Niggles In Paris 3 (Patreon)

After Regina had pinked them to her bedroom, Emma took one last look at her dress.

“You know, if I’d known you were going to see me naked in an hour anyway, I would’ve asked that my dress be less sheer.”

“If you were more diligent at learning magic, you could’ve given yourself a pink unicorn onesie.”

“Oh, that you would’ve ripped right off me.”

“’Rip’,” Regina repeated with a shake of her head. “Must you be so dramatic?”

“If I’m going to date you? Yes. Absolutely.”

Emma looked around the master bedroom. It was chic in its simplicity. Hardwood floors, mahogany cabinets built into the walls, and an antique rosewood bed that somehow didn’t look out of place in all the modern minimalism. More like it was the centerpiece, and nothing from the gray rugs to the gray curtains could detract from the decadent enjoyment of the reason for this room’s existence.

(Emma did some of her best thinking when she was horny.)

It was funny. She’d spent so much thinking and wondering and anticipation on Regina herself—understandably so—that she’d never really thought about where the tryst would take place. The master bedroom was a veneer of reality to this fantasy come to life. It was so Regina that it made Regina more Regina than Regina.

(Emma also did some of her worst thinking when she was horny.)

Somehow, that reminded Emma that as stunning as her dream come true was, Regina was still Regina. She wasn’t all delectable proportions and alluring aesthetic. She’d been hurt, hurt in ways that Emma had been damned lucky to avoid, and much as Emma hated to think of that at a time like this, she didn’t want to cause Regina any suffering.

“Reg, you sure you want to do this?” Emma asked. “I know how I look in this dress and all, but if you want to take things slow—“

“I want to get what I want,” Regina interrupted her, that dark tone in her voice which was as much deadly as it was sultry. But it’d been a long time since Emma’s mind went to ‘deadly’ on first hearing it. “But if you’d like to give dinner another shot…”

“Lunch,” Emma corrected her. “We’re back in Storybrooke.”

“I’m usually rightfully concerned about your diet, Ms. Swan, but today, I think you can skip lunch.”

As used as Emma was to her fantasy of Regina, she was even more used to how Regina did magic: the firm, decisive, even wrathful gestures she favored to command pure mystical energy. But now, Regina moved her hand with a languid insouciance, childish mischief in her eyes as she unspooled the pink smoke that swirled around Emma and, yes, undressed her totally.

Emma knew it was coming. As the cloud enveloped her, she puckishly covered her groin with a hand and her breasts with an arm, so she came out of the dispelling mist showing little more than she had before. As eager as she was for this, she didn’t want Regina to think she was easy or anything.

Regina walked up to her—long, luscious strides that roiled with intent, flexing all the supple muscles of her lean body. But as good as she looked in motion, with that sultry walk carrying her up to Emma, the blonde’s gaze fixed on her eyes. Regina looked at Emma with a private little joy, an anticipation. Like she’d been waiting all day to go for a ride and Emma was the horse.

Within arm’s reach of Emma, Regina didn’t embrace her or even kiss her. She ran a finger over the toned muscle of Emma’s left arm, hiding her breasts from view, but didn’t try to move it. Her gaze was on Emma’s eyes, drinking them in as greedily as Emma was hers.

Emma wondered what she saw there, what she was looking for. Emma’s nerves? Her eagerness? Or did it even matter as long as she saw that Emma wanted this as much as she did, that she was feeling its proximity as much, that this was as important to her as she hoped it was to Regina…

Regina reached up and plucked one of the chopsticks from Emma’s bun. She dropped it clattering to the floor. “As I said, there are things that can be done with magic, but it’s much more fun to take your time with them.”

“Are you really congratulating yourself on your restraint after you stripped me naked?”

“’Stripped’,” Regina chided. “Such an ugly word. I could show you what it’s like to be stripped naked sometime. It’s very different from what I’m doing.”

“And what’s that?” Emma asked with a shudder she tried to hide. That stripped naked thing sounded appealing enough for her to want her clothes back on, just Regina could claw them off her.

