This is a pornmance, existing in this universe: Rachel grows up in NYC with her dads. She and Quinn meet at Yale. Rachel has a fiancé back home (no Finn in this—sorry if he has any fans I just loathe writing him. And no Beth arc—again, sorry goes out to the fans). Anyway, Rachel and Quinn are fucking. There's really no plot to this outside of the scenario. I kinda just wanna write about sex and feelings and junk 'cause I'm having some feelings about sex and junk (so WARNING: THIS SHIT IS MOSTLY A WHOLE BUNCH OF HARDCORE SEX FROM A DEMENTED woman/girl/child/zombie). Also, it starts at the end, then meanders around doing what the fuck it wants, then when it gets tired it'll go back to the end. Just accept it.

PS I used to write under the pen name el dot abstracto then forgot the password. It's not very important. But, y'know, fun facts.

I dunno and I DON'T CARE.

0

Sitting on lawn chairs, on Santana's porch, they smoked Newports.

"And that's how he saw me. Bent over his kitchen table while his fiancé tongued the fuck—out of my asshole, and, a-and swirled around my hole with that pretty little index finger," Quinn's lips quivered. She bit the bottom to stop.

"Dude yes," Santana leaned forward in her seat.

"I felt so goddamn filthy, and, and good. I mean…," She put up her palms and tried to mouth her sentence, "I came. I came right then. His face all screwed up—right before he fucking lunged at me. I came so fucking good." She started to laugh.

Then, with a truly self-deprecating smile, "Why…has it always been so easy for me to be capable of this shit…?"

1

It started retarded. It started with just her luck. Quinn Fabray can't have anything un-dramatic occur to her—ever. This was a no-exception type deal from the start of it. This annoying little twerp in her Literature class who she disliked immediately and immediately wanted to eat out, dig out.

Months and months ago she'd be praying about this.

She'd only really rant about her.

"Santana, I swear to god, I, I just want to crawl back inside her like she's god or something. Something so serene and beautiful and pure as pre-life that it, it….fucking replaces every awful thing your mother's done to you with a my little pony band-aid and a hug from Jesus."

Santana gawked at her.

Quinn's head dipped back into the sofa cushions.

"It's not that I wasn't preoccupied with sex before—repressed as I was and all—it's just that the preoccupation is now so singularly focused and precise."

Santana sighed, very warily, "You're so annoying."

Quinn laughed.

"You've thrown the vibes in here all off, Fabray. Completely."

"Are you into yoga now?"

Santana rolled her eyes.

Quinn cheesy-grinned, "Because…Because Brittany started it… so now—"

"Shut the fuck up already, Jesus!"

"I can't help it," Quinn licked her lips, "She's in my head. Can't get her out."

Santana hummed at her—deadpan eyes and her all-knowing shitty-grin; "Fuck her."

Quinn snorted, "I know right," she nodded; "I'd like to masturbate inches from her face and just—."

"Do it."

Quinn quirked a brow at her, "Right…"

Santana shrugged, "It's the only way. Show some guts Q-bear. Or is your newly attained, awkward gazelle-legged dyke swagger as fake as that pleather burgundy jacket/slash/disaster you're sporting basically…24/7?"

Quinn flicked her off; brows peaked in complete disregard.

"You sound exactly like Sue Sylvester."

Santana squinted her eyes, "I'm starting to think this is just how people have to talk to you."

Quinn sighed, head leant back to stare at the ceiling.

"For real?—Should I?"

"Are you stupid?—No," Santana rolled her eyes, "Now walk me to the station, I'm not getting home late because you're a freaking tool."

2

Instead of talking about anything useful, I'm going to talk about one of the best times I ever fucked (in the short history of me doing so).

Quinn wrote into her journal, lunged over it, practically alone in the cafeteria. She liked the lighting in there because it was awful, like her penmanship and the contents of all her thoughts.

I'm not at all like when I was a kid. I'm a fully realized sexually perverted woman now. I shed a ton of shame about a year ago. These days I just don't care. I'm not much of a better person—just one who is slightly less sad.

And more bold.

Hence—I don't care that the girl I'm fucking has a fiancé. Why should I always be the one holding crosses?

That's your girl, buddy. She was waiting at my door on Sunday. I was just home from the gym, my hair was still wet from the showers and it'd been getting chilly nights. Those brown eyes warmed me right up.

She grabbed the front of my sweatshirt and kissed me with tongue.

Immediately—the feeling of my cum rushing out of me and an aching pressure to my clitoris. Already peeking out of its hoodie; saying—"Oh Rachel; I like her."

She pulled the key out of the pocket of my shorts.

Once we're inside and in my room she's all: "Are you sore? Do you want a massage?"

