“Why don’t you ever let your hair grow out, Nachita?”
Nacho bites her tongue to keep from rolling her eyes. She doesn’t like the shiver that sprints down her spine as Lola’s fingertips brush just above her ear, like she’s tucking hair that Nacho doesn’t have behind it.
“Don’t like dealing with it,” she says as a simple reply.
“Not even a little bit?” Lola bats her lashes and keeps touching Nacho’s head, practically petting her like a f*cking zoo animal. “A cute pixie cut? Anything?”
“My hair’s too curly. It gets annoying fast. Can you stop that?”
“Stop what?”
Lola blinks like she’s so f*cking oblivious. Nacho hates her. She hates how alphas in general think of omegas as pretty decorations they can use how they want, which is why, when she tightens her arms across her chest, she shows no cleavage. No hint of some girly, lacy bra. She’s clad in a wrinkled button-up, a tank top under that, and a sports bra under that. Legs covered entirely by black skinny jeans. Heels on her boots a respectable, moderate height — which is to say, no obscene, ghastly stilettos.
On the other hand, Lola Salamanca… She’s everything Nacho never let herself be. It’s like being born an alpha made her, paradoxically, more comfortable leaning away from alpha stereotypes — in appearance, at least.
She’s glamorous. Tall and hourglass-shaped, gray streak fashionably cutting through long black hair, always dolled up in trendy, pretty clothes that one would usually associate with omegas… Confidence is a drug they could sell for a fortune if they could bottle it up.
It’s not something Nacho has in as many spades as Lola. So, rather than tell her grabby boss to knock it the hell off, she just leans away from her hand.
“Touching me. There’s nothing there. It’s weird.”
“There is!” Lola says, chipper as ever. “Just a little stubble. It’s prickly, ooh—”
She really does pet Nacho this time, full-on palm against her head. It feels way too good, which is how Nacho gets the inkling her heat must be getting close. Ugh. Just what she needs.
“Seriously!” Nacho says, pivoting away again, cheeks red. She runs a hand over her head back and forth once Lola’s is gone — she is prickly, actually — and grumbles. “Does this place look like a f*cking petting zoo, lady?”
It looks like an empty El Michoacano, is what it looks like. One that Nacho would like to remove herself from at the first possible opportunity.
“If that’s not what it is, why do I want to pet you so bad?” Lola asks. Something changes in her voice, her expression. It’s… predatory. The little smirk on her painted lips makes Nacho’s heart race.
So she stands, knocking her knees on the underside of the table as she goes. Cursing under her breath at the sparks of pain, she tries hard not to look into Lola’s dark, seductive, foreboding eyes.
“I— I gotta go,” she says. “See you tomorrow?”
“I sure hope so, Nachita,” Lola says, and her wicked chuckles follow Nacho all the way out the door.
Nacho rides both Amber and Jo’s faces hard that night. It’s a stalwart attempt to block out thoughts of Lola that categorically does not work.
Her girlfriends are omegas, after all, and Lola is an alpha. There are some things alphas have that you don’t get with omegas. And sure, Nacho’s always been against the archaic idea that an omega needs an alpha to be fulfilled, but damn, sometimes she truly just wants to be railed by one.
She collapses facedown, sweaty and panting, between Amber and Jo once they’re done. Not even burying her face in their c*nts could stop her from thinking about Lola.
God, she really is about to go into heat. Pretty soon, if the way she wakes her girls up to f*ck them more that night is of any indication. Her libido is fairly high as it is, but close to that time of the month? She usually needs to take personal days away from the sneers and snickers of the cartel.
Lola’s only been around for one of her heats once before. Nacho remembers it clearly. That night, scrambling into Lola’s car drenched in a thick sheen of sweat, breathing hard and holding little baggies of drugs out in her shaking hands.
Yeah, Domingo had bad f*cking timing.
Nacho hadn’t even been due for another few days, but the physical exertion of jumping across a damn rooftop triggered it early. She thinks back to the look on Lola’s face, stunned and then impressed, nostrils flaring noticeably.
It took all of Nacho’s self-control back then to stop herself from begging Lola to take her in the car. Probably took all of Lola’s self-control, too, if the sharp scent of her arousal was of any indication.
Since then, she’s definitely noticed Lola’s… attention. Which is all fine and good when it comes to getting closer to her for Fring. But when it comes to Nacho’s own bone-deep fear of sleeping with another Salamanca? Her desire to keep Lola at an arm’s length and hopefully avoid whatever crazy’s leaking out of her? It’s a much different story.
She’s already slept with Tuca. Kind of an inevitability, she thinks. They’d been friends for so long, then they started working together, and… Well, one thing led to another. Tuca’s a ravenous alpha. Nacho’s spent more heats in her lap than she’s willing to admit.
Her proximity to Tuca got her a piece of skull lodged under her collarbone, though, so she’s really not crazy about the idea of seeing what it’d look like to grow closer to an even more insane Salamanca.
But god, she wants her.
She’s irritable the next day when she has to drive Lola around. Being stuck in such close proximity makes it abundantly clear that her pheromones are all abuzz. Lola even compliments her “perfume.”
What a little sh*t.
Nacho puts a few pantyliners on throughout the course of the day to mitigate the amount of slick stains she’ll have to wash out of her briefs. Once, when she finishes up in the bathroom, Lola ducks in right after her. She comes out later, a few minutes too many, smirking at Nacho.
Nacho doesn’t even wanna know what she did in there. She just wants to keep her head down, do what she needs to do, and go the f*ck home.
And she manages. For a day, at least. She gets back home, f*cks her girls, eats dinner, f*cks them again, then passes out.
“Come to my place,” Lola whines the next morning over the phone.
“Lola, I— I’m kinda not feeling the best,” Nacho says, rubbing her eyes. “Maybe you should get Domingo to—”
“I have everything you need to feel good as new at my house!”
“You don’t even know what’s wrong with me.”
Lola just chuckles. “Come over in an hour, ‘kay? I’m bored, I want to play games.”
“Games? Lola—”
The line goes dead.
Nacho sighs and flops back against the pillows. She scrubs her face, stares at the ceiling, then shoves a hand between her legs to quickly get her indecent thoughts out of her system before her shower.
“Nachitaaa! Eres guapa, eres guapa.”
Lola greets Nacho at the door and tugs her inside. She keeps an arm around her as they make their way to the dining table, chipper and, dare Nacho say it, flirty.
“I still think you should throw on some mascara, maybe some heels, but…”
Nacho cuts her off. “I’d break my ankles in heels. Pass.”
“You’re so dramatic.” Lola ushers her into a chair and sits down next to her, placing a hand on her thigh. “You’re such a pretty girl, Nachita… You should—”
“Didn’t you wanna play games or something?” Nacho mumbles, brow creased, not sure how to handle all the attention.
“Oh! Si.” Lola claps her hands together and stands up. “I was hoping we could play some cards… You’ve got a better poker face than the rest of the girls, so you’re more fun to bet against.”
“What are we betting?” Nacho asks, looking over the back of the chair to watch Lola’s hips sway as she goes to grab a deck of cards from the coffee table. “High rolling today?”
“You could say that.” Red lips pulled into a thin smirk, Lola sits down and tugs the cards out of their box, beginning to shuffle. “But no, not money. Not today. That’s so boring, don’t you think? I mean, we already have a ton of the stuff.”
