I can come pick you up, if you want.
You send a perfunctory text back, a terse “Good morning” followed by an inquiry as to the time. Your phone buzzes before you can even put it back, a short message back replying, After 2. I’ll call you when I’m free.
At least she can use proper grammar in her texts sometimes.
Placing your phone back on your bedside table now that you’ve received your answer, you close your eyes in an attempt to follow Madison back to sleep, but rest eludes you. It’s a comfortable rest, certainly, but as you lay here encircled by Madison’s warm body, you find your mind wandering, just a little.
It’s been a long time since you’ve slept together with anyone. You slept with Madison last month, obviously, but the time before that… god, it would have been years ago. When you were eleven, at one of Emma’s sleepovers. Not long after Mom had been diagnosed. Before you’d really realized what it was you were feeling when you cuddled up to Emma under the covers.
You’d forgotten how comforting it can be to have someone else here with you.
That’s a dangerous topic for your mind to be going down, though. You cut yourself off before you can go down that path, bringing yourself back to the present.
Idly, you wonder how long Madison had stayed awake after you fell asleep. The girl has a lot of stamina— even after her fifth consecutive orgasm last night, she’d still been willing and waiting for more, at least until she’d noticed the way you were gingerly rolling your wrist around.
That’s something nobody ever mentions in all the stuff you’d read about sex. Yes, you’d quite thoroughly enjoyed your activities last night, and by the way Madison is still limply splayed across you she’d enjoyed them every bit as much as you had, but god, your wrist is sore. You’d had to bend it to effectively slide your fingers inside her, and the constant movement as you’d slid your fingers in and out of her had quickly made your whole hand ache.
As it turns out, sex involves a lot of very physical activity. It makes sense when you think about it, but you’ve never actually thought about it before. Until now, you’d always just acknowledge it in an abstract manner and shoved it to the back of your head.
There is some aspirin in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, so you’re not too concerned—hopefully, taking a couple of pills should ease the worst of the ache, allowing it to heal in its own time. You’ll just have to be careful over the next couple of days.
Still, you think ruefully, it taught you a valuable lesson; you might have read up on the topic a lot, and by Madison’s enthusiastic response you’re pretty sure that not everything you learned went to waste, but you still have a lot to learn on the topic of sex. For some reason, people just don’t talk about the realities of sex very much.
Maybe Mom could have taught you, if she were still alive, but she’s not. And you don’t really have anyone else you can go to to ask about this kind of stuff. You could ask Dad, but, no. Ew. The same goes for Madison’s father, and Emma’s. Just, no asking guys about sex, really. Maybe you could ask Emma’s mother, but that’s kind of weird. And you’re pretty sure Madison’s mother would rather slap you than help you have safer and less painful sex with her daughter.
… And with that, you’ve effectively eliminated pretty much every adult in your life.
Maybe you could ask Amy’s mom. The corners of your lips turn up at the thought.
You’ll have to do some more research. Or maybe you could find somebody who knows more about sex than you, but—where would you even start looking, and how would you get them to agree to tell you? You could always use your power, of course, but that feels a little… frivolous, when you probably could just find a book at the library on the topic.
Well, you do probably have to meet Victoria in the library later, unless she wants to meet somewhere completely new. If she does, you’ll just have to go afterwards.
Your thoughts drift aimlessly around for a while, bouncing from pointless topic to pointless topic. It’s mostly just a way for you to kill some time, and it seems to be effective at that, because the next time Madison stirs in your arms and you look over at the alarm clock, it’s already half past eight.
A few moments later, she lifts her head up, giving you a sleepy and slightly confused look. “Taylor?” she asks, blinking sleepily. She glances down, taking a long look at your nude chest as her cheeks flare red, then looks up with a wide-eyed expression. You can’t help but smile widely at her cutely confused look, and the way she can’t avoid looking down again, giving you a lingering look.