I smirked at her because I know that she likes it. Guilt?— I'm exactly where anyone else would be if they were me except the very, very saintly. And I just don't pretend anymore.

Right, right.

So, I'm in my awesome bed. My hands are crossed behind my head, and my thighs are being reverently kneaded by the softest little tan hands. I can't hold back my smile. I love leg day.

She kept going higher and higher up on my shorts until the very edge of her palm rubbed my pussy on the upstroke. She looked up at me and purred, "Your muscles are all tense."

I told her, "You know what relieves my tension."

She crawled up into my lap. Like a good girl. Then pulled her crazy penguin sweater off. No bra, because she was coming straight here.

Now—her nipples. I really love them. Brown, but then, very nearly red. I can't really claim I can describe them. They rest on little areolas of a slightly darker, yet somehow redder, shade. Most beautiful hues I've ever encountered. They taste straight up like heaven.

I sat there and sucked on them for more time than Rachel was probably comfortable with. I really don't care. Really don't give a fuck that she's sensitive. I dunno if you do, buddy.

I pulled her closer, made her straddle my thigh. She was in a skirt; I could feel she was wet through her panties. I love that she loves cotton. I sucked hard and nibbled a little. She was whining like a kitten who can barely make a sound yet, and I could feel her drench my thigh.

"Why are you so bad?" I asked her.

She bucked herself up into the very slight pressure I was offering.

"What are you, Rachel, hmm?"

She smiled, perfect, "Your slut."

I kissed her with a snarl on my mouth that I can't control when I do. I could feel her stupid smile. I pushed my tongue in and immediately she's there, sucking it. She kept tugging my sweatshirt up. I broke the kiss to lose it and my sports bra.

She stared, with her mouth open. Pretty stupid expression.

I started kissing her, insane. Just hating the fuck out of her mouth all of a sudden. My hand twisted into her thick brown hair, and I didn't leave space between my mouth and hers. I bit her and licked her and she gasped sweetly into me. My fingers slid to the back of her neck, where she was starting to sweat a bit. I loved the hair at her nape. It was where she smelled the sweetest.

She pulled back and stared, wide-eyed, not quite having caught her breath, "Please, Quinn, fuck me."

That's your girl.

I ran my palm down her jaw and hooked my thumb in her mouth. She's so happy to suck it.

"If you prove to me that you're worthy," I whispered at her, smiling like a shit-eating bastard.

Her eyes got shades and shades darker. This is what I love. Her stroking my ego. Her evident eagerness. I can see her get wet and never even glance at those little pink cotton hipsters. Thanks for the gift, god, guess I did really get one.

So.

She's on me like you wouldn't want to believe; little hands stroking me everywhere and kisses that plead with me. Deep, short kisses over and over. Please, please, please. Her hands squeezed at the sides of my stomach; her thumb stroking through the indentations. She was always so reverent. Almost annoyingly gentle. Fucking pussy. I bit her bottom lip.

"You're gonna make me come?" I whispered it right up against her jaw, my voice hitting all her favorite registers. I know about this, 'cause she told me—for the first time, making me blush.

"Hmm, Rachel?—Are you?"

I'm thinking: you are, and she nodded right away.

I pushed her shoulders down and grabbed her by the hair, up into me.

My back hit the bed just as her face crashed into my cunt just as the biggest smile landed on my face.

It's kismet.

At the soft pressure of her mouth, I shoved myself right in. I'm a violent hip-jerker. I like to think of this whole experience as using her mouth, so, I started it all off by sliding myself up and down the whole length of her tongue, then, held her by the hair right up against me, until the pressure was correct and I could feel myself fill her mouth up with cum (so much I heard her swallow straight away).

"You come so much," she gasped it out.

I do. I thoroughly soak shit up around here. I don't know why, but I'm always getting told.

"Suck it all out," I told her, with a full grin I could really feel.

Her tongue dove in. Now it was her applying the hard pressure with her own mouth; my hands were crossed behind my head in blissful ignorance of anything but this fantastic pleasure. I guess she really gets what I need. She's pretty intuitive when it comes to giving me head, I'll give her that. I don't have to guide her for it to feel good (the way you almost always have to)—but it does feel good to guide her.

I really love watching her go. I swear she purposefully widens her eyes for me. She never breaks the contact—this fake-innocent black-brown gaze—all the while dipping her tongue in; tasting me, then reaching up and sucking on my clit like it just gave birth to her, with these little mewling noises coming out of her fucking mouth.

That's about how long I can last without my hand in her hair, helping me suffocate her.

"You're a fucking whore," I bent down and whispered it into the crown of her head, before falling back; really ready to give it to her.