Nacho’s heart begins to drum faster. “Then… What?”
“I wanna make a bet,” Lola says. “If I win, you have to do something for me. If you win… Eh. I dunno. What do you want?”
For you to go back to Mexico and let me live my life, Nacho thinks.
She says, “Uh. I don’t— What could I ask for?”
Lola’s smirk is positively devilish. She winks.
“Anything you want.”
“Wh-what do you want?” Nacho asks. “Let’s start with that.”
Lola begins to deal. “If I win, you have to go out shopping with me.”
Nacho blinks. “Shop—? Lola, we do that all the ti—”
“Shh. Listen,” Lola says. “We’re shopping for you.”
“M-me?”
“Yes. We’re getting you some actual omega clothes,” Lola tells her, calm and nonchalant, like that’s not absolute bullsh*t. “Something cute and frilly. Maybe even pink! That’s close to red, right?”
Nacho’s nose wrinkles. “You called me all the way here… to make a bet… where if you win, you get to… take me on a shopping spree?”
“And dress you up after,” Lola says. “You don’t get to just shove it all to the back of your closet! I wanna see you looking your best, amorcita.”
Nacho feels her face heat up. Lola has gathered her cards into her hands by now, but Nacho leaves her own facedown on the table.
“I look my best right now,” she grumbles.
“Oh, shut up.” Lola waves a dismissive hand and scoots her chair over to the other side of the table, giving Nacho some blessed breathing room. “You’ll thank me when you’re in a dress and heels.”
“Not a f*cking chance. How about when I win, you drop the subject forever, huh? How’s that for a bet?”
“When you win?” Lola arches a brow, looking amused. “Come on, Nachita, that’s a stupid bet. If you’re so sure you’re gonna beat me, why not ask for something a little more… interesting?”
Nacho bites the inside of her cheek, rising warmth creeping up to her neck. “That’s all I want from you.”
Lola’s smile vanishes. She sighs like a child who’s not getting their way. “Fine. If you win, I won’t try to make you pretty anymore. Ungrateful…”
Nacho just scoffs and grabs her cards. “Are we gonna play or not?”
A bead of sweat rolls down Nacho’s temple.
This never happens when she plays poker. It’s not happening because of the card game. This is her heat, getting stronger as they play.
She tries to keep it together. She really does. But whenever Lola smirks at her from across the table, her thighs press together, and she loses track of which cards she wants to discard and which she’s hoping to pick up.
As she blinks away her unwanted thoughts, she realizes, f*ck, she’s only got a pair of sixes. How the hell did that happen? Normally, the only f*cking luck in her life comes to her in poker hands.
She tries to play it cool, though. Subtly scratches her head to wipe away the sweat. Leans back in her chair and arches a brow at Lola.
“You ready?” she asks.
“Whenever you are,” Lola says in a light, airy voice. As usual, her poker face is perfect. “Omegas first.”
Nacho’s eyebrow twitches at the annoying, antiquated phrase. “I wouldn’t dream of robbing an alpha of the chance to muscle her way in on something.”
Lola’s laugh tickles the back of her neck. “C’mon! Are you scared to show me? Nachita, you’re such a shy girl…”
Something about being called a girl by Lola has Nacho’s thighs tensing all over again. She glares, then tries to play it confident as she lays her cards down.
“A pair? Ooh, very cute,” Lola chuckles. “Here, I’ll show you mine…”
She fans her cards out on the table.
A straight.
Lovely.
After a few moments of silence that Nacho spends staring with her brows furrowed at the cards like she’s trying to make them combust, Lola bursts out laughing. “Guess I win! We’ll go to Santa Fe tomor—”
“Best two out of three?”
Lola clicks her tongue. “We made a bet, Nachita. No backing out now. Unless you wanna make a new bet?”
“L-like what?” Nacho asks, hesitant, like she’s approaching a wasp’s net.
“You win, and we can pretend that last round never happened,” Lola says. “I win, and you have to show off your new look to the whole crew once I have you all made up tomorrow!”
“No,” Nacho says immediately. “Not happening.”
“Aww, are you scared?”
Yes.
“No!” Nacho huffs and shoves away from the table, chair scraping loudly on the floor as she pushes herself to her feet. “I’m just not an idiot. Fine, we’ll go to stupid Santa Fe tomorrow.”
“Ignacia, I’ve never seen you like this,” Lola says, raising her brows. She looks delighted, amused, and cruel. “Is it really so bad to wear some cute clothes and makeup for a little while?”
“I’m going home,” she says. Lola’s eyes on the back of her neck are making her hornier, which is making her angrier, which is making her even hornier. “You had your fun. Happy now?”
“Oh, c’mon! Don’t be a sore loser, Nachita!” Lola calls after her as she storms to the door. “Nachita! Don’t you walk away from—!”
The door slams shut behind Nacho. She sighs in frustration and pulls a cigarette out of her pocket, lighting up as she walks back to her car. She tries not to make a habit of smoking, but she keeps a couple cigs around for times like this.
f*cking Salamancas. When she gets lung cancer, they better pay for her bills.
As she gets in her car and starts to pull away, she glances back at Lola’s house one more time. A pair of eyes greet her from the window, and Lola’s fingers curl in an evil little wave.
Tomorrow is going to be hell.
The first store they step into is as large as it is foreboding. Nacho gulps and clenches her tense hands into fists as she and Lola head toward the rows of hanging clothes.
“What’s your size?” Lola asks, grabbing her by the upper arm to tug her a little harder than she needs to as she scans dark eyes around the store. “You look like a medium. But your chest…”
“I-I don’t know,” Nacho says, gulping when she hears the stutter in her own voice. “I only wear stuff from the alpha section.”
Lola laughs. “Oh, right. Well, we’ve got all day, and they’ve got dressing rooms…”
“We are not doing a movie dressing room montage, Lola.”
Lola pouts. “Nachitaaa—!”
Nacho narrows her eyes, digs her heels in, and lowers her voice as she grinds to a halt. “The deal was you get to see me in this sh*t. Not the cartel. Not the employees here. You.”
Huffing, Lola sighs, “Fine, fine. But you still have to make sure they fit before we buy them.”
“Whatever,” Nacho says. “Just pick some sh*t out and make it quick.”
Her heat is still settling in, wrapping around her like a snake ready to constrict her to death and swallow her whole. She’s wearing pheromone-suppressant cologne, but that sort of thing isn’t perfect, especially during high-intensity heat days. And the first few days for Nacho are always the worst.
If Lola can smell her, though, she gives no indication of it. She hums to herself as she peruses what the store has to offer, rifling through racks and holding things up to Nacho’s body while Nacho stares off to the side bitterly. Whenever she finds something she likes, she tosses it into Nacho’s arms.
When the pile in her hands gets just heavy enough that even Nacho feels some strain holding it, Lola finally leads her to the dressing room in the back of the store.
“You have to actually try them all on, Ignacia, don’t skip stuff,” Lola says. “I’ll know if you do. And you better not come out here and say none of it fits! I’ll drag you to every store in Santa Fe if I have to!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Nacho grumbles, shutting the dressing room door behind herself just a little too loudly.
Inside, she sighs. The full-length mirror in front of her is taunting her, snickering, “You’re gonna be a pretty omega princess, Nachita.”
