From the first day of freshman year all the way up to senior graduation, Lottie’s favourite hobby has always been Nat.

Nat, in her hand-me down rags and beat up Chucks. Nat, with a chip on her shoulder and a trail of cigarette smoke in her wake. Nat, whose smudged eyeliner and bleach-blonde mullet positively scream messed up juvenile with intense daddy issues. Lottie could always sniff a first-rate target out a mile away, and her nose was dead on the money with this one. The best part was that she just made it so easy.

When Lottie tripped her during practice, Nat would pretend she’d fallen. When she pinned her against the lockers and threatened to ruin her life if she told anyone, Nat would only glower at her, indignant until the end. If Lottie made a spectacle of her in front of her peers, pointing out the holes in her shoes or the sloppy stitch-work in an old pair of jeans, Nat did nothing but slink away with a bitter riposte and her tail between her legs. Sometimes Lottie wished she fought back a little more, if only to make things more interesting for herself, but she was also content with her quiet acceptance of the social hierarchy. She knew her place. This was good.

Now that they’ve graduated, Lottie has seen very little of Nat. They run in different circles and live in very different neighbourhoods. Sometimes Lottie and her friends visit the drive-thru at the fast food place she works at and catch her during her shift. It’s always a treat to watch her smile drop when she pulls up.

“Oh, hey Nat,” she’ll say, smiling like they’re old friends. “You look so adorable in that little uniform.”

Nat’s face turns to thunder but she only ever hands their food over and asks, “Will that be cash or card?” Pathetic, really.

The tailgate party at the end of summer is their graduating class’ final hurrah before many leave for college. Lottie can’t say she’s especially going to miss this particular brand of revelry, which is all cheap beer, party drugs, jarring music, and horny teenagers. But if there’s one thing she is going to miss, it’s making Natalie Scatorccio’s life a living hell.

She’s been watching her since she arrived, hanging around with the town’s local losers and throwing back drink after drink like it’s water. She’s irresistibly tragic. How could Lottie ever leave it alone? One last dance, for old times’ sake. There’s no harm in that (not where Lottie’s concerned, at any rate). She waits patiently for the perfect opportunity to strike. Eventually, Nat detaches from her gaggle of outcasts and heads towards a rusty old truck parked a short walk from the party. Lottie follows close behind.

She’s reaching for a crate of beer in the bed of the truck when Lottie closes in on her. “It’s funny,” she says, making Nat jump and whirl around. “I didn’t think you actually had any friends.”

“Jesus, Lottie,” grumbles Nat. “The fuck are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing. This party’s a send off for people who actually have a future. Last I checked, that’s not you. You are still working at that burger place, right?”

“Didn’t you get the memo? School’s over. You don’t have to do this mean girl routine anymore. It’s tired.”

Lottie draws closer still, backing Nat up against the truck. “But you’ll miss me when I’m gone, won’t you Nat? We’ve been such an important part of each other’s lives.”

“Don’t be such a bitch, Matthews.” She tries to walk around her but Lottie shoves her back by her chest.

”Where do you think you’re going?”

Nat has the wherewithal to look a little bit nervous. “I’m going back to the party.” Her efforts at coming across as unaffected are in vain. Lottie sees right through her: the tremble of her fingers, the clench of her jaw; the desperate glance around her to check for witnesses. There are none. She’s trapped. Lottie places her hands on the truckbed at either side of Nat. Their bodies are flush. Nat’s breathing quickens.

“Why would you want to do a thing like that?” she drawls, amping up the sweetness they both know is only there to mask the taste of poison. “I bet you and I can have a lot more fun on our own.” Nat’s pupils falter momentarily over Lottie’s painted lips, which twist into a sick smile in response. “You know, I used to wonder why you let me torture you so much without ever doing anything about it. You’re a tough girl. I thought you’d put up a little more resistance. But as the years went on, it started to dawn on me why you never stopped me.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to hear this,” says Nat, but her voice cracks, betraying her anxiety. Lottie trails a finger down her cheek. Nat goes suddenly, impossibly still. She does not react even when Lottie runs her finger along the curve of her lower lip.

“The thing is, you enjoy it, don’t you?” whispers Lottie. “You enjoy it just as much as I do.”