Her eyes dropped the innocent act right away—they grew dark, and giddy. She sucked hard at me, laving at my cunt with her tongue like it was her fucking little lion cub.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Oh my god."

I gripped her hair a little tighter and started a measured cant upwards with my hips—deep and hard into all the soft and wet of her perfect mouth.

"Look at me. Now." My voice was a scratch above a whisper.

Her eyes flickered up. Open now, and bare. The brownest eyes I've ever seen.

That's always been my favorite type.

I stilled my hips. She knew by then to stay—right fucking there—where she was pressed the hardest against me.

That's it. And suck.

I explode into obscenities.

"Fuck Rachel—Fuck! Take it—god yes, fucking take it." That's what it sounded like. Ground out through a bit lip and whatever strangles my throat every time I'm coming into Rachel's mouth.

I watched her jaw flex as she licked and sucked at my entrance. I closed my eyes because it was honestly all too much already.

I opened them and she's there, staring at my cunt all reverently.

She said, "I love watching your little pink clit twitch through an orgasm."

I got up.

I am not one of these people that can relax or fall asleep or whatever after an orgasm. I feel nearly offended. I feel like: how dare you make me come in your mouth? Maybe it's some stale form of Christian guilt now making its way into my sex life—trying to throw blame on this poor girl for making me feel so good doing something so fucking bad. I dunno. But what I feel post-orgasm is insane violent energy. And it's how we kick-off every sex-session for obvious reasons.

I bent down and took a knee at the last drawer in my dresser, where I keep my set-up. I spent a lot of time on it; researching. My harness is from rodeoh, and the toy I use is from vixen creations—Mustang, in red and blue marble coloring. These specifics are for you; for clarity.

No, I'm just really proud of it.

I had it on in a few seconds, watching as Rachel undressed.

Rachel—this girl who is so smart, and pretty, and special, was right then just my fuck-doll. Just my good little whore to me. Undressing for me. Waiting with wide eyes, eating me alive as if she hadn't just.

I threw her naked body back on the bed and grabbed her legs to keep them up over her head. Her back was arched, her stomach was contracted, and her pussy was dripping sticky glittering girl-cum. She loves being exposed (she's let me photograph her and all). I let her go and she kept her own legs up there for me; her hole twitching and pouring out more.

"Oh, fuck," I let my finger trail down the wet, red skin of her slit, and up inside her. I played around with her cum; dragging it out and swirling it over her little hot clit. Just as it started to swell, I moved past it.

I stretched her with two long fingers, up to the last knuckle. I love the resistance; love sinking myself in against the tightness. I love to ride the resistance but really love when she yields and starts enjoying the hard piston-in-and-out. Then she gushes and grips me. I could barely stand it, the tight contractions or the way she looks at me. The little furrow in her brow.

I could feel my clit still drumming hard against the base of my cock.

"Look at you. You've still got my cum all over your fucking mouth." And she did. In thick streaks.

I sat up on my knees, "Come here."

She crawled up to kneel down under me; her face right beneath the curved up swell of the shaft.

I dragged it across her pretty face—her perfect cheekbones—collecting my cum on the swollen head and guiding it all inside her mouth. She watched me as she took it in—I know she needed me to see her.

I know her.

But only really in this primal sense.

I know she wants me to jerk my hips like a heartless savage at the sight of her— pushing that silicone dildo down her throat. Dark eyelashes fluttered and she met my eyes. She never once backed down the whole time I was there, stuffing my cock into her mouth and dragging out each time more and more slobber.

"This is why we don't need lube right, sweetheart?"

She nodded, her eyes already turning teary.

I could've, if I'd kept going, come from it. Every time she makes the gagging sound it's like a hot suck to my clit. I mean—I come embarrassingly easy from this blowjob shit. And she's good at it. She's awfully fucking good at it. I could see why you put a ring on it.

I mean—a ring that was burning against my thigh while she gripped me and somehow managed to find the space in her throat to accommodate my big dick but—still. Insert shitty grin.

She sort of choked once it all disappeared, but held it. Her nose was right up against the lower part of my stomach. I could feel her breathe through it.

Right at the very edge of orgasm is where I was.

No.

I slid out, and cursed lowly.

She kept her mouth open for me to use if I wanted. The drool still dripped off her bottom lip, now to her little brown breasts. And the edges of her lashes glittered with tears.

"You look beautiful," I told her, and she laughed.

Now, take a note—Rachel Berry loves being dragged across a bed and shoved onto a long, hard dick.

It wasn't the slow, steady, inch-by-hard-inch shove in though—the long drag back is what nearly killed her. She went into a mini-fit of spasms and her eyes rolled back. When she fixed me with the dark gaze again, she was almost a different person.

