The Darker Side of Lorelai Gilmore
folder
G through L › Gilmore Girls
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
14,606
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
G through L › Gilmore Girls
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
14,606
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own The Gilmore Girls, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
The Darker Side of Lorelai Gilmore
Author: UbiquitousMixie
Email: Scully01082@yahoo.com or DSP10@albion.edu
Title: The Darker Side of Lorelai Gilmore
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Gilmore Girls
Pairing: Lorelai/Other
Disclaimer: Amy Sherman Palladino’s got ‘em, not me. I just borrowed them.
Summary: Lorelai’s got an itch that needs to be scratched
***
Sometimes I don’t want to be witty and cute. Sometimes I don’t want to be clever and funny. Sometimes I don’t want to play innocent and nice.
Sometimes I want to be rough. Sometimes I want my hair to be pulled and my back to be scratched. Sometimes I want unspoken lust.
I don’t know exactly how it happened. It was all such a blur, and before I could give one last shot at being the woman everyone knows, that sliver of rough wantonness tore out of me from that hidden place, and I gave in. I don’t like to think of the details surrounding how it began; the guilt comes and I find myself powerless. All I am willing to acknowledge is that she was there, her voice strong and commanding, and anyone with my wants and desires would have been unable to say no as well.
It’s not easy being Lorelai Gilmore sometimes. Especially when that occasional itch needs to be scratched by the only person who can do it in that way that’ll have me screaming and wanting more at the same time.
I don’t know what I would do if anyone ever found out about my indiscretions. Rory would never accept it or understand and probably never forgive me. Sookie would regard me as a stranger. Luke would fall apart. My poor Luke. I do love him, more than I ever have loved Max or Christopher or any other man. And one day, if we ever come together as it seems to be destined, maybe I could convince him to indulge in my darkest fantasies. But until then, I have her to satiate me.
I watch her now as she advances, and any former thoughts evaporate from my lust-ridden mind. Her eyes are both icy and molten at once, and her lips look puckered and ready. As she comes closer to me, I can feel the heat of her body warming my skin, and I begin the game by backing up to the large desk behind me. I corner myself, anxiously setting the pretext for the games to begin.
“You know we don’t have much time,” she says in a way that makes my legs shake. That voice. Whenever she calls for Rory and I answer, I find myself needing a cold shower or a visit to that box under my bed that contains items only I know about.
I nod. No time for conversation. Any unnecessary time spent talking about what we both already know is wasteful. Rory is on the floor beneath us, in a meeting while I wait so that we can go to my parents’. She is here under the pretext of needing extra time in the Franklin office.
Her tie is loosened and her shirt already unbuttoned, and I swallow, thankful that I chose a skirt. She presses her body flush against me, her breasts harshly grazing mine, her hips thrusting against me. I moan softly as I lean in for a kiss.
She intertwines her fingers in my hair and roughly pulls back my head. I gasp and arch my body against her. Instead of taking my lips that I offer, her mouth ravishes my neck and I cry out as her teeth nip at the sensitive skin. She is careful not to leave marks, but she knows just how far she is allowed to go. She pushes every button, crosses every line, and devours all accessible flesh as her free hand works it way up my blouse.
I beg her to take me fast. It’s been so long since I last needed her like this that I am about to come as her fingers find my nipple and tug. She rocks her hips harshly against mine, sending my backside into the cold, sharp edge of the desk and I cry out, at once loving the sound of my own voice as it mixes pleasure and pain.
She pinches hard, distracting me while she lets go of my breast to seek the shameful heat I am hiding between my legs. She lusts for this; she loves to know that I need this, and loves to torment me. She loves that it’s me that is under her power. I don’t mean that she loves me, because I know she doesn’t, and I don’t love her. But she loves knowing that she has Lorelai Gilmore hanging by a thread.
My panties are shoved roughly aside as she positions her fingers at my opening. She’s not lubricated whatsoever, though I know I have created enough to have her pass through me without problem. I wait anxiously, staring into her brown eyes that are very nearly black at this moment, and she stares back with an intensity that most are afraid of. I am not afraid. I crave it, I need it.