“Like hell I do.”

“Oh, let’s not pretend. There’s nobody else here.” Lottie digs her fingernails into Nat’s cheeks and tilts her face towards her. Their mouths are a whim apart. Nat’s whole body is shaking but she doesn’t try to wrestle free. Instead, she stares at Lottie’s lips with confliction. “I bet you used to look forward to it, didn’t you? My body pinning you to the wall. My hands pulling your hair. My lips saying your name, even if it was only to ridicule you. Bet you went home and touched yourself after.”

“No,” spits Nat, squeezing her eyes shut. “You’re wrong. I fucking loathe you.”

“Really?” laughs Lottie. She leans into Nat’s ear and whispers, “Tell me to stop then.” Without warning and without clemency, Lottie seizes Nat by the hips and twists her around, pressing into her with all her weight. She reaches up her shirt and palms one of her breasts through her bra. Her nipple stiffens instantly. “What are you waiting for, Nat? Tell me you don’t want this.”

“Lottie—” she gasps, but says nothing else. A soft whine drips from her lips like honey when Lottie rolls her nipple between her fingers and plants open-mouthed kisses to her neck.

“It’s not your fault,” she murmurs, running her tongue against her throat. “You’ve always been a nobody. People like you just need attention. Doesn’t matter what form it comes in, does it? As long as someone like me is looking at you, that’s all that matters.” She slips her hand beneath her bra and pinches her nipple, eliciting a delightful grunt.

“Fuck you, Lottie,” she breathes, eyebrows pinched together and jaw hanging open.

“Oh, I bet you’d love to. I’m sure you’ve fantasised about putting me in my place, haven’t you? But that’s not how this is going to go.” Knotting her fingers in Nat’s hair, Lottie forces her head down and bends her over the truck. Her skirt rides up, revealing a pair of bright red panties. She presses her crotch against Nat’s ass and grinds against it just enough to torment her. “The funny thing is, I almost feel bad for you. It’s so embarrassing that you actually want this after everything I’ve done to you.”

Nat says nothing to that, only bites down on her lip and groans when Lottie reaches underneath her to grope her breasts some more. She gives Nat’s hair a sharp tug to lift her head. “You’re so fucking pathetic, Nat. Look at you. I bet you’re already wet.”

“I’m — fuck — I’m not pathetic,” stammers Nat, fumbling over her words each time Lottie squeezes her nipple or runs her thumbnail over it.

“Yes, you are. I’ll prove it.” She reaches between Nat’s legs and presses her fingers to her panties, which indeed reveal themselves to be soaking wet. Nat’s body lurches at the sudden contact. “See? Dripping.”

“Doesn’t mean anything,” Nat insists. Whether or not she’s aware of the fact that she’s grinding herself subtly against Lottie’s fingers is uncertain, but it makes her laugh all the same.

“You’re just begging for it, aren’t you?” She hooks a finger over the elastic of her underwear and drags them slowly down her legs, letting them pool at her ankles. Like that, Nat is completely exposed. Goosebumps rise along her arms and legs. She’s shivering in the cool night air. But there, beneath her skimpy little skirt, she is hot and pink and needy. Lottie drops to her knees. Gripping Nat roughly by her legs, she forces them apart. “Go on, Natalie. Tell me to stop.”

She darts her tongue once, quick as a whip, along the length of her. Nat makes a pitiful sound. She isn’t being held down anymore; she could get up if she really wanted to. Instead, she remains bent over like Lottie knew she would. She drags her tongue along her again, slower this time, and Nat sighs with something like relief.

The evidence of her arousal is thick and syrupy. As Lottie works her tongue up and down, it runs down her chin and gives shine to her lips. She digs her fingers into the flesh of Nat’s thighs hard enough to bruise; hard enough to make her squirm, but the squirming only incentivises her further. The pace of her tongue quickens. Soon she is lapping at Nat’s throbbing clit with rough, broad strokes of her tongue, sneering with every barely stifled moan or whispered curse that Nat fails to contain. Of course she’d be enjoying this.