“Shut up,” she mumbles to it.
“What?” Lola says on the other side of the door.
“Nothing,” Nacho calls back, and starts to shrug off her shirt.
Nacho blocks out the ordeal of going into about twenty thousand different dressing rooms and trying on twenty million different outfits as the day progresses. She tries not to think about how all the stuff Lola picked out makes her look.
Of course, Lola has made her carry all the bags. “You’re just so much stronger than me,” she’d cooed while rubbing Nacho’s bicep. “Aren’t you, Nachita?”
Coming from an alpha, it was clearly meant to be sarcastic, but Nacho still thinks, alpha or not, she could throw Lola’s bratty ass over her shoulder and toss her off a cliff if she had half a mind to.
She has her whole mind on it by the time they get to the beauty shop. Lola swatches lipsticks and foundations and other creams on Nacho’s forearm until she feels sticky and disgusted.
“I’m supposed to put this crap on my face?” she complains as Lola wiggles her fingers and plucks another shade of lipstick off the shelf.
“Don’t be a baby. You’ll hardly notice it.”
Nacho shifts a heavy bag of clothes in her arms, switching her weight to the other foot. The strain is starting to get to her.
“It’s just gonna feel like a f*cking c*mshot— Hey!”
Lola grabs her chin and holds up the lipstick next to her pursed lips, humming. “Maybe something with more purple undertones… You’ve gotten cum on your face, Nachita?”
Someone on the other side of the shelf conspicuously shuffles away.
“Do I not look like I have sex?” Nacho mumbles, glaring over Lola’s shoulder.
“You don’t look like you get facials,” Lola says, then she frowns. “In any sense of the word. Nacho, what’s your skincare routine?”
Nacho rubs her chin when Lola finally lets her go. “Uh… Water…?”
Lola stares at her in silence for a few seconds, then sighs and starts to walk away. “Gonna need some moisturizer too, ay dios mio, esta chica…”
Nacho just glares into one of the little mirrors near the lipsticks.
“Good job, moron,” her reflection tells her.
“f*ck you,” she says, and begins to think maybe she needs to stop talking to mirrors before someone locks her up in the loony bin.
“Nachitaaa!” Lola calls from across the store, waving an arm over her head. “Come heeere! Do you need sunscreen, too?”
“I’m not that pale,” Nacho calls back.
“Skin cancer is no joke, Ignacia!”
Mumbling obscenities to herself, she walks over and lets Lola shove skincare product after skincare product into her full, callused hands.
“Can we go back to the car? My arms are getting—”
“One last stop, chica!” Lola chirps as they walk down the street. “We just need to get you some shoes to match your outfits.”
“When I agreed to the bet, I didn’t think you’d make me put on a whole f*cking fashion show.”
“That’s your problem for assuming,” Lola hums as she pivots sharply toward another storefront. “You know what they say about that.”
Nacho glares at Lola’s ass in her tight jeans as she pushes open the door in front of her. The scent of new shoes wafts out to bombard Nacho’s nostrils, which is better than the scent of Lola’s alpha sweat that she’s been getting a whiff of beneath her deodorant since about twenty minutes ago.
The shoe boutique is staffed by a friendly woman with a name tag that reads “Maria.” She seems shocked when Lola tells her that they’re there for Nacho, but she tries to hide it, bless her heart.
She asks them for Nacho’s size, then Nacho gets a blessed chance to sit down and put all the bags on the floor as Maria ducks into the back to find a few pairs Lola sent her to fetch.
“Big feet,” Lola says, gracefully sitting down on the bench across from Nacho.
Nacho’s brow creases. “Huh?”
“Bigger than I thought.” Lola examines her manicured nails, all done up in green, white, and, on her middle fingers, red. “That’s fine. We’ll find something for you to squeeze into.”
In the end, the wide styles fit Nacho the best, and even then, she finds Lola’s choices pinchy and uncomfortable. Lola makes her try everything on, but eventually concedes and doesn’t make Nacho try to walk in them while they’re in the store.
Finally, blessedly, incredibly, they’re done. Nacho loads up the trunk with their purchases and collapses into the passenger’s seat, head tilted back, eyes shut. She heaves a slow sigh.
The driver’s side door slams shut and snaps her out of her temporary moment of peace.
“Ready?”
Nacho cracks her eyes open to look over at Lola’s stupid, punchable, grinning face.
“As I’ll ever be,” she says, and Lola chuckles and begins to drive off.
The entire time back to Lola’s place, Nacho’s heart hammers in her chest so loud that she thinks Lola might hear. Her c*nt throbs as Lola sings along with the radio, hair whipping out in the wind coming from the window.
A few times, she tries to make excuses to have Lola drop her off at her place, but Lola brushes off every one.
“I think I left the stove on—”
“Have those junkie whor*s turn it off for you.”
“Th-they’re out, or— I should check on them, they might have taken too much of—”
“No they’re not, and no they haven’t.”
“M-my stomach hurts. I—”
“Of course it does, Nachita, you’re nervous. Mama Lola will make it better, don’t you worry.”
When Lola reaches across the center console to pat Nacho’s stomach twice, Nacho’s muscles tense up so hard you could shred f*cking cheese on her abs.
This is the worst day of her life.
Okay, second worst, tops. But it’s up there.
Lola’s house looks like a haunted mansion as they pull up, even though it is neither haunted nor a mansion. Well, okay. Soon enough, it’ll be haunted with the sound of Nacho’s groans.
Because she’ll be— She’ll be groaning because of how much she hates the clothes. Not any other reason.
Dios mio, she thinks as Lola opens her door.
She doesn’t even notice she’s still buckled in until Lola bends over her lap and releases the seatbelt herself. Her breath catches in her throat, which she covers up by coughing into her closed fist.
“C’mon, Nachita,” Lola tosses over her shoulder, already halfway up the walk by the time Nacho gathers her bearings. “Bring in everything.”
She doesn’t offer to help.
When Nacho finally gets the last of the bags inside, she realizes her shirt is drenched with sweat even with antiperspirant on. Her underarms are soggy, and the front of the tank top she has on under her button-up has darkened with wetness.
That’s not the only thing dripping wet right now. f*ck. She glances back toward the door, but—
“Don’t think about running away,” Lola giggles, planting herself in front of it. “Bring those to the bedroom, what are you doing? You’re gonna have to change in my ensuite, chica tímida.”
Nacho opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again. Maybe— Maybe honesty will be the best policy here. Maybe Lola will let her put this off a bit if she makes a genuine plea. Salamancas like to hear people beg, don’t they?
Ugh.
“L-Lalo, I’m in— I mean, it’s about time for my—”
Lalo’s smirk just grows as she waits for Nacho to spit it out.
“I-I’m in heat.” Nacho brings up her arms to hug herself awkwardly. “So— So everything’s just gonna get ruined.”
“You can’t return panties, anyway,” Lola says, then pushes away from the door and prances toward her bedroom. “Bring it all in fast, okay?”
Why did Nacho ever think that had a chance of working?
She decides arguing would only humiliate herself further, and grumbles as she lugs all the shopping bags into Lola’s room. It’s a pretty room. Done up in soft blues and yellows, with a canopy on the bed, it’s the perfect place for a stuck-up princess.