“Enjoying myself,” Regina purred, taking the other chopstick out. She ran its tip along Emma’s face before tossing it aside. Another clatter. The noise seemed jarringly loud to Emma, but then, so did the sound of her breath and the pumping of her heart.

Almost like she was bored, Regina disdainfully plucked out and discarded a few bobby pins, then favored Emma with a grin as she ran her fingers through golden hair, sending waves of it tumbling down Emma’s bare back. Regina actually moaned a little as she petted Emma’s unbound hair, and that sound made Emma’s lower lip drop, her breaths pulling in far more air than her lungs could hold. Regina giggled to herself and ran a pointed fingernail across Emma’s drooping lip.

“Are you enjoying yourself too?” she asked with an amount of innocence that somehow circled back around and became devilishly sinful.

“If I enjoy myself anymore,” Emma said, “that bed is going to go to waste and you’re going to have to get a stain out of your carpet.”

“Rug,” Regina corrected her.

“Wait, even if that were possible, you can’t tell me you have more than a landing strip…”

“What?”

“What?”

“Why do I even try to make conversation at a time like this?” Regina asked herself, and gave Emma a shove that carried her off her feet, onto the bed, and onto her back.

Emma quickly propped herself up on her outstretched hands. “You have five seconds to get on this bed with me—no clothes allowed—or I’m coming to get you.”

“Charming sentiment,” Regina said, lifting a leg up onto the foot of the bed—Emma probably shouldn’t have been reminded of Captain Morgan, but at least she knew better than to bring up pirates at a time like this. “But you’re not being fucked like a peasant now, Ms. Swan. You’re getting fucked by a queen.”

Big deal, who do you think took me to junior prom? Emma thought but did not say. Sooner or later, she knew what of these cranial misfires would leak out into conversation—hopefully, the relationship would’ve progressed to gags by then.

Another trifling gesture—cajoling and strangely erotic—and pink mist rolled out of Regina’s sweeping hands. It dropped onto the bed, seeming just light enough not to dimple the covers, and then poured over Emma’s naked body… she suddenly realized that she had revealed herself to Regina when she sat up. Regina had been so focused on whatever this erotic act was that she hadn’t even seemed to notice.

Emma expected the pink cloud to translate her into some kinky outfit, maybe even chain her to the bedposts. Emma was down for that, but not the talk she’d have to have with Regina about how in 21st-century America, it was considered polite to set a safe word first. But the pink smoke didn’t go away. It lingered on Emma’s body and slowly she came to the realization that it was touching her. Making her feel things. Regina was using magic on her the same way Emma would use a vibrator on herself.

Emma’s head drifted back. Only no vibrator was like this. Nothing was like this. There was no feeling of penetration, not even the slightest hint of being entered or even really touched. Her pussy was just wet all of a sudden. And warm. It was as if the very folds of her sex were growing warm, her nipples becoming stiff and tender, with no actual cause. Just pure pleasure. She couldn’t separate her response to the stimulation from the sensation itself. It was all her body, throbbing, tingling, taking whatever this was Regina had done to her. Like a dry sponge placed in water, soaking it up, she was imbibing the pleasure that the pink cloud offered. It centered on her erogenous zones—under her arms, under and between her breasts, the space halfway between her anus and her slit—but she felt it everything. All of her skin coursing with this erotic energy. All of her body humming and swooning and feeling this phantom touch.

Only it wasn’t Regina’s touch.

Emma’s closed eyes snapped open. She looked at Regina’s face and saw it set in concentration, but not passion, not desire, not even love. Emma pushed against the cocooning feeling and like the smoke it was, the cloud gave way. Sluggishly retreating from her body like a swampy muck being flicked off her motioning arms and legs.

“Regina, stop it, okay? I don’t want that.”