“Good morning,” you murmur softly. She doesn’t resist as you pull her up slightly, just in range for you to give her a quick kiss on each of her cheeks. “Did you sleep well?”
She nods, curling up against you despite the need to shift her body to do so. “I did,” she replies, stifling a yawn against you. “Your bed is really comfortable.” She snickers at some unseen joke, still slightly loopy in her freshly awoken state.
Well, she slept more on you than on your bed, but okay. “I’m glad.” You give her another quick kiss, this time on her forehead, and another one on her lips, before leaning up slightly. She takes the cue, sitting up and letting her hair fall messily down across her shoulders. You stay there for a moment, running your hands over her hips. She lets out a little contented hum.
Eventually, though, the moment is broken when you feel a slight pang in your stomach. Ah— there’s the hunger.
You rub your hands over her hip one last time, leaning down to press a kiss against her shoulder, before sliding your way around her and off your bed. “I’m going to go have a shower,” you inform her. You’re not entirely sure she’s listening; her eyes are roaming hungrily over your form. Ah— yes. You’re still naked. You’d better put a shirt on before you walk outside. “Madison.” Her eyes snap immediately up to you face. “Put some clothes on and make us some breakfast for when I get out, okay?”
“O-Okay.” She hesitates for a moment. “U-um— d-did you still want me to wear some of your clothes?”
“Of course.” You give her a warm smile, crouching down slightly so you can give the smiling girl another kiss. “Wear whatever you’d like, as long as it’s a skirt.” She pouts at your teasing grin, but nods in acquiescence. You feel your smile becoming a bit softer at that.
After a moment, as you begin to make your way to your dresser, she calls out, “What do you want?”
Shrugging, you reply, “Just make me whatever you think I’ll enjoy.” You make sure to grab yourself a set of clothes—and quickly slip yourself into your shirt and skirt before you leave your room, just in case—before you make your way to the bathroom. Once in there, you take them off again, laying them neatly atop the laundry basket where they won’t get wet when you climb out of the shower, and turn the water on as you begin brushing your teeth.
The warm spray of water feel really good on the slight aches in your body. You imagine that it’ll feel even better for Madison, when she finishes making breakfast for the two of you and gets in the shower herself. You tried your best, but it’s difficult to completely avoid bruising people when you have to hold onto them while they spasm—and it’s always so tempting to give her a little bruise on her neck.
It’s not like she doesn’t enjoy those little bruises, anyway. On more than one occasion, you’ve even seen her press on them a little, as though to remind herself that they’re still there.
Once you’ve thoroughly washed yourself, taking special if regretful care to make sure your hands are clean of any remaining stickiness, you step out and begin drying yourself before reclothing.
Your hair is still a little damp as you set out down the hallway, as usual. You really like your hair, but it does come with its downsides, and one of those downsides is that it’s a pain in the ass to try and dry it reasonably quickly. It’s a good thing you’re not in the habit of trying to wear white shirts regularly, because if you were, you’d probably have to take a hair dryer to it every morning to make sure you don’t accidentally give everyone looking at you a show.
… Not that they’d get much of a show, but you’d still prefer not to show anyone your body like that anyway.
The smell of toast permeates the air as you head out to the kitchen. When you arrive, you lean against the doorway, a soft smile spreading across your face at the sight that greets you.
Madison is wearing some of your clothing—the clothing you were wearing when you were thirteen. She fits some of it better—her hips are wider than yours, filling out one of your old skirts better than you ever did, and your knee-length socks look much nicer over her rounded thighs than yours ever did. On the other hand, you can almost see her breasts stretching out the shirt she’s wearing. You suspect she’s actually wearing two shirts, because if she was only wearing one, you’re pretty sure you’d be able to see her nipples from here.
She looks up from where she’s standing at the counter, waiting in front of the toaster. You can see four slices of toast arranged on a large plate beside her, with three mugs stacked beside it. You blink at that, until you peer your head around a little more and spot Dad sitting calmly at the table, today’s newspaper spread around in front of him.
