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“So strong,” Wei Ying coos as Lan Zhan holds her down, both her wrists trapped beneath Lan Zhan’s long fingers and calloused palms. “Is this what gets you off, er-jiejie? Locking straight, innocent girls in the back of your car—” Wei Ying cuts off with a sound that would generously be described as a meep. Totally undignified.
She can’t exactly help it when Lan Zhan is palming her inner thigh like that. Especially not when Lan Zhan only has to go halfway up her thigh to feel how wet she is.
“Hm.” Lan Zhan’s hum is disbelieving, which is understandable, of course. Wei Ying knows what this looks like, knows that straight girls don’t usually get wet just from kissing a girl, they usually just kiss a girl for like, a selfie? Or a man’s attention? She wouldn’t know!
She definitely knows that straight girls don’t usually kiss back for so long; don’t usually let Lan Zhan press them bodily into the trunk of her car; don’t usually soak their panties when Lan Zhan puts her hand around their necks; don’t usually let Lan Zhan open the trunk of her porsche and toss them in so that she can crawl on top of them and hold them down.
Usually.
It’s not Wei Ying’s fault that she’s a people pleaser. Lan Zhan’s glacial stare could make anyone do anything; Wei Ying might fight, might kick, might scream, but Lan Zhan wouldn’t even blink if she did. It’s not like she hasn’t been trying to get Lan Zhan’s attention! But as a mentor, or, or as a…
Wei Ying forgets the rest, too busy pressing her thighs together so Lan Zhan can’t slide her fingers up any higher. It’s hard work; Lan Zhan really is strong, and Wei Ying doesn’t know how long she can hold out. “Don’t,” she pleads, squirming under Lan Zhan’s touch, then revises when that seems a bit forceful, “I mean, you shouldn’t, um, because, well.”
Lan Zhan pulls away from sucking what’s either a third or fifth massive hickey into Wei Ying’s neck. Her entire throat is throbbing at this point. What’s it been, like, five minutes? She’s barely ever seen Lan Zhan’s teeth and now they’re just, ow! In her like that. Again.
The hand that was trying to pry apart her thighs moves on, which is good, because Wei Ying was getting tired. She feels a tugging at her waist, where a disconnected belt rests about a centimeter and a half above her skirt; Lan Zhan starts tugging at the aesthetic-yet-useless metal ring in it, pulling the belt up Wei Ying’s body.
“Zhan-jie?” she asks, lifting her head to try and look at what Lan Zhan is doing.
Bad idea, dislodging Lan Zhan’s mouth like that. She isn’t happy to lose her chew toy, letting go of the belt so she can reach up and pin Wei Ying down by the throat. “Stay.”
Wei Ying keeps her head down but refuses to stay still, writhing beneath Lan Zhan’s grip like that’ll help. Mostly that just presses them together chest to chest, making Wei Ying gasp as her tits—unbearably sensitive today, for some reason—receive just enough pressure to make her twitch.
When Lan Zhan pulls the belt over her chest and brushes her nipples, Wei Ying chokes on a desperate noise. How embarrassing. Does her body think Lan Zhan is a man just because her eyes are closed?
It’s actually shocking the band will stretch so far. It gets around her shoulders with only a little difficulty, Lan Zhan methodically working it up until it’s loose around her forearms. Then, sitting up onto her knees, Lan Zhan wraps it around her wrists and doubles it on itself until it’s nice and tight.
(She thinks back to her third encounter with Lan Zhan.
“Why do you wear these?” Lan Zhan had asked, all her questions sounding like demands. When Wei Ying had asked for clarification, Lan Zhan had wrapped her fingers around the chain hanging off Wei Ying’s skirt and looked her right in the eye.
Wei Ying hadn’t known how to answer that move, really, but Lan Zhan hadn’t seemed like she really wanted answers. She’d just tugged Wei Ying forward so their bodies crashed into one another, her other hand curling around Wei Ying’s waist so she wouldn’t sway and fall.