The rest of the room is more rustic than the bed. Big paintings of Mexican landscapes hang up on the walls, the decorations have a clay-made Southwestern flair, and there’s a photo on her bedside table of her aunt with her and her cousins.
Nacho subtly turns that frame to face the wall when Lola isn’t looking.
“Which one’s the makeup ba— Oh! These,” Lola says, and snatches up the bags they got from the beauty boutique. “We’ll do your makeup first, something more neutral so it goes with everything… I’m thinking something rosy, but we can always swap out the lipsticks…”
Nacho doesn’t manage to bite back the groan that pushes itself up from her chest. “Lola, I’m really not gonna be able to try them all—”
“We’ll burn that bridge when we come to it,” Lola says, and Nacho isn’t sure if the malaphor is intentional or not. “Go sit in the bathroom, there are chairs by the vanity. And take off that smelly overshirt, it’s gross.”
Nacho grumbles sourly and obeys by way of unbuttoning her shirt and dropping it right in the middle of Lola’s bedroom floor on her way to the ensuite. Lola chuckles behind her.
For the third time today, Nacho sits in front of a mirror and wants to curse it out. She glares at her reflection, trying to memorize the sharp contours of her unpainted face. It feels like she’s going to a funeral.
R.I.P. Here lies Nacho’s self-respect. Never really born, but died anyway.
Lola pops into the room behind her and starts to take out the new makeup, pushing her own products to the side to make room for Nacho’s. Nacho stares with growing dread at every item that fills up the table.
“We’ll need to moisturize first. Your skin’s not awful, but lucky genetics can only take you so far… Then we can go in with the— Wait, dios mio, I’m a total moron!”
That’s for sure, Nacho thinks, but instead of voicing that, she just arches a scarred brow up at Lola.
“I totally forgot—” Lola grabs Nacho’s arm, unceremoniously hiking it up above her head. The scent of antiperspirant and heat-sweat hits both their noses. “We have to do something about this first!”
“Wh— No!” Nacho yanks her arm back and puts it down, face growing redder than ever. “You’re not waxing me or whatever the f*ck you—!”
“I’m all out of wax at this house,” Lola says. “I can just shave you.”
“I— Wait, what?”
Nacho’s nose wrinkles. Lola can shave her?
Lola begins opening drawers on the vanity until she’s able to find a small pair of haircutting scissors. “We’re definitely gonna need to trim under there first, but hopefully your legs will be fine for the razor…”
“Lola! No! Shaving wasn’t part of the deal!” Nacho says, her voice dangerously close to a whine.
“Don’t you wanna do something about that forest under there?” Lola asks.
“No, I don’t!” Nacho huffs, her face dark with blush. “You said dress up. I’m dressing up! Why does it have to be more than that?!”
“Nachita, híjole! It’ll grow back!”
Nacho shoves her hands under her pits and glowers. “No, no, and oh, in Spanish so you’ll understand: no.”
They engage in an intense staredown after that, neither of them budging. When the silence and the tension very nearly becomes too much to bear, Lola breaks it by lurching forward and grabbing Nacho hard by the back of the neck.
“Listen,” she sneers, more Salamanca than ever right now. “I just spent a lot of time out there spending a lot of money to make you beautiful. The least you could do is let me shave that awful, gross, smelly hair off of you, mocosa.”
Nacho trembles in her grip. She’s not scared, but Lola has a hold of the exact spot on the back of her neck that makes all omegas go weak. Like a baby f*cking kitten, she goes limp in Lola’s grasp, mouth dropping open, eyes going half-lidded, c*nt spewing more f*cking slick into her briefs. Her arms drop down away from her pits, limp and useless by her sides.
“...Hey.” Lola’s angry look drops off of her face, replaced by her usual relaxed smile. She begins to massage the back of Nacho’s neck, which sends a shiver coursing down her spine and makes her thighs twitch. “Hey. Sorry. Look, I just want the final product to be what I had in mind for you. You can understand that, can’t you, Nachita?”
How is Nacho supposed to talk with Lola rubbing her neck like that? A trilling purr escapes her slack lips, and a bead of drool gathers on the lower one. She doesn’t normally allow anyone to touch her there, so she’s particularly unprepared for the hand of a violent alpha who knows exactly what she’s doing.
“Pretty girl,” Lola coos, kneading the soft spot just under her skull. “You could be such a pretty girl if you let me make you into one. Now c’mon. Let’s get those arms up, okay? I’m gonna start to trim, then we can shave you up real nice.”
Her hand slides off of Nacho’s neck, and Nacho whimpers at the loss. Lola chuckles at her.
“Ignacia…”
Nacho sucks in a shaky breath and lifts her arm.
Lola giggles, immediately jumping in to start snipping big clumps of hair away. Staring in the mirror, Nacho watches her lift her fingers, covered in omega sweat now, to sniff them when she thinks she’s not being looked at.
Nacho doesn’t say anything about it. She just lets Lola trim her hair until it’s short enough to shave, which she starts to do with a brand new disposable razor from a pack beneath her sink. She rubs shaving cream in first, and the sharp scent tickles Nacho’s nose as slowly, her dignity is shaved away.
The second pit goes much like the first. Lola works diligently, rinsing her razor in a little bowl of water after every pass over Nacho’s skin. Then finally, finally, it’s done, and when Nacho puts her arms down, she feels almost naked.
Which is when Lola says, “Take off your pants.”
Nacho blinks. “What?”
“I’m going to bet that if your pits were like that, your legs aren’t gonna be much better,” Lola sighs. “So we might as well get it over with now.”
Nacho is so wet that she must be leaking through her jeans. She really doesn’t wanna stand up and let Lola confirm that for her. Better to change in private, where she has some small hope of wiping up and keeping her wet c*nt out of sight.
“I-I’ll just do it myself before I get changed,” she says. “It’s fine. You don’t have to—”
“Ignacia, have you ever shaved your legs a day in your life?”
Nacho clamps her lips shut.
“That’s what I thought.” Lola snaps her fingers and points at the ceiling. “Up. Take ‘em off.”
She really is used to getting whatever she wants, isn’t she? Nacho can’t stand her. Certain her hatred is plain in her eyes, she stands up on shaking feet, hands trembling as they close in on her belt.
“Good girl,” Lola coos, and Nacho could strangle her.
She undoes her pants and sighs before shoving them down. Stepping out of them, she looks down, mortified, at the shining of slick on her inner thighs. Her briefs are completely soaked through. There’s even a f*cking wet spot on the chair. It hits her hard that she was so scatterbrained during her bathroom break on their outing that she forgot to replace her pantyliner.
“Ooh, it’s hitting hard this month, isn’t it?” Lola giggles. “That’s okay, baby. It’s only natural. Sit back down and let me take care of you.”
Take care of me, Nacho scoffs in her mind. Take care of this f*cking cl*t with your stupid, bitchy, spoiled princess mouth, you f*cking—
She gasps as a hand trails up her thigh. Lola’s fingers feel like fire on her skin. She realizes after a moment that Lola is petting her leg up and down to feel the fine dusting of hair there. It gets denser toward her calves and ankles, thick and dark like the hair that used to grow on her head.
“Sit,” Lola says again, and Nacho’s wet ass finds the chair.