Within seconds she’s filled me, and just as quickly she’s gone. She teases, the bitch, and I grunt in disapproval. The last time she teased me like this, I left scratches in her back so deep that blood puckered to the surface of her skin.
She thrusts in again and as she strokes me I can help but marvel that she fucks me so well. At her age, I was raising a baby, and yet this girl--woman--is so experienced in what she’s doing to me. It’s as if she’s crawled into my mind, extracted a recipe for that perfect fuck, and practiced the execution to perfection.
She releases my hair, after giving it one last tug and I grunt in pleasure. She grabs my thigh and digs her fingers into the flesh while increasing the speed of her hand that’s pounding inside of me.
And finally, as I am getting closer and closer to my much-needed release, she covers my lips with hers and ravages my mouth. The kiss is urgent and needy, teeth and tongue claiming everything. She sucks my lower lip into her mouth and unexpectedly bites down so hard that I scream. At the same time, she grinds her thumb into my clit and my orgasm finally crashes over me. My muscles spasm over her slick fingers as I groan out a strangled version of her name.
Her grip loosens on my thigh and her fingers slip from my satisfied center. She glances as her watch.
“You need to get back downstairs.”
I’m still not quite recovered from that orgasm, and I lick my lips and nod. The taste is metallic on my tongue, and I realize she’s drawn blood.
“Sorry,” she says, half-meaning it. She gives me this look and for a moment I see the innocent friend of my daughter, and guilt enflames my skin. That is, until she brings her fingers to her mouth and wipes the remnants of our fuck along her tongue.
I straighten my underwear and smooth down my dress. She watches this display, something she’s seen so many times. “You owe me,” she says, her voice hardened. I suppress the regret that I didn’t have time to return the favor; I love having the lingering taste of her on my lips when we leave each other. Next time.
I watch her leave, staring at the backs of her knees, the only flesh she let me see, and wonder when I will need this again. I wish for the need to never arise again because of how intensely wrong it is, but at the same time I want that girl back between my legs. The devil that keeps me fucking Paris Gellar has returned to its hidden depths, lurking, waiting for me to succumb once again to the weakness.
I grab my compact and check out the damage to my lip. Not too bad. I can come up with an easy excuse for that. I run my fingers through my hair and as I leave the classroom, I put the lighter side of Lorelai Gilmore back on.
Email: Scully01082@yahoo.com or DSP10@albion.edu
Title: The Darker Side of Lorelai Gilmore
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Gilmore Girls
Pairing: Lorelai/Other
Disclaimer: Amy Sherman Palladino’s got ‘em, not me. I just borrowed them.
Summary: Lorelai’s got an itch that needs to be scratched
***
Sometimes I don’t want to be witty and cute. Sometimes I don’t want to be clever and funny. Sometimes I don’t want to play innocent and nice.
Sometimes I want to be rough. Sometimes I want my hair to be pulled and my back to be scratched. Sometimes I want unspoken lust.
I don’t know exactly how it happened. It was all such a blur, and before I could give one last shot at being the woman everyone knows, that sliver of rough wantonness tore out of me from that hidden place, and I gave in. I don’t like to think of the details surrounding how it began; the guilt comes and I find myself powerless. All I am willing to acknowledge is that she was there, her voice strong and commanding, and anyone with my wants and desires would have been unable to say no as well.
It’s not easy being Lorelai Gilmore sometimes. Especially when that occasional itch needs to be scratched by the only person who can do it in that way that’ll have me screaming and wanting more at the same time.
I don’t know what I would do if anyone ever found out about my indiscretions. Rory would never accept it or understand and probably never forgive me. Sookie would regard me as a stranger. Luke would fall apart. My poor Luke. I do love him, more than I ever have loved Max or Christopher or any other man. And one day, if we ever come together as it seems to be destined, maybe I could convince him to indulge in my darkest fantasies. But until then, I have her to satiate me.
I watch her now as she advances, and any former thoughts evaporate from my lust-ridden mind. Her eyes are both icy and molten at once, and her lips look puckered and ready. As she comes closer to me, I can feel the heat of her body warming my skin, and I begin the game by backing up to the large desk behind me. I corner myself, anxiously setting the pretext for the games to begin.