Lottie weasels her tongue inside her as deep as it will go. Pleasure gushes out of Nat in waves; she cries out and then immediately covers her mouth with her hand as Lottie continues to tongue-fuck her. Her whole face is wet and sticky and there is come dripping down her throat. She is vindicated by this. Nat might be able to lie, but her body can’t.

When she takes her clit between her lips again, Nat’s knees start to give. “Lottie… fuck.” She scrambles for anything to hold on to, panting hard and fast. Lottie is merciless and unnecessarily heavy-handed with her tongue, driving Nat towards oversensitivity just for the fun of it. She writhes madly against her but Lottie’s hold is firm and unrelenting. She’s got no choice but to take it. The sounds she makes are a combination of suffering and ecstasy; her features are contorted by the maddening juxtaposition of sensations battling for sovereignty. “I can’t…” she moans. “I can’t… I’m gonna…”

Lottie pulls instantly away. Her withdrawal prompts a strained whimper. “Don’t be so needy,” says Lottie, rising to her feet and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She yanks Nat up by her hair and turns her around, revealing flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. “I thought you loathed me?”

“I do,” breathes Nat, even more unconvincing now than earlier. Lottie rolls her eyes. Effortlessly, she lifts Nat up onto the bed of the truck and stands between her open legs.

With one hand, she squeezes her throat. With the other, she dips two fingers into the overspill between her thighs and then holds them in front of her face to reveal the slick evidence of her wanton desperation. “Is this what hate looks like? Is this what it tastes like? Here, you tell me.” She forces her fingers into Nat’s mouth. Instinctively, she begins to suck them clean, eyelashes fluttering and a low purr rumbling at the back of her throat. Lottie watches her with contempt. “God, you’re so fucking sad. At least try to pretend you aren’t loving this.”

She chokes her harder. Nat gasps frantically but doesn’t stop sucking her fingers until Lottie pulls them out; then she stares silently up at her, eyes wide with fear and misted with lust. “You know what you are to me, Nat?” asks Lottie, nudging her legs open a little more and sliding a hand up her thigh. “You’re a joke. You’re something I use for my own amusement.”

She slides her fingers inside her and Nat moans, eyes rolling back and head tipping forward. “Fuck.”

“I like playing with you because you’re fun to play with, like a puppy that doesn’t know any better but to wag its tail and roll over when someone comes near it. Your desperation is so obvious. Even when I was hurting you, you worshipped me, just like you’re worshipping me now.”

Her fingers slide in and out, in and out. Nat grabs onto her waist, holding her closer and encouraging her further. She spreads her legs as wide as they will go. Dignity is not a word in her vocabulary. Like a true masochist, she surrenders herself entirely to Lottie’s scathing diatribe and methodical touch. Their eyes meet. While Lottie is snarling and smug, Nat is brimming with shame and want. She licks her lips and edges towards Lottie’s mouth.

“Please,” she gasps, small body jolting with every slam and curl and twitch of Lottie’s fingers.

“You want to kiss me, is that it?”

“Yes…”

“That’s cute,” laughs Lottie. Their lips brush together lightly, soft as a breath. Nat’s eyes flutter closed but Lottie continues to watch her with dark, dangerous intent. She lets her press the lightest of kisses to her mouth. Then, violently, she grips her by the neck and forces her onto her back. Her head slams harshly against the metal bed. “As if I’d ever kiss you.”

Lottie squeezes a third finger inside Nat and fucks her hard and fast, choking her until her face turns bright pink and her breathing shallows. Squeaking with rust and age, the truck rocks with every thrust. Nat’s body rocks with it. She lies there with her legs spread and her hands wrapped around Lottie’s wrist, more for something to hold onto than because she’s trying to pry her away. Ramming her hips for momentum, Lottie pounds her with all the built up resentment and venom she’s amassed over the years, which proves to be fuel enough for a full tank. Nat grows wetter and wetter around her fingers. She stretches and clenches around them, and she moans like they aren’t only a few metres from the party, like she wouldn’t be mortified if someone found her getting fucked senseless like the usess thing she is.

“You’re so pathetic,” Lottie snarls, slamming into her with unyielding animosity. She bends over her body to repeat the mantra in her ear. “You are so fucking pathetic, Nat. Aren’t you? Say it.”