Lola hums and gets on the floor, pressing Nacho’s discarded jeans between her knees. She brings the bowl and shaving cream down with her, squirting some cream into her palm to smooth over one of Nacho’s calves.
She hums while she drags the razor over Nacho’s skin in long, methodical strokes. Nacho watches as strip after strip of her hair is cut away, until the bowl beside Lola is murky with shaving cream and little curled hairs.
Then it’s time for her thighs. Lola starts on the outsides first, leaving the sticky insides alone. When she needs to reach the underside, she pushes Nacho’s knee up to her chest, and Nacho shivers with her foot on Lola’s shoulder while she’s sheared like a sheep.
She’s shaking all over by the time Lola gets back to her with a wet washcloth after finishing most of her legs. She jumps and twitches as her slick is mopped up, as well as any leftover bits of shaving cream.
“We’re in the home stretch,” Lola tells her, putting a dollop of cold cream on Nacho’s inner thigh and smoothing it around. “You’re doing so good, amorcita.”
But it’s too sensitive, that skin there. The second Lola brings the razor down for its first pass, Nacho jumps, then feels an immediate stinging pain as the blades nick her flesh.
“Oh—! Look what you did!” Lola exclaims as a bead of blood rises to the surface. “You have to stay still, Nachita, there’s a lot of veins there!”
Nacho opens her mouth to say something angry, but she’s stopped in her tracks when Lola dabs her thumb in the blood and brings it up to her lips. She pops the tip in her mouth, lashes fluttering as she sucks it clean with a soft moan.
Their eyes meet.
No one says anything until Lola pipes up with, “Legs spread, Ignacia. I’m not finished yet.”
The rest of the shaving goes smoothly, more or less. Lola finishes up with her inner thighs, dabbing at the blood periodically (with the rag this time). Nacho feels peeled and uncomfortable, laid raw and bare for this demon of a woman.
Just when she thinks it’s over, Lola’s fingers take hold of the leg of her briefs and start to pull it up. Centimeter after centimeter of skin is exposed until she catches sight of the thick hair in the crook of Nacho’s leg between thigh and c*nt.
She gasps. “Nachita! Don’t tell me you don’t shave there either!”
Nacho slams her legs shut. “Do you really think that’d be any different than the rest of me?!”
Lola pouts. “I dunno. It could’ve been a two-for-one deal on heads and puss*es at the barbershop.”
“Well, it wasn’t!” Nacho huffs, so tense her shoulders might pop her head like a grape. “Look, I— It’s trimmed, alright? It’s not a total f*cking hopeless mess down there.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Lola says, trying to shove Nacho’s legs open with her hands on her knees.
“No, you will not!” Nacho insists, keeping them firmly closed. At the end of the day, alpha or not, she’s still got more muscle mass than Lola. “I’m drawing the f*cking line there. You’re not putting a razor near my c*nt, especially not during my f*cking heat.”
Lola stares at her for a moment, silently smirking.
Finally, she shrugs. “Okay. Sure. I wanna get your makeup done soon, anyway.”
Then she stands and goes to rinse out the bowl and scrub out the rag. Nacho stares at her, suspicious, but, true to her word, when she gets back to the vanity, she starts to slather Nacho’s face with moisturizer instead of going for her puss*.
The process of getting her makeup done is absolutely agonizing. The products go on cold before they warm up to her body temperature, and they feel sticky and slimy and gross. She can’t stop blinking when Lola goes for her eyes, much to Lola’s exasperation.
“Just— Just keep them open so I can get your liner done!”
“You’re f*cking poking me in the eye!”
“I am not! It’s just your waterline!”
“I think I’d know when someone’s poking my own goddamn eye!”
“Ugh! You are such a baby, Nachita!”
They stop and glare at each other for a long time. After a few moments locked in a staredown, Lola rolls her eyes and heaves a great, big sigh.
“Okay. You can do it yourself so you don’t get all pissy,” she says, shoving the eyeliner pencil into Nacho’s hand.
Too late, Nacho thinks, glowering, but she lifts the pen and turns toward the mirror anyway.
It takes several more frustrating minutes of direction from Lola to get her eyeliner applied. And that’s just the pencil liner. Lola informs her there’s also liquid liner for the top lids, adding, “You better not move or open your eyes until it’s all dry!”
Nacho tries her best, but Lola ends up cursing her out and tidying up a few messy spots with makeup wipes anyway. It’s funny; it’s the angriest she’s ever seen Lola, and it’s all over some stupid makeup.
It seems to take forever for Lola to get her eyeshadow blended — how many different shades can you use on one look — and then there’s a spirited discussion about false lashes before Lola relents and just puts mascara on her instead.
Finally, after some lipstick and cherry-flavored lip gloss, the torture is over. Kind of. There’s still the agony Nacho feels when she looks into the mirror and sees her face all done up in a way it hasn’t been since her quinceañera — and she hated her quinceañera.
“I look ridiculous,” she says, and watches in real-time as Lola’s face cycles through every stage of grief.
“Nachita! I did a really good job, what’s your problem?!”
Nacho leans forward and narrows her eyes at herself. Her face has been contoured to look softer, her lips painted to look fuller, her eyes accentuated by warm colors that complement her skin tone. It’s, admittedly, nothing too gaudy or outrageous, but it feels like clown makeup on her face.
She sighs.
“Whatever. Can you just let me change, please? What outfit am I putting on first?”
That seems to placate Lola, who turns chipper all over again. “I know just the thing!”
She rushes out to grab some clothes, leaving Nacho temporarily alone with her thoughts. More images of her quince pop back into her head, including the big, puffy dress handed down from her mother that made her look more like an anachronism than a princess.
That’s one reason she hated it. Her mother wasn’t there to see her wear it.
She blinks away tears before they can ruin her eyeliner, just in time for Lola to stride back in.
“Here,” she says, offloading an armful of clothes and a box of shoes into Nacho’s arms. “Wipe up before you wear it. You’re leaking again, querida.”
Her eyes conspicuously dart between Nacho’s legs, which Nacho slams together immediately. God, her briefs feel so uncomfortable. At least it’ll be a relief to get the soggy things off for a while.
“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbles as Lola leaves her in the bathroom, shutting the door with a deafening click.
Nacho takes the time to wipe herself down once she’s naked. Her nipples pebble as the cool cloth swipes between her legs. A soft groan escapes her throat when she dares to touch her hot, oversensitive c*nt, even through the rag. It’s a struggle not to hump her hand until she squirts then and there.
But she manages not to. Tossing the soiled rag in the sink, she grabs the outfit Lola picked out, frowning down at it. It seems so… form-fitting, and delicate, and so far beyond her style that she may as well throw on a pirate outfit and walk down 7th Street. It’d be far less silly than all this.
Less humiliating, too.
She steps into a pair of frilly white panties, almost immediately soaking them through. f*ck. The longer the day goes on, the more Lola looks at her the way she’s been looking, the harder it gets to ignore her heat. She just wants to get this over with fast so she can go home and make Amber eat her out.
Lola hears her struggling a few moments later, and calls in, “What now?”
“I can’t get— the f*cking—” Nacho nearly shouts in frustration, wordless and guttural. “—bra! f*ck!”