“You know we don’t have much time,” she says in a way that makes my legs shake. That voice. Whenever she calls for Rory and I answer, I find myself needing a cold shower or a visit to that box under my bed that contains items only I know about.
I nod. No time for conversation. Any unnecessary time spent talking about what we both already know is wasteful. Rory is on the floor beneath us, in a meeting while I wait so that we can go to my parents’. She is here under the pretext of needing extra time in the Franklin office.
Her tie is loosened and her shirt already unbuttoned, and I swallow, thankful that I chose a skirt. She presses her body flush against me, her breasts harshly grazing mine, her hips thrusting against me. I moan softly as I lean in for a kiss.
She intertwines her fingers in my hair and roughly pulls back my head. I gasp and arch my body against her. Instead of taking my lips that I offer, her mouth ravishes my neck and I cry out as her teeth nip at the sensitive skin. She is careful not to leave marks, but she knows just how far she is allowed to go. She pushes every button, crosses every line, and devours all accessible flesh as her free hand works it way up my blouse.
I beg her to take me fast. It’s been so long since I last needed her like this that I am about to come as her fingers find my nipple and tug. She rocks her hips harshly against mine, sending my backside into the cold, sharp edge of the desk and I cry out, at once loving the sound of my own voice as it mixes pleasure and pain.
She pinches hard, distracting me while she lets go of my breast to seek the shameful heat I am hiding between my legs. She lusts for this; she loves to know that I need this, and loves to torment me. She loves that it’s me that is under her power. I don’t mean that she loves me, because I know she doesn’t, and I don’t love her. But she loves knowing that she has Lorelai Gilmore hanging by a thread.
My panties are shoved roughly aside as she positions her fingers at my opening. She’s not lubricated whatsoever, though I know I have created enough to have her pass through me without problem. I wait anxiously, staring into her brown eyes that are very nearly black at this moment, and she stares back with an intensity that most are afraid of. I am not afraid. I crave it, I need it.
Within seconds she’s filled me, and just as quickly she’s gone. She teases, the bitch, and I grunt in disapproval. The last time she teased me like this, I left scratches in her back so deep that blood puckered to the surface of her skin.
She thrusts in again and as she strokes me I can help but marvel that she fucks me so well. At her age, I was raising a baby, and yet this girl--woman--is so experienced in what she’s doing to me. It’s as if she’s crawled into my mind, extracted a recipe for that perfect fuck, and practiced the execution to perfection.
She releases my hair, after giving it one last tug and I grunt in pleasure. She grabs my thigh and digs her fingers into the flesh while increasing the speed of her hand that’s pounding inside of me.
And finally, as I am getting closer and closer to my much-needed release, she covers my lips with hers and ravages my mouth. The kiss is urgent and needy, teeth and tongue claiming everything. She sucks my lower lip into her mouth and unexpectedly bites down so hard that I scream. At the same time, she grinds her thumb into my clit and my orgasm finally crashes over me. My muscles spasm over her slick fingers as I groan out a strangled version of her name.
Her grip loosens on my thigh and her fingers slip from my satisfied center. She glances as her watch.
“You need to get back downstairs.”
I’m still not quite recovered from that orgasm, and I lick my lips and nod. The taste is metallic on my tongue, and I realize she’s drawn blood.
“Sorry,” she says, half-meaning it. She gives me this look and for a moment I see the innocent friend of my daughter, and guilt enflames my skin. That is, until she brings her fingers to her mouth and wipes the remnants of our fuck along her tongue.
I straighten my underwear and smooth down my dress. She watches this display, something she’s seen so many times. “You owe me,” she says, her voice hardened. I suppress the regret that I didn’t have time to return the favor; I love having the lingering taste of her on my lips when we leave each other. Next time.
I watch her leave, staring at the backs of her knees, the only flesh she let me see, and wonder when I will need this again. I wish for the need to never arise again because of how intensely wrong it is, but at the same time I want that girl back between my legs. The devil that keeps me fucking Paris Gellar has returned to its hidden depths, lurking, waiting for me to succumb once again to the weakness.
I grab my compact and check out the damage to my lip. Not too bad. I can come up with an easy excuse for that. I run my fingers through my hair and as I leave the classroom, I put the lighter side of Lorelai Gilmore back on.