Valeria Garza, Kate Laswell, Nikto, Simon "Ghost" Riley

Valeria was a strong woman. She was the kind of person someone would see holding a gun even in her sleep–if someone were to get that close. The only person who had gotten that close was {User}. And {User} was a special case.

She had known {User} during {{poss}} adventure of becoming a double agent. She knew not to trust {{obj}}, but it was so deceiving–Valeria knew the risks. If {User} could deceive and lie to another company, what was stopping {{obj}} from doing the same to her?

Well, maybe it went both ways. {User} seemed to trust Valeria as well–there was more than one instance where Valeria could remember {User} pulling her aside to talk about a situation that would hold {{poss}} attention for a few more weeks at the other company. It was great to know about beforehand, but it still left her nervous. {User} was a double agent, and yet she wanted {{obj}} all to herself.

She couldn’t have {{obj}} professionally.

But she could have {{obj}} sexually.

Valeria had before, at least. Stressed? Put {{poss}} fingers to use. Nervous? Mouth. She wouldn’t raise a gun towards a fire if she knew {User} would hold the extinguisher.

Today, Valeria wanted to change it up. She’d been in a fine mood, but had been a bit on edge. The days blended together like a sunset, but it felt as cruel as an impending volcano about to explode. She just wanted something to soothe her nerves.

“¡Ey (Hey)! ¡{User}, conmigo (with me)!”

Hushed voices murmured “Ooooo’s” as Valeria sauntered off, but she didn’t have to look back to hear {User}’s footsteps following behind. Half the time, people believed {User} was in trouble. She would let them; it was better than someone finding out she was fraternizing with a subordinate who was deemed untrustworthy.

Valeria’s hand held the door open to the back conference room. The instant {User} stepped foot in the room, her hip pushed the door closed as her hand reached for the lock. {User} was already ushering the blinds closed, which gave Valeria time to take her pants off. Her belt came first, then the uniform, and then her panties. She wasn’t wet—not yet. That was why {User} was there.

It was a usual command for Valeria to put {User} in a chair, but when she noticed {{obj}} start to sit down, she whistled and pointed towards the floor.

“Knees today. Each noise I hear is another ten minutes locked in here.”

It was a threat that could never be perceived as one. {User} was too eager to get {{poss}} tongue in her pussy, too eager to wait for her to sit. Valeria had her ass halfway on the table before she nudged {User}’s face with her foot.

A frown etched itself on her lips, but she wasn’t unhappy. Valeria was just fine with how eager {User} was. She spread her legs open enough to let {{obj}} struggle to nudge {{poss}} head between her thighs. But the instant Valeria felt the tongue, her guard faltered and she moved her legs apart fully.

{User} was good. {{sub}} went at the perfect angle and parted her folds so nicely with {{poss}} tongue. Her clit was always nudged with {{poss}} nose, occasionally given a deep lick to keep her focus. But never once had {User} done a bad job.

A sigh escaped her. She heard the laps from {{poss}} tongue and the newfound wet squelch with each lick, but neither bothered her. Neither could.

“Ve un poco más profundo (Go a bit deeper),” Valeria breathed. She loved the feeling of {User}’s tongue on her clit, but she hated the feeling of her own wetness dripping down her legs. She wanted–needed–{User} to keep her clean.

If someone had told Laswell she would eventually divorce her wife, she may have just shot their foot. Not actually, but she sure as hell would be upset. Sure, her wife disagreed with her smoking habits and got upset about the constant leaving, but what did she expect? She knew what she was getting into. She should not have left Laswell because of those circumstances.

But it still happened. Laswell’s divorce was finalized a few months ago, and she had been lonely as ever during those grueling days. The others had helped–Soap was nice to be around because he kept everyone busy, and Gaz engaged in enough conversation to keep her mind off the divorce. All of them could tell it hurt, but none of them said anything. Silence was better than apologizing for something you were not to blame for.

{User} was the most attentive. She would be the one to drive her to the courts and stay with her at home. She was the one who set aside clothes for Laswell when she didn’t want to get up. Not as a caretaker, but a friend. One that Laswell grew to care for very well.

The first time it happened was a shock. Laswell had ushered {User} into her room, closing the blinds and locking the door–as if anyone would enter–and showed her some of the beautiful lingerie she had. Instead, she was not the one to try it on–she made {User} do that instead. And the sight? Oh, it made her weak. It didn’t even feel sexual; {User} was just pretty in a way that made something supposedly sexual seem care-free and easy-going.

It made Laswell weak enough for her to lie on the bed. It made her hot enough to strip herself of her pants. It made her ‘wet’ enough to need to take her clothes off to dry them off. It was not Laswell’s fault {User} decided to suck her clit.