“Is it too small? We got you measured…”
“No, it’s— The f*cking— The clasp, it won’t—”
“Hook it in front of you, then twist it around! Ay dios mio, Nachita, you’re impossible…”
Huffing, bright red beneath dark powder blush, Nacho does as she’s told. The bra is scratchy and makes her feel like her lungs are being constricted, but maybe that’s just her anxiety. It sure does lift and squish together her tit*, though, which doesn’t look terrible, all things considered.
Compulsively picking her bikini-cut panties out of her ass, she snatches up the dress Lola gave her. It’s a soft pink color, covered in frills, and hugs her curves tightly when she squeezes it on. She thinks she hears a seam rip when she pulls it over her head, but she doesn’t care. It doesn’t look like anything’s out of place, at least.
Y’know, if you discount how out of place Nacho looks in the stupid thing in general.
Finally, the shoes. The part she’s dreading most. Even at her quince, she was allowed to wear flats. The shoes she plucks out of the box are her least favorite pair of all the ones Lola grabbed: strappy and high, she just knows she’s rolling out of this place on a stretcher later to go get surgery on her badly-broken ankles.
Just another permanent scar from a Salamanca. An ordinary Tuesday.
“I don’t think I can wear these,” she calls through the door.
“Wear what?”
“The shoes. The heels are too high.”
“You’ll be fine, Ignacia, it isn’t that hard. Besides, they were three hundred bucks, so you better wear ‘em.”
“Lola, you’re literally a millionaire.”
“It’s the principle of the thing! C’mon, chica, I’m waiting!”
So no dice on getting her to budge.
Nacho sighs and sits on the toilet to figure out how to get the thin straps over her feet correctly. She buckles them at the ankles, then pulls herself up by the sink to stand.
Oh, god. Feet were not meant to bend that way. She feels like she’s walking on her toes, which, in essence, she is. She wobbles a bit, holding tight to the sink.
“Lola, I’m serious. I can’t walk in these.”
“You’re being dramatic! Come out, I wanna see you!”
Nacho growls, c*nt throbbing. The thin satin and lace of her new panties is brushing against her big, sensitive cl*t in a way that’s driving her crazy. It doesn’t help that Lola’s so insistent on seeing her like this.
She keeps holding onto things the entire way to the door, and then it’s the door she clings to when she opens it. Wobbling like a baby deer finding its legs underneath itself for the first time, she steps from tile to carpet, which is a whole other can of worms.
Lola gasps. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed with her hands over her mouth, and for a second, Nacho thinks she must look truly hideous. But then she sees the way Lola’s eyes sparkle, and feels the heat of them as they drag up and down over her body.
“Nachita… Muy bonita! Maravillosa! Guapa, guapa!”
It’s really too much. She’s laying it on thicker than the foundation.
Blushing, hugging herself, Nacho sulks. Her feet already hurt, and her nipples are so hard that they’re visible through both her dress and bra. Lola needs to stop looking at her like that, like she’s a piece of meat on a plate at a Michelin-starred restaurant.
“Put your arms down, pretty girl!” Lola says, lowering her hands from her mouth. “Let me see you. Come here.”
“I don’t think I can—”
“You can! Just walk! It’s easy. Come here.”
The last bit comes out far more alpha than Nacho’s prepared to deal with. Before she knows what she’s doing, she steps forward once, twice, three times, but—
Her heel catches on some of the fibers of the carpet, and down she goes.
She expects to crash to the floor. What she doesn’t expect is the feeling of surprisingly strong arms catching her right before she hits the ground.
Her wide brown eyes meet Lola’s, hovering there over her as she keeps her from falling flat on her back. Nacho doesn’t even realize she’s clinging to Lola until she pulls her back to her feet.
“A-ah…” Nacho’s painted lips part. With her new shoes on, she’s Lola’s height, more or less. It feels strange to be so high off the ground, to be properly eye-to-eye with her. “Um… Uh…”
Lola’s eyes go half-lidded, and she chuckles. “Heh… Nachita, you’re pretty cute. You know that?”
God, Nacho is so gay.
She lingers there, unable to speak for a few moments. When she’s finally able to clear her throat and find her voice, her c*nt throbs with every syllable.
“A-are you— happy now?” she asks, brows knitted above her smoky eyes. “Can I take this off?”
“You want to strip for me, pretty girl? Already?” Lola coos. Her hands dip down lower until they can tease at the crease between Nacho’s ass and her thighs. “And show me that wet little omega puss*?”
Nacho’s heat must be affecting more than one of them.
“J-jefe,” Nacho stutters, temporarily losing track of what language they’re speaking with her brain boiling between her ears. “We shouldn’t—”
Lola leans forward until her lips can brush the shell of Nacho’s ear.
“Call me Lola,” she whispers.
That does it for Nacho. Something about the smooth way Lola’s voice creeps in her ear makes her knees weak. She collapses against Lola, face buried in her neck, back arching, sticking her ass out in desperate need of a knot. She usually just uses toys when she wants to be knotted, but this month, right here, right now, she wants the real thing.
“Oh… Baby,” Lola says, soft and motherly to the point that it almost makes Nacho sick. Her hands glide up over Nacho’s ass and squeeze. “Aquí estoy para ayudarte. We’ll get you through this…”
A finger slowly slides down Nacho’s slit. The thin panties do almost nothing to keep her from feeling it, the warmth and light calluses of Lola’s hand. The hands of a woman who, contrary to her appearance and attitude, knows how to get down and dirty when she needs to.
“What’s this?” she coos as the tip of her middle finger finds Nacho’s cl*t. “Big for an omega, aren’t you? Nice and swollen and sensitive for me…”
Nacho gasps, pants, clings tight to Lola’s shirt. Her hands are shaking — no, everywhere’s shaking, and she can’t figure out how to make herself calm down. How can she when Lola’s rubbing little circles into her big, thick cl*t?
“You’re sooo wet.” Lola speaks, because Nacho can’t find her tongue. “My pretty girl. Can you stand up for me?”
Nacho whimpers, but, with some coaxing, stands up straight. She feels like she could collapse at any second, not just because of the heels.
Lola sits back on the edge of the bed, grabbing Nacho by the hips to make sure they’re facing each other. Nacho bites her lip, wondering if she’s getting lipstick all over her teeth. It’s not something she’s ever had to worry about before.
“Niña bonita, pull that dress up for me. Just a little,” Lola says. “Just show me your pretty, wet panties.”
Nacho’s trembling hands grab the edge of her dress in a vice grip. Slowly, she tugs it up, revealing her quivering c*nt clad in only the thinnest of material.
“Ooh…” Lola reaches forward like she’s in a trance, lightly trailing a finger from the bow on the waistband of the panties to the bulge of Nacho’s cl*t. Nacho’s breath catches in her throat as Lola says, “Turn around. Show me from the back.”
Nacho is careful not to trip as she turns her back to Lola. She pulls the dress up in the back, unconsciously sticking her ass out a little more to give Lola the best view possible.
Lola groans again, grabbing her asscheeks, massaging them. She tugs Nacho’s cheeks apart with her thumbs until the panties are bunched up in her crack, sopping wet and clinging to her skin, to the trimmed hairs that dust her crotch.
Lola’s thumbs find the slick in the crook of Nacho’s inner thighs, where her razor couldn’t reach. Prickly little hairs scratch Lola’s skin as she rubs up and down, up and down.
