal, her heartbeat slowing, that intensity in her flesh becoming a warm, contented afterglow. She felt a shiver of cold as the sweat cooled on her naked body.

"You mind?" Emma asked. "You did promise me dinner, after all..."

Mouth slightly agape, Regina moved her—quite moist—fingers to Emma's face. Was somewhat startled by how Emma breathed in their scent. Even more startled by how she popped them into her mouth, sucking her lips clear of them with a hearty moan.

Regina was also somewhat aroused. Somewhat very aroused.

"Shame you had to get yourself benched," Regina told her. "Because now you've got me picturing all the things I was going to show you once you were wined and dined."

"Oh? You weren't 'picturing' them already? Because it tastes like you were..."

"Yes, I was picturing a lot of things. You weren't among them."

"Angelina Jolie, right?"

Regina's eyebrows quirked in surprise. "Good guess!"

"What kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn't know what my girlfriend flicked it to?" With what range of motion she had, Emma wiggled closer to Regina. "You know, I have Tomb Raider on the DVR," she said, as seductively as anyone had ever announced plans to watch Tomb Raider. "One and two."

"Of course you do."

"You don't have to watch it," Emma said. "You just have to let me watch you."

Regina bit her lip. That suddenly seemed like an even more attractive proposition than recent events happening under Emma's nose. And some very attractive things had just happened under Emma's nose.

"You'll owe me one, though," Regina said.

"After all the times I've let you watch me jillin' it in the shower?"

"First off: That's what you were doing? I thought it was interpretive dance. And secondly, you'll owe me for watching Tomb Raider."

"That's fair," Emma conceded. "Say, who do you think I jack it to?"

"Me."

"Well you've got a healthy ego."

"Maybe a slightly less attractive version of me. Me with a less flattering haircut." Regina nodded to herself. "Yes, otherwise you'd be way too intimidated to enjoy yourself."

"I take back the bit about it being healthy."

"Maybe two mes if you're feeling frisky."

"You're making me want to hear the dialogue of Tomb Raider instead of you, how is that possible?"