“I’m… I’m pathetic,” Nat whimpers, clutching desperately at Lottie’s clothes. She’s a gasping, breathless, soaking wet wreck.

“You’ve always wanted this, haven’t you?”

Nat nods, eyes closed and lips trembling like she might cry. “Yes—yes. Always.”

Lottie’s teeth melt into Nat’s throat and Nat yelps, thrashing wildly but pinned down helplessly beneath the weight of her. She thrusts her hips with a savage pace, ploughing her fingers into her as deep as they will go and not allowing her but a second of relief. If she wants to get fucked so bad, she’ll get fucked Lottie’s way.

“Oh, Nat,” she drawls. “I should have done this to you a long time ago. You take it so well.”

This makes her moan; makes her flood Lottie’s fingers with evermore arousal. “Thank you,” she says ridiculously.

“It’s not a compliment, Nat. You’re a slut. That’s why you’re so good at lying there and taking it, isn’t it? Because I was right about you. You’ll spread your legs for anyone.”

“N—no,” she refuses, breathy and grunting. Lottie’s fingers have found that sweet spot that splatters her vision with stars and galaxies. It’s written all over her face. “God — fuck. You’re such a bitch.”

“And you love it, don’t you?”

“No — I don’t.”

Lottie presses a thumb against her clit and rubs tight circles against it while she fingers her. Nat groans, long and guttural. “Try that again?”

“Shit — fine — I love it. I fucking love it.”

“Good girl.”

“Fuck,” gasps Nat. “Say that again. Please.”

“What? Good girl?” Lottie laughs, grabbing her by the hair and pulling roughly. “You have to earn my praise, Nat, so just shut your mouth and take it.”

And then Lottie is dragging her off the truck, flipping her around, and bending her over again. She pins her down and plunges her fingers straight back into her. Nat cries out. Lottie maintains a swift and aggressive rhythm marked by the slap of skin against skin and the wet squelch of her fingers. She finds herself wishing she had her strap just so Nat would know what it feels like to get well and truly railed by her.

“Lottie…” Nat moans, arching her back and pushing herself against her fingers like the needy little thing she is. Lottie would be lying to say that the way she whines her name doesn’t set a fire ablaze in the base of her gut.

“It’s pathetic how wet you are, you know that?” grunts Lottie. She drives into her with laughable ease, slamming against her walls and jolting her body roughly with each thrust. Approaching footsteps and the loud slur of drunken conversation alert her to nearby intruders. She keeps low and smothers Nat’s mouth with her hand. “Don’t make a sound.”

Nat nods obediently. A few feet away, the trunk of a car pops open, followed by the sound of rustling. Two guys from their year are deep in a debate about where they left their stash of weed. Lottie reigns in her pace to avoid rocking the truck but, forever divising ways to torture Nat, she massages her clit with her thumb and relishes in the succeeding reaction: a sharp gasp, clenched muscles; writhing limbs. She is silent but the extent of her suffering is loud. Just the way Lottie likes it.

“Good girl,” she whispers, lips brushing the shell of her ear, fingers crooking inside her. As hot come drips all the way down to her wrist, she kisses Nat’s cheek and the side of her neck tenderly. Wickedly.

Her teeth come out to play and Nat jerks reactively, her resulting hiss muffled against her palm. Lottie sucks on the flesh at the join of her shoulder until she leaves a bright purple mark. The idea of her trying to explain it away sends a ripple of delight through her body, because there’s no way someone as obstinate as Nat will ever admit to letting her high school bully bend her over and fuck her senseless.

Nat grinds the soles of her shoes into the gravel for balance, struggling as she is to maintain her composure while Lottie works her towards an orgasm she’s clearly dying for. She takes great pleasure in the slow glide of her fingers, in the teasing of her clit, in her struggle to keep quiet.

When, at last, the trunk slams shut and two sets of footsteps retreat towards the party, Lottie removes her hand from Nat’s mouth and fists it in her hair. She yanks her head up and presses the full weight of her body against her, feeling her warmth even through the several layers of fabric separating them. Once more, she quickens the pace of her fingers and fucks her rougher and with renewed stamina. Nat is reduced to an incoherent stream of moans and whimpers.

