And I am not Maggie

This story is inspired by a pane from a batgirl comic that came out a few years back.

You’ll find it on this page

https://supersubtitled.wordpress.com/tag/maggie-sawyer/

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Slumber slowly but surely takes me. Cradled by the noise of the cold winter wind seeping through the branches of the old oak on the other side my bedroom window, I drift away into a well-deserved sleep. Downstairs, Maggie empties the dishwasher in the kitchen.

A bit of guilt lingers around my fleeting conscious mind. I should be helping her. But I had to go to work early and then I had the worst day ever.

“Go to sleep, I’ll tidy up. You need to rest,” she told me after dinner.

The face, that the bathroom mirror returned me, ruled in favor of Maggie’s instructions. I looked like a wreck. That is what a double shift at work will do to you.

Ah Maggie, my sweet lover, she takes so good care of me. We only have been going out for a couple of months but we have already settled in this delicious routine that long time lovers enjoy. She treats me so well and she is so hot, so eager to please me, be pleased by me.

Images fill my foggy mind. Our first date, the small restaurant on the beach front, her crystal-clear laughter at my lousy jokes, the long walk on the empty beach with the grey cold waves licking the dark sand. Our first kiss, her warm tongue inside my mouth, so passionate and natural.

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I open an eye, no way of knowing what time it is, how long I have slept.

What brought me back to consciousness? A loud noise, a scream downstairs, or was it in my dream? Pleasant dream… Maggie and I back on the beach, kissing, her fingers inside me, so pleasant dream…

I drift back.

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Maggie is in our room, I can hear her, feel her. I love this woman, I love having her by my side at night, every night. I shrug and stir before giving her my back in order to continue my well-deserved rest.

She sits on the bed. The silk sheets rustle against her skin. A hand gently lays on my shoulder. She is cold, she must have taken the garbage out. I shiver.

“Come on Maggie…” I say in a hoarse and sleepy voice, “not tonight, I’m too tired”.

But I do not move away, I do not give her the subtle shrug to break contact, the shrug that would tell her that I am not available tonight. I can already feel my desire growing. The dampness spreads between my legs. I long for her lips on my shoulder, like she does every time.

But they do not come. Instead, the hand trails down my arm, slipping between my skin and the sheets, molding the curves of my hips, sliding along the crack between the top of my thigh and the birth of my mons, aiming at the warm and moist crevasse.

Inch by inch, taking more time than she should, the freezing fingers progress through my bush, towards my intimacy.

“Oh Maggie… noooo,” I moan.

But she does not even bother responding letting her hand relentlessly progressing towards my increasingly impatient labia. Time seems to suspend; I wait but the release refuses to come. I start panting in anticipation.

“Hush,” she says as her finger eventually slides inside me.

That voice… I do not recognize that voice. It is harsher, it sounds different, more mature. It has to be the cold from outside… cold as her finger now slowly hooking inside of me, pressuring that specific spot that, she knows, makes me crazy. Consequently, that pleasure, she so sadistically teased, suddenly jumps to new heights.

“Oh fuck! Maggie you’re so good at this…”

And the long-awaited mouth finally falls on my own. It is cold as well, so cold… how can it be so cold? But how could I care less as the pleasure continues to rise while our lips brush together.

And those lips… I do not recognize those lips.

And that tongue, I do not recognize its shape, its ballet against mine, its taste… but lingering below the weird coppery flavor, I find residual hints of Maggie’s pussy, but it is her mouth I taste not her beautiful intimacy. How could it be?

“Oooooooh!” I moan as she slides a second finger washing away the troubling thoughts from my mind.

My pussy is now creaming around her fingers, coating them with thick and warm secretions, absolute expression of my ecstasy.

Her tongue, her lips start sliding slowly along my neck. She knows I love to have my neck kissed, and she kisses it. She knows I love to have my neck nibbled, and she nibbles it. She knows I love to have my neck bitten and she bites it…

Hard.

Harder than usual, twin pricks… painful.

Too hard. Very painful.

I feel my skin break.

Something warm starts pouring along my neckline. I hurt and she sucks. My heart beats harder pumping blood towards my neck, she sucks harder, gulping the warmth that pours out of me. And her fingers, now three, slide violently into me.

It goes on and on and on.

And I come.

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Later, I am resting, strengthless, in her arms and she lets go off me.

“You people taste so good when you’re excited…” she says in that voice I still do not recognize, “… and I’m not Maggie.”

And the creature leans back in to finish what she started, and I come… again.