“You should be careful,” Lan Zhan had warned her. Wei Ying hadn’t listened.)
Now that Lan Zhan’s hands are freed from the task of restraining her, Wei Ying expects Lan Zhan to use them to overpower Wei Ying and force her legs open. She clenches her thighs in preparation, keeping her eyes open and hoping her body will get the message about Lan Zhan before she really loses face.
Instead, Lan Zhan flips them over. Wei Ying’s thighs go wide to brace herself, straddling Lan Zhan and doing all of the work for her as Wei Ying faceplants right into Lan Zhan’s chest. At least it was a soft landing!
“Sit up.” Wei Ying listens only so she won’t be pressed against Lan Zhan’s chest like that, ducking a bit so as not to hit her head on the roof. When she obeys without complaint, Lan Zhan squeezes her thigh—the way you might absently pat the head of an obedient pet.
Wei Ying shivers. Lan Zhan is so, uh. Scary.
With nothing to stop her, Lan Zhan gets her hands up Wei Ying’s skirt with ease, tugging at the flimsy black shorts underneath. “Tight,” Lan Zhan observes, her tone sympathetic and mocking in equal measure. She slides her fingers underneath, knuckles suddenly right there over Wei Ying’s soaking panties. Wei Ying rocks her hips forward. She’s probably getting the back of Lan Zhan’s hand all sticky, but it feels, it feels really—
“Cheap,” Lan Zhan adds, definitely mocking now. Before Wei Ying can figure out why that would matter, Lan Zhan slides her other hand up enough to get two fistfuls of fabric and rip her shorts in half.
Wei Ying shudders and moans, barely keeping herself upright as her nipples tighten and her eyes squeeze shut. Her hips keep twitching against Lan Zhan’s closed fist, bumping her clit as Lan Zhan holds her ruined shorts in both hands.
When she can open her eyes again, Lan Zhan is staring at her in a new, unfathomable way. Wei Ying can do nothing but blink back at her. She’s really dizzy.
Lan Zhan’s half-lidded stare feels like a touch, sending a zing! right through her. “You came.” The words are an accusation but Lan Zhan’s voice is warm and deep as she says them, so low it thrums right through the core of Wei Ying’s body. She tries to squeeze her thighs together on instinct and ends up tightening on Lan Zhan’s hips, a flush rising to her cheeks, spreading down her neck.
“I didn’t!” Wei Ying has never felt ashamed about an orgasm before, but Lan Zhan wasn’t even touching her, just barely, and Lan Zhan is a girl anyway, and all that combined, how could Wei Ying just come like that? She can’t really be so—so—surely she’s not, you know—
“Hm.” Lan Zhan runs her thumb over Wei Ying’s pussy, warm even through the fabric clinging to her skin. Wei Ying is still oversensitive enough to twitch away. Another hum, like Lan Zhan is satisfied. She grabs Wei Ying’s thigh so tightly there’s no way for her to wriggle away and tugs her panties to the side, sliding one long finger into her without warning.
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying gasps, stopping herself from falling forward by propping her bound hands against Lan Zhan’s chest. “You really, you, haaa, stop that!!!”
“Too tight,” Lan Zhan rasps, still almost steady enough that she could be talking about shorts rather than Wei Ying’s cunt. She slides back out a little, causing Wei Ying to pulse helplessly around her, then slides in two more fingers.
Would it kill her to ask first?!
Wei Ying cries out, leaning up on her knees to try and get away. All that gets her is a hand-shaped bruise on her thigh as Lan Zhan refuses to let her move.
Even with how sloppy wet she’s become, Lan Zhan still has to fight to get three fingers inside her, thumb circling Wei Ying’s clit until she can’t help thrusting down just a little, tiny rocking motions that aid Lan Zhan’s mission to drive her insane. It feels nothing like her own fingers. This fullness is nothing she can manage on her own.