“I want to watch you come,” breathes Lottie. “I want to watch you fall apart for me, and then I want you to have to live with the fact that I made you come for the rest of your tragic life. Do you hear me?”

“Mmhm,” is all Nat manages through her daze. She winces when Lottie gives another sharp pull of her hair.

“Speak up.”

“I hear you,” Nat says urgently. “Whatever you want, Lottie.”

“Good. Turn around.” Nat lets Lottie spin her around again, lets her hoist her up onto the truck again; lets her push her legs apart and get on her knees in between them again. She’d let Lottie do anything in the world to her right now. She’s wrapped around her little finger.

Lottie ties her hair up into a loose ponytail, maintaining eye contact all the while. Nat chews her lip, visibly shrinking beneath the intensity of Lottie’s heady gaze. Her makeup is even more smudged than usual and her hair is an unsalvageable mess. She looks like she’s been dragged backwards through a hedge. Lottie feels a modicum of pride at surveying the fallout of her handiwork. If she had more time, she could do a whole lot worse.

“Don’t take your eyes off me. I want to look you in the eye when you come.”

She doesn’t allow Nat time enough to respond before grabbing her by the thighs and dragging her tongue along the length of her. She wastes no time with pleasantries. This is a directed, intentional attack with only one goal, and Lottie does not like to be kept waiting when it comes to the things she wants.

She eats her out with zeal and vigour, making a sloppy meal out of Nat while she crumples like paper. The eye contact is obviously making her nervous. She struggles to maintain it, occasionally glancing away before Lottie digs her fingernails into her pale flesh and redirects her attention. Nat’s visible discomfort satisfies Lottie plenty. Her lips stretch into a degenerate grin and she fixes her black eyes on her like a stake through the heart. Look away, I dare you.

When she slips a finger into her, Nat makes a strangled, undignified sound and knots her fingers into Lottie’s hair. Her hips rock, her jaw hangs open, and she grinds pathetically against the dogged tongue between her legs. The quivering of her limbs signals an imminent climax. When she pinches her eyes closed, Lottie grabs her roughly by the face, a reminder not to disobey.

Then, with a whimper, Nat comes. Her body stiffens and seizes. She shakes uncontrollably, doubling over as the strain of keeping upright finally takes its toll. Arousal flows out of her, watery and messy and downright obscene. The whole time, she forces herself to look Lottie in the eye. The distress this causes is scored onto her tormented face as if by fire, but she never once looks away. Neither of them do. It takes some time for the shocks of pleasure to loosen their hooks on her. When it finally happens, she collapses onto her back, ribs heaving and hands clutching her chest. Lottie gets to her feet. She’s covered in Nat. The lust of her. The glistening, tangible shame of her.

Picking her purse up off the floor, she rummages around in it until she finds a packet of wipes, and then she meticulously scrubs the evidence of their affair away: finger by finger, inch by inch.

“Why did you do that?” Nat asks, still lying on her back in a fog. “Why did you do any of it?”

Lottie pulls out a compact mirror and fixes her lipstick in it. “Because I was bored.”

“Bored?” Nat props herself up on her elbows and gapes at her. “You terrorised me for years because you were bored?”

“I terrorised you for years because you’re fun to play with. You should take it as a compliment, Nat.” Her compact clacks shut. She tosses it into her purse before shouldering it. “But hey, at least you got something out of it in the end. And don’t try to pretend like that wasn’t something you fantasised about for years.”

“Fucking bitch,” Nat spits with a shake of her head. When she sits up, she tugs her skirt down to cover herself, as if she has any modesty or self-respect left to speak of.

“And don’t you forget it,” smiles Lottie. She ruffles Nat’s hair condescendingly. “This was fun. I’d say I’m going to miss you when I get to Rutgers, but I probably won’t.”

Nat pauses. Slowly, she draws her eyebrows together: “You’re going to Rutgers?”

“Yes. Why?”

And then, of all things, she starts to laugh. It’s quiet at first. Restrained. But soon enough it devolves into full-blown, rib-aching hysterics. She buries her head in her hands, doubled over in absolute stitches. Lottie glowers. If there’s one thing she hates, it’s being the last to laugh.

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” she seethes.