“One day,” she says, “I’m gonna wax this little puss* until you’re screaming for me. For now… Come here, baby.”
While Nacho’s head is still reeling from all that, Lola tugs her by the waist and flops back onto the bed. Nacho gleefully takes the chance to crawl on top of her, taking the pressure off her aching feet as she straddles her.
They barely look at each other for a second before Lola is pulling her into a kiss. Her lips are so soft… Nacho shudders. Her c*nt pulsates, untouched and leaking.
When she rocks her hips down against Lola’s, she finally feels it.
She shudders.
Lola pulls away, lips and teeth streaked with smeared lipstick, and smirks. “Is it gonna be too big for you, querida?”
The co*ck straining against Lola’s jeans seems impossibly big already, and Nacho can’t even see it. She can sure feel it, though, her c*nt pressed to it, grinding against it to feel that scratchy denim so close to her cl*t.
“No,” she breathes. “I want it. Please show me. P-please…”
Lola pushes herself up on her elbows and teases one of Nacho’s nipples through her dress. It only makes Nacho grind on her harder.
“Let’s do this right,” Lola says. “Undo my shirt, pretty girl. I want your mouth on Mama’s tit*.”
Nacho gasps sharply and buries her face in Lola’s neck. “D-don’t call yourself that.”
“I’ll call myself whatever I want,” Lola says, and oh yeah, that’s right, she’s an alpha. “Mama... Mommy… Mom. I’ll let you pick which one to scream when I make you come.”
Without warning, she pinches Nacho’s nipple hard. Nacho yelps; it’s as painful as it is arousing.
“Wh-whatever happened to ‘call me Lola’?!” she whines.
Lola shrugs. “Changed my mind. Now take my shirt off like I told you to.”
Nacho lets out a shuddering breath and lifts her hands to undo the buttons on Lola’s pretty floral shirt. Bit by bit, her body is exposed, and Nacho parts the halves of her shirt to admire her lacy black bra. She just wants to bury her f*cking face between Lola’s tit*, but she holds back as Lola shrugs out of her button-up.
“Bras aren’t so bad, now, are they, Nachita?” she asks, eyes shining with a cruel kind of mirth.
“Never said I didn’t like them on other women,” Nacho mutters.
“But I bet you like them better off,” Lola says. The look on Nacho’s face tells her all she needs to know, and she laughs. “So go on. It’s okay. Take Mama Lola’s bra off, mija.”
Nacho faceplants into her chest, growling. “I hate you.”
“I know you don’t mean that,” Lola says, bringing a hand up to pat her on the back. “You’re just frustrated. Need a nice, hard dick in your puss*, don’t you? And Mama’s pretty nipples in your mouth.”
Nacho lets out a frustrated noise into Lola’s tit*. Angrily, she reaches up to yank Lola’s bra clasp apart. (She’s a lot better at taking bras off than putting them on.) She sits up to tear the bra off Lola’s arms and toss it to the side, but then something catches the light and gives her pause.
Lola giggles and brings a hand up to tease one of her own nipples. “Are they cute?”
She touches a sparkling nipple piercing, both ends of it shaped like little hearts instead of standard metal balls. The hearts are made of, if Nacho had to wager a guess, real diamonds. She’s got both of them pierced, and Nacho cannot believe she never caught the outline of them under Lola’s shirt before.
“They’re, uh…” Nacho licks her lips, feeling like the world’s most braindead dyke. “Yeah. They’re pretty, Lola.”
“Mama.”
“Not happening.”
Lola pouts. “No respect. Whatever. Go on, use that pretty mouth…”
She loops a hand around the back of Nacho’s head and tugs her close. Nacho is eager to stop talking, so she quickly takes Lola’s nipple between her teeth, biting down lightly until she can feel the bar beneath the skin.
Lola sucks in a sharp breath of air through her clenched teeth, nails digging into the back of Nacho’s head. “Ah, yeah, that’s it… You can be rough, baby, Mama can take it…”
Oh, she’ll be rough. Dumb alpha, thinking she can get anything she wants. Nacho growls, shaking her head back and forth just a bit with Lola’s nipple still clenched in her mouth. She glares up at her, but Lola just smirks, cheeks dusted red.
“Mija, you—”
She cuts herself off with a yelp as Nacho’s palm cracks into the tit not in her mouth. It dissolves into a moan, because of course the princess is a little masoch*stic, too.
Nacho sucks on her nipple, lets go to breathe, “You piss me off so f*cking much” against her skin, then sucks it some more, rolling the little diamond studs around on her tongue. Her blunt fingernails pinch down on the other nipple, and she tugs at the piercing there until Lola’s skin stretches a touch too far.
“Ay, f*ck!” Lola shouts, tossing her head back. “Querida. Querida. I need to lick your pretty panties clean…!”
Nacho has half a mind to deny her, and she does — for a little while. She focuses her attention on Lola’s nipples until they’re swollen and flushed darker with blood, and Lola is practically in tears begging for her c*nt and tugging at her dress.
Alpha, huh?
But eventually, Nacho can’t take it anymore. She growls and lifts her head, glaring at Lola’s sweat-slick, splotchy red face.
“Mama wants my c*nt?” she asks before she even knows what she’s saying. She sits up and rolls her hips, dragging her puss* over the wet spot she’s made on the crotch of Lola’s jeans. She fists a hand in her dress and lifts it up so Lola can see the roll of her barely-covered puss* lips against the bulge of her co*ck. “This one? This c*nt right here?”
“Don’t be mean,” Lola whines, tears shining in her eyes.
“What’s the matter, alpha?” Nacho taunts, corner of her mouth quirking upward into a mean smirk. “I thought people like you were supposed to take what they want. Don’t you want my tight puss*?”
She never could have imagined she’d be in this position with Lola Salamanca, but it’s intoxicating now that she is. Tuca never let her be in charge. She was a brash, selfish lover, who liked to bend Nacho over and take her whenever the mood struck her. A real traditional alpha.
Lola, though? She’s turning out to be a little less aggressive than Nacho would have thought. She must really be helpless to pretty girls in pink dresses who call her Mama.
“Sit on my face,” Lola sighs, scooting down until she can sink into the pillows. “Ignacia. Let me taste, let me taste your tight f*cking puss*, please—!”
Nacho’s brows pinch, and she frowns again as she shimmies up Lola’s body. Thighs trapping the older woman’s head, she lowers herself down until she can grind her soaked panties all over Lola’s face.
“You’re gross, Mama,” she says, breathless and strained. She doesn’t know why she’s saying it like that; something about how forbidden, nasty and wrong it is has started to really turn her heat-addled brain on. “Pervert. S-smell me…”
Lola does more than just sniff. Nostrils flaring, she opens her mouth to lap at Nacho’s tiny panties, which have started to bunch up between her puss* lips. Her cl*t is so, so close to getting the attention it deserves, and Nacho can hardly stand it, but…
“Beg me.” She lifts her hips sharply and grabs Lola’s hair to keep her down when she tries to follow. “Beg me, alpha. Beg for hija’s wet f*cking puss*.”