Regina was taken aback, owlishly blinking as the focus gave way to recrimination on her face. “What’s wrong? That spell was cast perfectly, I could’ve sworn to it…”

Emma sat on the end of the bed, still tingling a little with pleasure. Suddenly deprived of that mystic revelry, the slow simmering orgasm that Regina would’ve brought her to in only a few more minutes, she half-wanted to ask Regina to bring the cloud back. If this were a quickie, a meaningless fling, she would’ve. But she hated the thought of their first night together being just Regina… servicing her. More self-sacrifice. More forbearance. More duty and obligation. Emma was sick of it. It didn’t belong in a time like this, their time.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. It was fine. Just… sit down with me, would ya?” Emma patted the bed next to her. “You’re going to give me a complex, standing over me like that.”

Regina obligingly sat down on the bed with her. “It’s just a spell, Emma. It doesn’t do any harm, there are no side effects—“

“I’m sure it’s perfect, Regina. But you think I don’t know what you’re doing? Why you want our first time together to be some… spell you cast?”

Regina pouted, eyes averted, her lips a little symphony of anguish at Emma being disappointed in her. “I just wanted it to be perfect. Like you deserve.”

“I know you did. But I think you also wanted it to be something where you were in control. Where you didn’t have to be intimate with me. And that’s okay, I understand that, but it’s not what I want.”

Regina bounded up from the bed, stalking away from it with her dress sweeping behind her in a way that finally made Emma think of her. The Regina that’d been queen. “So you don’t want me, is that it? You don’t want what I can give you. You don’t want my magic or my baggage or—“

“I didn’t say any of that,” Emma protested, taking off after her. She caught up to Regina and, without thinking, wrapped her arms around the woman’s waist, holding them together. It felt like she was holding back a train at full steam, but Regina held herself still for her. “I’m saying that I want you, Reg. Not some… perfect cloud of magic that gives me thirteen orgasms or a fantasy or some idealized you you think you have to be to lead a happy life. Just you. Only you. All of you.”

Regina was silent for a long moment. She stared at the door she’d been stomping towards and Emma had to imagine her expression was unreadable, even if she weren’t turned away from Emma. But then she lowered her hands to where Emma’s were joined on her belly, taking hold on them as if to be sure they were snug and tight.

“You really think a spell of mine could only give you thirteen orgasms?” Regina asked.

Cracking a relieved grin, Emma pulled Regina’s ruby necklace to the left and kissed the skin that had been exposed. Then tugged it to the right and did the same thing on the other side of her neck.

“I want a night where you end up sweating and shuddering and screaming as much as I do. No playing it safe. You get in the pool with me and get as wet as I am.”

Regina lifted an eyebrow. “Your experience with swimming pools must be vastly different than mine.”

“It’s a metaphor, you goddamn Lit major, how do you not know this?”

“Lit major? Emma, I’m in government, I do useful things.”

By now, Emma was dragging Regina back to the bed. “Well, which is it?”

“You know, it is so easy to be critical of politicians…”

“Fun too,” Emma quipped as she slammed Regina’s body onto the mattress.

Fond as she was of Regina’s heels, she took a sordid amount of satisfaction in working the straps off of them and tossing them haphazardly over her shoulder.

Pink smoke billowed for a moment between Regina’s fingers, but didn’t go anywhere. “I take it you’re enjoying yourself?” she asked, breath heavy.

Emma stooped to kiss the arch of Regina’s freed foot. “Immensely, Madame Mayor.”

“Because I could have this dress off in a moment.”

“No magic,” Emma said firmly. “Well…”

Regina grinned, smug as hell, the brat. “It was a well-cast spell, wasn’t it?”

“I want a strap-on,” Emma told her. “And I want it as big as you think you can take.” Then she gave Regina the kind of grin she’d worn to back down bail jumpers twice her size. “Then make it a little bigger.”

Regina gulped. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” Emma nodded, parting Regina’s legs. “That’s the thing about mayors, after all.”

With a petite, cute as fuck shudder, Regina did the pink smoke thing. “What is?”

Emma felt the harness settling about her hips. “They serve under princesses.”