She licked her lips and looked at me without pretense.

She loves to be fucked hard.

She raked her nails up my stomach; her thighs shaking with every thrust I rocked into her.

She whispered, her voice already broken, "I'm coming."

I went harder, faster.

Her pussy was starting to make sounds like it was kissing my cock.

I don't know if she has with you—but fyi, she squirts. Insane. Pushes me out and all.

She also: begs, moans, cries, hiccups. All that to ask me for more even as she goes through the spasms.

I dove back in her obviously, for even harder fucking (because I love to be needed).

She was holding on to me like it was for her life.

She loves to be as close as possible for this missionary sort of thing—looks into my eyes and everything. I can only stand the sweetness for a bit; for some deep, slow thrusts where our lips are near-touching and we're both not really mumbling anything we mean so I try not to hear it.

I got up seconds after the heady infatuated whispering started up. I love dragging her around with my dick inside her—on her shaking legs and tip toes she could barely walk.

I sat on my desk chair for our favorite.

It's a position to me, that seems—and I don't know why—but it seems like it should be the most heartbreaking for you. It's one thing when I'm pummeling into her and she looks, to the audience, almost innocent. It's a whole 'nother thing when she's throwing her ass around up on my lap, scratching her hands up and down my abs, and having hard, quivering orgasms; pressing herself down until what's between us disappears inside her completely.

It was no exception then. She was there, riding the fuck out of my dick, stroking her hands up and down my neck and shoulders, forehead to forehead. I stared into her soul as I jerked up hard to meet her thrust for thrust; caressed her jaw and stuck my tongue in her mouth. She ground her pussy on my lap faithfully on every sweet down-stroke, making sure to stimulate my clit.

"Am I doing good?" She asked me, breathless, "Do you like it?"

I told her, "Feel for yourself."

She arched her back and reached her little hand back to grab for the cloth of my harness; fingers rubbing on my entrance.

"Oh fuck," she whined, and rode me faster and faster. She fixed me with a dazed look, "Feed me."

Feed me. Jesus. That's your girl.

I reached down past the waistband of the rodeoh and squeezed my hand down beneath the base of my dick 'till I could get two fingers into myself. Pulled them out and pushed them into Rachel's soft, suckling mouth.

"Here," I could barely stand to watch, closed my eyes, "Fuck."

I dunno whatever it was that made my fingers so sensitive—to the flick of her tongue and her mouth's soft suckle. Yeah, I came. Yeah, her too. Maybe because I did. Maybe not. It might've just been the dick I was pummeling inside her.

I stood up from the chair with her legs around my waist—very swift recovery; grabbed her by her tight little ass-cheeks and bounced her on my cock.

I like this position for a billion reasons. First, physically—I've always liked the burn in my body from exercise that borders on extreme. Hoisting a hundred-pound girl up and fucking her is kicks for me. And second, the whole mental game—I feel powerful. I feel more powerful than the girl I'm fucking. Maybe that shouldn't even turn me on, but I guess I don't care. Third—her little titties are bouncing right there, near my mouth. I can lick and suck—and yeah, she's very sensitive. She's coming straight away, and passing out on me—already.

Quinn took a breath and her pen was almost out of ink anyway. It was blatant ungrammatical garbage but it helped her deal. She was sure she was clear in her knowledge of it. They were anonymous fucks and she was headed nowhere again. To a broken heart again.

She couldn't quite understand why it had turned into—letters penned to him. The fiancé. The closest guess she had was that…it sort of helped her remember that he was there. She'd logged every one of their encounters. And if he ever found out, and if he ever had a question…it was all right there, in a composition book that was almost done now. She'd have to start volume II. I mean, certainly they were not done fucking.

Rachel was due to be waiting for her again.

3

It was always awkward, the end of it. Quinn wasn't allowed to smoke or anything, Rachel said. So she just sat up against her headboard and stroked her sweaty hair back from where it was matted against her forehead.

Rachel looked at her—eyes still freshly dazed from orgasm.

"Are you letting it grow out?"

Quinn cleared her throat, "No—just—I need to get it cut soon."

"Hmm," Rachel nodded, "You'd look cool with that side shave—Ellie Goulding thing, you know the—"

She gestured, and laughed at Quinn's expression, the way she shook her head.

"Fuck outta here with that shit, Berry."

Rachel licked her lips, "Are you going to dye it again?"

Quinn shrugged, "Maybe."

There was a lull. She watched Rachel pull on her clothes; finding them in pieces on the floor.

Something about it had her "up"again, but she decided not to start.

Instead, something dark and convoluted:

"Hey—don't bother wearing panties when you come over either."

Rachel looked up; a gaze that lasted a heavy second.

"Okay."