She can’t think about that or she’ll—well, she has to distract herself. “I, oh, I get it,” she whispers, followed by a gasp as she grinds just a little on Lan Zhan’s palm, a totally different sensation than what she felt when Lan Zhan was using her thumb. “I. I used to just, nh, jie, just say shit about you. To see if you agreed. But, like.” It’s so hard to collect her thoughts like this. Lan Zhan isn’t even moving, that’s the infuriating thing! She’s just waiting for Wei Ying’s tiny, desperate jerks onto her fingers, against her palm, waiting for Wei Ying to admit she wants it.
"At least now," Wei Ying babbles on, her eyes fluttering shut, "I can s-stop making up—nh!—reasons you always have the seats of your car down." She can barely breathe, the rough carpet in the back of Lan Zhan's car making imprints on her kneecaps.
Lan Zhan curls her fingers like she's beckoning the whine from Wei Ying's throat. "Do you ever shut up?"
Wei Ying is still mewling pathetically—unsure whether it’s because of the aborted thrusts on Lan Zhan’s hand or the way her words hit Wei Ying’s hindbrain—when Lan Zhan slaps the part of her ass that was exposed when she ripped open Wei Ying’s shorts. Instinctively, Wei Ying grinds forward to get away from the hit, confused and humiliated. No one’s ever—not there, no one’s ever hit her there, how could Lan Zhan do that to her?
“How, why, don’t do that, Lan Zhan, no,” Wei Ying manages around the fog her thoughts have become.
Lan Zhan soothes her with a little petting, then squeezes her ass and gives her a look. “Ride.”
“Oh.” Wei Ying gulps, staring blankly at Lan Zhan, the sound too loud in her own ears. “Me? On my own, on—you?”
Her eyelashes are so long. Lan Zhan shouldn’t be possible. She definitely shouldn’t be able to smolder like this. “You said you liked it.”
Wei Ying flushes red all the way down her chest, dipping beneath the thin slip of a shirt she’s wearing. She probably did, at some point, say she liked “riding” in the context of something else, trying to offend and provoke Lan Zhan.
But does Lan Zhan really have to remember every silly thing Wei Ying has ever said to her? It isn’t fair!
If Lan Zhan is going to hold her to her word, Wei Ying will give it her best. She lifts herself up using her thighs, watching Lan Zhan brace her arm against her own clothed thigh as Wei Ying drops down again. It must be hard to hold her weight, even with her arm braced like that. Lan Zhan must be really really strong, strong enough to do whatever she wants with Wei Ying, anything, and Wei Ying can’t even try to stop her.
Oh, fuck.
It only takes a little more desperate grinding for Wei Ying to come again, squeezing so tightly around Lan Zhan she worries briefly about hurting her. Then, she thinks—a haze of horrible envy coming over her—that if Lan Zhan did do this to anyone else before Wei Ying, she deserves a little payback.
For what? It isn’t like she’s in a thing. With Lan Zhan. For many reasons!
Maybe not the straight part, though. The moment she tries wondering what this would feel like with a cute guy, she feels nauseous, collapsing forward into her own bound hands where they rest on Lan Zhan’s breasts. It feels a little like a sign.
Lan Zhan pulls out and flips her onto her back, the carpet now scratching Wei Ying’s skin enough that she whines, wordless complaint tumbling from her lips. Lan Zhan hushes her, which seems rich for someone fully clothed and not on itchy carpet, but Wei Ying is easily distracted. Lan Zhan is just so hot, kneeling between her spread thighs and hooking her finger into the metal ring in Wei Ying’s garter. “You see?” she asks, and Wei Ying does.
“I was asking,” Wei Ying realizes aloud, wishing she could touch her aching nipples. Fuck. “I wasn’t careful. Lan Zhan, will you—”
Lan Zhan braces herself against Wei Ying’s thigh and licks into Wei Ying’s cunt before she can even get the rest of her sentence out. Wei Ying arches upward toward that wicked tongue and finds it difficult to lift her head or open her eyes for some time. Lan Zhan quickly enters a rhythm, probably drawn to patterns no matter what she does; the Lan Zhan-ness of it all somehow makes it worse, more intense, until Wei Ying’s thighs are trembling and she can’t keep quiet anymore.