After that, it kind of became a constant thing. Either were stressed? Pants off. Bad day with missions? Pants off. Shitty drivers? Shit, why not take the shirt off this time? Either way, it worked. Laswell was spent, happy, and utterly in love–and for the first time since the divorce, it felt like a cure to that grueling grief in her chest.

Laswell felt tongue-tied with sensation, even though it wasn’t her who was using her tongue. {User} was settled beautifully between her legs, arms wrapped around her hips. Laswell had her hand on her head, stroking her hair with each thrust of her tongue. It felt fucking fantastic. In no world would she ever trade this for the past.

With any more stimulation, Laswell was sure her clit would twitch. Instead, her hips kept bucking up slightly. She fucking loved how beautifully {User} waited, mouth latched on her instead of just her lips.

“Mommy’s getting so close,” she would coo, her hand touching {User} a little gentler. “You’re being such a good girl. So beautiful, sitting there all nice. Do you like it?”

It was a miracle Nikto survived Zakhaev’s torture. The rape, the torment, the abuse–everything stayed. Scars lathered his body as a permanent reminder, and his head was still shattered into pieces he knew would never be brought back together. The idea of ever trusting someone again was something he never wanted.

Mostly because of the sexual torture. Nikto remembered how they cut open his skin, getting far too close to his genitalia. No. They saved that for last, and by then, he wished they had cut him instead. They did, eventually–simple things became a struggle. Nikto couldn’t walk straight for eight months, and showering became a newfound torture he could never quite explain.

So why was he there? Why was he letting it happen so easily, as if nothing from the past happened?

Nikto had his cunt exposed and open. He was mostly ignoring {User}–purely out of embarrassment–as {{poss}} tongue practically cuddled his clit. It was good. Better than actually being eaten out, but hey. Was this what cockwarming felt like?

The silence stretched. Nikto stared at {User}, but disregarded any attempt at drawing out a noise or word. He wasn’t sure if it was possible, but his clit felt hard–swollen. Swollen because of {{obj}}.

His hands didn’t touch {{obj}}. He kept them at his sides, occasionally grinding up against {User}’s lips to test the sensation. Each time, his clit got a new suck. Worst of all, {User} made sure to go slow. As if {User} was fucking teasing him. That was new–nobody had the balls to do that. Nikto, usually, got too on edge with jokes. It made his skin crawl in a way he couldn’t put into words. But here? It felt like heaven. He wanted to be a joke.

“Break?”

The word cut through the air, but {User} didn’t jump. A glance at Nikto told him he at least had {{poss}} attention.

“Do you need a break?”

Nikto waited. {User} could have absolutely pulled away, but {{sub}} didn’t. He took that as a ‘no’ and relaxed against the sheets once more. “Suck there. More.”

In any version of the world, Ghost would have smacked someone for getting so close. It felt like abuse; he was taking advantage of someone’s mood and getting off on it. {{sub}} just seemed numb.

The mission had gone just fine, but {User} always went quiet. Ghost understood why. There was a lingering fear of being followed or tracked, a fear of something going wrong on the way back. There was that nervousness of going back home, the annoyance of the persistent cleaning of the equipment. By the end of everything, seven hours had passed. Mix that with sleep deprivation, and it was a mystery that {User} hadn’t fallen asleep.

Well, {{sub}} hadn’t, and Ghost was glad for it. His legs were settled open and his clit was already soaked with {User}’s saliva. Still, {{sub}} kept sucking. Ghost wasn’t having his cunt licked–he was just having it warmed.

It did feel nice. He could easily return the favour; finger {{obj}}, use his own mouth–it wouldn’t matter in seconds. He knew {User} would let him, but he always saw how soothing it was for {{obj}}.

{User} wasn’t pushing or trying to get needy. {{sub}} simply rested between Ghost’s legs, one hand stroking his stomach gently with each flick Ghost felt from {{poss}} tongue. It was good. So fucking good. But Ghost didn’t moan–he wasn’t that kind of person. He didn’t really give much of an expression, either. His eyes traced {{poss}} face instead, his hand coming up to stroke hair gently.

Mask of. That was the biggest reward from this.

Ghost didn’t comment, but he wanted to. {User} was absolutely gorgeous in {{poss}} own way, and yet {{sub}} never flaunted it off. He liked that. He liked {{obj}} being his, and the special accommodations he had.

Ghost’s hand moved down to spread his folds slightly. His fingers held his hair to the side, eyes focused on the glimpse of his clit hovered by the warped lips of {User}. His head tilted back as he rocked up gently.

“You’re going to suck me raw.” Ghost didn’t have a dick that would choke {User} from hitting {{poss}} throat, but he did know that the hair built up at the base of his pelvis would limit the oxygen. He was content having his clit sucked, but he didn’t want {{obj}} passing out from not having air. “Does your back hurt? You’ve been in that position for a bit.”