“No, nothing,” laughs Nat, finally calming some. “It’s just my fucking life. My fucking luck.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m going to Rutgers, genius.”

“What?”

“I know it never occurred to you that a trailer park scumbag like me would go to college, but it turns out I’m smart enough to go for free.” Nat pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. The smile fades from her face as the implications of the situation truly set in. “Shit. Three more fucking years.”

And now it’s Lottie’s turn to laugh. With a cloying, self-satisfied chuckle, she tucks a lock of matted blonde hair behind Nat’s ear. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises?”

“You know, it doesn’t have to be like this. We could have a fresh start. We could just be two strangers.”

“Oh, Nat,” Lottie croons, resting a palm on her face: a gesture of faux comfort that makes her flinch. “You’re not getting away from me that easily. I’ll see you at orientation.” With that, she presses a kiss to her blushing cheek and leaves her reeling in her wake.


—— after a hunt, lottie’s high on adrenaline, eyes black as storm clouds. she drags nat behind the plane wreck, shoves her to her knees in the dirt. “open your mouth,” she orders, clit already hard, slick with spit and want. her thumb's pressing hard on nat’s tongue, pinning her jaw open like she’s checking a dog’s teeth. nat hesitates for a split, but lottie grabs her hair, forces her open. “trust me,” she says, voice gone soft, almost loving. “let the wilderness fill you.” nat sobs, tears streaming, but lottie doesn’t stop until she’s spent, until nat’s face is streaked with cum and snot and something like worship. lottie kisses her forehead, gentle, and nat shudders.

—— punishment’s never private. nat’s mouth is pure venom, spitting “fuck your wilderness” right in lottie’s face, eyes wild, chin up like she’s daring lottie to try her. lottie just smiles, all slow and sharp, like a knife sliding into butter. “that’s alright, baby. i don’t need your permission.” she grabs nat by the hair, yanks her down to her knees in the huts' center, doesn’t care if the whole camp’s watching. “open,” she orders, thumb pressing hard into nat’s jaw until it aches. nat glares, lips tight, but lottie just laughs, mean and sweet. “you want to act tough? let’s see how tough you are with my fingers in your mouth.” two knuckles deep, she fucks nat’s mouth slow, watching her choke and drool, tears tracking through the dirt on her cheeks. “that’s it, pretty girl. you sound better with your mouth full.”

—— sometimes lottie ties nat up with scavenged rope-old tent cord, maybe a shoelace, whatever’s handy—leaves her spread-eagle in the dirt, cunt aching, slick running down between her thighs like river water. “think about what you’ve done,” lottie says, brushing nat’s cheek with the back of her hand, soft as benediction. then she walks away, goes to pray with the others, her voice floating through the trees. nat’s left alone with the cold, the dark, the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. she hates how she waits for lottie to come back, hates how she aches for those hands, those words, that dark, hungry worship. but when lottie finally returns, kneeling between her legs, nat opens up like a wound, lets her in, lets her take whatever she wants.

—— lottie’s cruel with it—she’ll flick, tap, or just press the flat of her thumb down on her girl's clit, watching nat’s legs jerk like she’s been shocked. “so sensitive, aren’t you?” she teases, voice syrupy, and nat’s face goes red, head thrown back, hands fisting the blanket. “don’t—don’t tease,” nat manages, but lottie just grins, presses a kiss to the inside of her knee, and keeps going, slow, relentless, until nat’s babbling, all her attitude melted down to whimpers and “please, lottie, please.”

—— lottie’s obsessed, can’t ever leave nat alone. she’ll wake her in the middle of the night, dragging her out of her fur-made sleeping bag, shoving her face-first into the half-warm rabbit skins. “you’re mine,” she growls, biting down on nat’s shoulder, leaving bruises in the shape of her teeth. “say it.” nat’s stubborn, but lottie’s fingers are already pressing into her cunt, thick and relentless, splitting her open. “say it or i’ll fuck you in front of everyone.” nat’s resolve snaps, and she’s babbling, “yours, yours, please, lottie,” cunt clenching around her, tears streaking her cheeks.

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Pub: 08 Jun 2025 21:54 UTC

Edit: 27 Sep 2025 03:17 UTC

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