Tailpipe 11 (Patreon)

Angie saw the luscious acceptance that shot through Peggy, willing to allow even the cruelest fucking so long as it kept her at this level of pleasure. That was enough to turn Angie into a regular satyr.

She stared at that magnificent profile of Peggy’s, something better suited to a marble statue of a Greek goddess than a bitch in heat like Peggy was now. She looked like some underground artwork, the classical elegance blended provocatively with the complexion flushed a deep red and the hair strewn about her face wildly.

And yet, it really wasn’t obscene at all to see Peggy Carter unashamedly shake her head from side to side, her teeth bared, her tits jiggling. The animal in her was at its zenith, as beautiful as the seraphim that was equally in evidence.

Peggy wasn’t some snooty bitch who’d look down her nose at Angie. She got down and dirty right alongside her, enjoying this nastiness even when she was so damn noble that sometimes Angie didn’t feel fit to polish her shoes. God, she loved her.

And Peggy was hers! Right now, the woman who never surrendered to anything was a slave submitting to Angie Martinelli’s will!

Angie reached down and pulled aside either of Peggy’s soft, pliant buttocks, holding them wide apart for her to drive the strap-on in with hard, ramming pumps. Her tender groin slapped against Peggy’s quaking flesh as she hilted the dildo in Peggy, making her take so much that the thrust only stopped when their bodies crashed together.

“Take it!” Angie cried. “Take this dick like I know you’ve been dreaming of! Don’t even pretend you haven’t been wishing and hoping I’d fuck you like this since the last time I fucked you like this!”

“OOOHHHH YES… YES!” Peggy hissed as she was sodomized. “Fuck me harder! I can take mooooore!”

Her lascivious response was too much for Angie. As though she actually had white-hot seed to give Peggy—and she so wished she did, she wished she could mark her territory and stuff Peggy so full that she’d be dripping it out for days afterward—Angie thrust her hips forward and claimed all the space her dildo could take up inside of Peggy’s defenseless rectum, throwing her head back, crying out “I’M COMING!” as her pussy beat a racing tattoo against the base of her strap-on.

Her body jerked convulsively, jaw hanging down, eyes glazing over while she clawed at Peggy’s fat ass with harsh fingers, pulling Peggy’s feverishly hot hole even tighter to her groin as if to receive the fullest dose imaginable of her climax.

It worked, in a way. Feeling Angie’s body drawn so closely to her own touched off Peggy’s orgasm; an orgasm she would have angrily insisted could never have happened just a few minutes ago, when she thought she could’ve kept up the ruse no matter what Angie threw at her. It was her own treacherous body that had let her down. Or rather, made sure she got her due.

Peggy screamed her way up to a spiraling pinnacle, maddening and relieving, numb to any feeling but the profuse flow of her ejaculation, which seemed to run rampant through her volcanic body. She shivered, feeling as though she’d been fucked in the cunt from how it was so full of lively fluid, running out onto her thighs and showing with each liquid touch just how tenderly her body was pulsing.

Angie brought herself out of Peggy’s well-fucked anus and fell over with a deep, satiated sigh. Peggy was no better able to support herself. Her every muscle ached with exhaustion. She collapsed onto her belly next to Angie, her tingling body obscenely spread-eagle, her buttocks still splayed wide around the crater Angie had made of her once-tiny anus.

Having nearly a foot of dildo between her groin and the bed proved problematic for Angie. She rolled onto her side, then forced herself to sidle over to Peggy, wrapping an arm underneath her defeated body and putting her other hand on top of Peggy’s ass. Fuck, it felt good. And it looked like Angie could’ve ran a finger—maybe even two—inside of Peggy’s recovering sphincter without touching the sides.

“And… scene,” Angie panted. She shut her eyes for a long moment, dispelling her gangster personality, then opened them again. “That was really good, English. I thought you really nailed the character.”

“Something got nailed,” Peggy muttered back, sounding tired, but otherwise crisp and cool as if she weren’t lying there with her ass so open, you’d think someone had used a crowbar. “Is that it, then? Woman gets bummed against her will by a gangster and she likes it? Terribly unenlightened, don’t you think?”

“Check your script,” Angie told her. “She’s supposed to hate it. You ad-libbed.”

“There was subtext,” Peggy argued. “I seem to remember quite a few lines about how she’s getting shagged rotten and taking it up the ass and she won’t be able to sit right for months… honestly, do you think a woman goes on that much about something she doesn’t like?”

“Oh, don’t come at me with the Cambridge literature analysis,” Angie pleaded. “I went to Catholic school; we learned about the saints.”

“You learned quite a bit more than that. Crikey o’riley, Ang, how’d you ever get that much up there? I’ve had physicals and I swear, the doctor has barely been able to get a thermometer into me!”

“I doubt that’ll be a problem anymore,” Angie quipped. “Where’s the thermometer, you want to get that taken care of now?”

“If you took my temperature now, you’d think I was about to spontaneously combust!” Peggy cried.

“You want me to get some ice?” Angie asked, so pleased with her teasing that she had to lean over and kiss Peggy’s shoulder. “I think you might be able to fit a block back there if I can find one of those pincher things to carry it…”

“You’ve put enough in there for one day!” Peggy trilled.

Angie lowered her voice to a husky register. “Have I?”

Peggy turned her head, looking at Angie with a glint of somewhat outraged excitement in her otherwise collected gaze. She was incensed that Angie wanted more from her; even more affronted that she wanted to give in.

“I could be called into service at any moment… fun’s fun, but I can’t… I have to maintain some form of, of regularity…”

Angie picked herself up enough to lie against the headboard, her strap-on swaying up in the air. She put her hands smugly behind her head. “Well, if you could be called away at any moment, don’t you think you should clean off this doohickey? I know you’d hate to leave anything less than neat and tidy…”

Peggy’s lip twitched. She eyed the dildo that had just been up her ass like a smoker would look at a cigarette as they tried to quit. “Ang… I’m tired,” she said, absolutely petulant—for Peggy, that is. To anyone but Angie, she would’ve sounded exceedingly polite.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to get out of bed.” Angie collared the base of the strap-on with her right hand and reached her left out to palm Peggy’s skull—as soon as the Englishwoman was in position. “Just use your mouth, Peg.”

Peggy stared like she was in the middle of a hypnotist’s act. “You’ll just put it in my arse again.”

“If you’re very good,” Angie nodded. “You’re not being very good right now.”

Peggy gritted her teeth together in a scowl, but her irritation wasn’t with Angie. Not entirely. It was with herself.

She was giving in like days of torture couldn’t make her do. “I am always good,” she insisted, crawling about until she was in the proper position, with Angie’s left hand on top of her head to guide her down…

“You’re the best,” Angie agreed, and helped Peggy clean off every last inch of the dildo.