In fact, she’s far too loud for the fact that this is a public parking lot. There’s not many people in it, but that only makes them more suspicious, especially with Lan Zhan’s tinted windows and sun shade against the windshield. Doesn’t matter how nice your car is, that’s suspicious.
The crazy thing is that Lan Zhan doesn’t stop her. Doesn’t even offer Wei Ying her fingers to suck on! When Wei Ying does manage to keep her eyes open and get a look at Lan Zhan’s broad shoulders between her thighs, she notes the awkward position of Lan Zhan’s other hand. Lan Zhan, seeing that she can focus a little, picks up the pace. Wei Ying’s breath hitches as Lan Zhan’s pace, now focused on Wei Ying’s clit, increases in tandem with the way Lan Zhan moves that arm.
Ah. Lan Zhan is into it. She’s so into it she’s got her hand down her pants, touching herself while she…
Wei Ying’s pleasure crests with the sudden force of a tsunami. Her hips stutter up against Lan Zhan’s mouth, violent jerks coursing through her as she comes hard. She doesn’t know how long it lasts, but it feels like forever, if forever was something that could end too soon. Wei Ying traps the moan she wants to emit behind her teeth, but the low, desperate whine she makes still fills the small space of the car, far too loud in her own ears.
When the aftershocks slow long enough for Wei Ying to look for Lan Zhan again, she’s breathing heavily against Wei Ying’s thigh, shaking head to toe. The expression on her face alone is hot enough to burn through Wei Ying’s whole body.
Lan Zhan is so beautiful.
Three orgasms in quick succession leave Wei Ying with little desire to move as Lan Zhan continues to kneel there, breathing on her thigh. There’s a throb near Lan Zhan’s mouth that suggests at some point during her orgasm, she bit quite hard into Wei Ying’s thigh.
Wei Ying’s next blink is exceedingly long. When she opens her eyes again, Lan Zhan is kneeling over her in a white lace bra. She’s taken off her shirt and laid it out on the floor of the car so that she can position Wei Ying on top of it; though the scratchy carpet still bothers her, it’s to a much smaller degree. Lan Zhan is so generous, so forward thinking.
Before Wei Ying can ask for some cuddles, Lan Zhan opens the trunk and climbs out, going around to the driver’s seat. She’s utterly unselfconscious as she climbs in shirtless and shuts the door, fishing a short-sleeved cotton shirt out of her glovebox to put on before taking down the sun protector. Even now, knowing what Wei Ying knows, Lan Zhan still comes off looking so prepared and efficient, like she didn’t just melt Wei Ying into incoherence.
Wei Ying nearly drools.
“You know,” she mumbles, turning onto her side so she can look properly toward Lan Zhan in the front, “I had such a big, embarrassing crush on you…”
Lan Zhan starts the car before answering, turning on the heat at a low setting. Did she notice Wei Ying is still shaking a little? “I knew.”
“You did?!” Wei Ying is quite offended. “But I didn’t know.” She says it with all the ire of someone realizing they were kept in the dark on a very important secret.
Lan Zhan reaches back and lays a warm hand on her shoulder. “I knew that, too.”
“Oh.” Well, this wasn’t on the list of things she planned on Lan Zhan teaching her, but she can work with it. “What are you gonna do about it?” Wei Ying asks, turning her head on impulse to lick the edge of Lan Zhan’s palm, the only part of her she can reach at the moment.
Lan Zhan’s thumb rubs back and forth on her arm, ignoring the licking or perhaps just not caring. Wei Ying shivers under Lan Zhan’s touch.
“I’ll take you home,” Lan Zhan says, slowly loosening her grip, “with me.”
Wei Ying likes the sound of that so much she almost kicks the back door of Lan Zhan's porsche.