The floor must creak beneath you or something, because Dad turns his head to look at you as you look at him, giving you a friendly nod and a smile. “Good morning, Taylor,” he greets you. “Did you sleep well?”
You nod, giving him a small smile in return. “I slept fine, thanks. Are you making Dad some breakfast too, Madison?”
Standing behind the table, Madison nods, tapping on the toaster with the knife in her hand. “Mhm,” she says. “I was going to make some scrambled eggs on toast, but you don’t have any eggs, so we’re just having toast and jam. Is that okay?”
“That’s fine.” You turn your smile towards her, causing her to flush, but you don’t miss the sneaky thumbs-up Dad tries to give Madison. He drops it as soon as he sees you looking, which is a bit weird. You dismiss it almost immediately; he’s probably just thanking her for the coffee she’s making. “Do we have any jams you like?”
She holds up a small jar you’d missed on the bench—it’s hiding behind the toaster, where you can’t see it from your current position. “I like strawberry jam,” she says happily. You nod. It makes sense. Of course she’d like the sweetest jam you have; like attracts like, after all. “Um, is there any jam you would prefer in particular?”
For some reason, Dad shakes his head and gives her a disappointed look. She doesn’t notice, her expression focused solely on you.
“I feel like raspberry jam today,” you say, just loudly enough for her to hear you. Actually, you’d prefer apricot jam. You’re not sure why you’re telling her to use raspberry jam, but whatever. She pokes her tongue out at Dad, who waves his hand in a conciliatory gesture before leaning back in his chair.
It’s hard to squash the urge to go and cuddle her as she potters around your kitchen, trying her best to butter the toast popping out of the toaster while also pouring the three of you some coffee. She looks so cute in your kitchen, stumbling around in a shirt two sizes too large for her and attempting to lick the jam off the knife when she thinks you’re not looking at her. If Dad wasn’t sitting right there, you probably would have just done it already.
As it is, you just move over to the table and wait for Madison to bring the food out, ignoring Dad’s disapproving look as you do so. Once she’s handed it all out, she takes her seat beside you, allowing you to squeeze her knee gratefully.
It’s surprisingly frustrating to not be able to just touch Madison whenever you want to. You have to restrain yourself a little while you’re at school, of course, but with Sophia around you’re not too concerned about just touching her. You’re not going to start tongue-wrestling with her in the middle of English or anything, but with Sophia around, nobody seems to consider it to be worth the effort of antagonizing her just to berate you for touching Madison at school.
It’s supremely irritating to not be able to just even so much as hug her while Dad is around, is all. Like now, when she’s wearing your clothes and making you a delicious breakfast and smiling around your Dad. That kind of thing deserves at least a hug, and more properly deserves some kisses.
But if you wanted to do that, you’d have to explain your relationship with Madison to Dad, and— well, um, no.
It’s hard to think of things you want to do less than sitting Dad down and telling him that you’re in a relationship with a submissive girl who enjoys it when you boss her around and make her do stuff for you.
You shake your head, trying to dismiss the sour thoughts. You shouldn’t be concentrating on frustrating things like those when you have a delicious breakfast waiting in front of you.
Raspberry jam is a strange jam. Or, at least, the raspberry jam Dad buys is. Jam from the supermarkets is kind of expensive, so Dad usually buys it from farmer’s markets when it’s available. The raspberry jam he always buys is made weirdly— they barely add any sugar, and they add lemon into it, too. It’s not nearly as sweet as most of the other raspberry jams you’ve tried are. You kind of prefer it this way, though.
You’re a bit jealous of Madison for getting the strawberry jam, but oh well. You should have just asked her for the apricot jam instead. She did get your coffee right, which is kind of impressive for your first try—most people put a single teaspoon of sugar in it the first time they make it for you. Then again, she has probably tasted your morning coffee often enough by now to be pretty sure that you enjoy a lot of sugar in yours.