“Ay dios mio, Nachita, you’re so f*cking sexy,” Lola growls. “Let me show you how much Mama likes it when you act this way. Por favor, let me show my perfect little girl. I wanna see, I wanna see your wet f*cking c*nt, that cl*t looks so big, is it sensitive? Is it? I can make you come so hard, I-I’ll make you come then I’ll knot you and make you come again—”
“Shut up!” Nacho barks, tugging Lola’s face up to her c*nt again just to grind against her. “Shut up for once, princesa. Put your f*cking mouth where your money is.”
And, with her free hand, she tugs her ruined panties to the side and lets Lola attack her swollen cl*t with her eager tongue. It’s enough to make her squeal with delight the second Lola comes into contact with her. Her thighs tremble around Lola’s head, and she keeps her fingers fisted tightly in her hair to make sure she stays exactly where she needs to be.
Lola’s hands dig into the meat of her ass, desperate to help Nacho grind against her face. The way she licks and sucks drives Nacho wild, and so does the way Lola growls whenever she tugs on her hair particularly hard.
She’s so oversensitive and heat-sick that it doesn’t take long for her to come. Slick drips messily out of her c*nt, dripping down Lola’s face, her neck, her tit*. Her org*sm lasts an unreal amount of time, and Lola licks her through it all.
And then she keeps licking her.
And keeps licking her.
And keeps—
“Sto-stop— Okay, that’s— Lola, that’s enough—” Nacho says, trying to tug her hips away. Lola just lets out a wolfish alpha growl and keeps her close with those hands on her ass. Nacho twitches and jerks, crying out, “Lola!”
A second later, she’s thrown onto her back, bouncing on the soft mattress. Lola tackles her, ripping her panties clean off, hiking her dress up so her head can go right back between Nacho’s legs.
“Lolaaa—”
“Call me Mama again,” Lola growls against her c*nt. She lifts two fingers and stabs them into Nacho, rough, but exactly what she needs right now. “Tell Mama to f*ck you with her big co*ck.”
She goes right back to slurping on Nacho’s cl*t after that, leaving Nacho lightheaded and wailing. Her heat ignites a fire in her that makes her arousal refuse to wane even through her post-org*sm hypersensitivity.
Lola’s words help, too.
“M-Mamaaa,” she cries helplessly, fingers tangled in the mess of Lola’s black and gray locks. “Mommy. Mommy. P-put it in me, wanna suck it, wanna see it, god, f*ck, wanna eat you out—”
Lola adds a third finger and licks and pounds her to her second org*sm. The wet sounds from her c*nt fill the room with a cacophony of noise, positively obscene. The room reeks of sex already, hot and humid.
Pulling back, Lola drools Nacho’s slick from her lower lip. She sits up and takes hold of her dress, yanking it apart over Nacho’s heaving chest. It rips halfway down the middle, then Lola tugs her bra down until Nacho’s hard, dark nipples are on full display for her to attack with her teeth and tongue.
Nacho whines, scraping her nails down Lola’s side until she can pull at her belt. “Mama. Mama, Mama, Mommy, lemme see—”
“My pretty baby,” Lola snarls, kissing up Nacho’s neck, leaving love bites along the way. “This what you want? Hmm?”
She reaches down to undo her belt and her jeans, shoving them down until her hard co*ck can spring out. Uncut and flushed, with a tight c*nt beneath it instead of balls, she’s dripping, too.
Nacho doesn’t wait. She’s on it immediately, shoving at Lola to sit back so she can take her co*ck as deep into her throat as she can. She gets about halfway down before she starts to choke, but she’s too turned on to stop. She feels like such a whor*, a filthy little cartel slu*t, being used by two Salamancas at different times. The Salamanca family, for all their faults, is truly full of entrancing, powerful alpha women.
She shudders to think of what might happen if she’s still in the game when Tuca gets out of prison.
One hand wrapped around Lola’s impressive length, the other plunging four fingers into her own puss*, Nacho bobs her head and drools and begs with everything but her words to be knotted. Doesn’t she deserve it? Hasn’t she been good to the Salamancas? Her life is a constant sh*tshow, but she’s gone through more than enough to be entitled to that fat co*ck in her c*nt.
Pulling off of Lola’s dick, she licks down until she can get to those waxed puss* lips beneath it. God, Lola’s c*nt is tiny. Nacho doubts she’d even be able to get two fingers inside it comfortably. It’s not like alpha women are built to receive, after all. But she teases it with her tongue anyway, tasting the potent flavor of alpha slick, drinking it down happily.
“Ay…” Lola’s back is against the headboard, legs lazily spread and twitching, head tilting back as Nacho’s tongue ever so gently squeezes its way inside her. “M-Mama doesn’t let— j-just anyone do that, y’know… Ah—! Mama’s puss* is only for really, really good girls… Yeah… Yeah, yeah, ngh… Are you my good little girl, Nachita, baby?”
Her hips rock against Nacho’s face. She nods, but Lola prompts her a second time, so she pulls back just far enough to breathe, “Mama’s good girl. Pervert, you like your own daughter like this…?”
“Mija!” Lola cries as Nacho plunges her tongue back inside. “Mijaaa… G-gonna make me come, don’t— Need to breed my perfect little girl’s c*nt…”
Nacho pulls back, panting, to admire her work. Her lipstick is smeared all up and down Lola’s shaft. She can’t even imagine what her own face looks like right now. She can feel the sticky makeup running, smudged and ruined.
She was never cut out to be a girly-girl for very long.
Pressing one last, quick kiss to Lola’s lower lips, Nacho asks, voice raspy, “You gonna breed me?”
She shouldn’t find that sexy. Shouldn’t be into it. But in the heat of the moment (no pun intended), it seems like the hottest thing imaginable.
She’d be lying if she tried to say she’s never indulged in this kink before, anyway. It’s just, she’s usually the one wearing a strap and telling her girls how she’s gonna fill them full of her cum like an inarguable claim. They f*cking love it.
Now she sees why.
“Si, I’m gonna breed you,” Lola says, reaching out to cup her face. Nacho leans into her hand, purring quietly. “I’m gonna make you mine forever, mi vida. Now get on your hands and knees, pretty girl, show me that sloppy wet hole.”
Nacho shivers, reluctantly pulling away like Lola’s hand is too good to give up. But instincts spur her on as she turns and presses her face into the mattress, sticking her ass up, presenting just like a good omega should.
When did she turn into a “good omega,” anyway?
The bed squeaks as Lola gets onto her knees behind her. That huge co*ck slides between her asscheeks, teases her slit, and Lola even aims her co*ckhead to rub it against Nacho’s cl*t for a few moments just to f*cking f*ck with her. Evil, evil woman, a terrible f*cking beast, monstrous Salamanca scum—
“You ready, baby?” she purrs, co*ckhead poised at Nacho’s twitching entrance.
“Nnngh, f*ck me!” Nacho all but screams, rocking back to meet Lola’s thrust as she forces the tip inside.
God damn, she’s big. Longer than Tuca. Probably just as thick. Nacho splits open around her in the best sort of way, wet and ready enough that there’s no resistance at all. She steadily presses her hips back, Lola pushing forward, until that co*ck bottoms out as far as it’ll go without knotting her.
Lola moans softly. “Mija…”
Then she starts to move.
Their f*ck is quick and rough from the jump. Over a month’s worth of sexual tension spills out of them with every squeal and thrust. They’ve both wanted this for so long, even though Nacho’s very adept at pretending otherwise. She claws at the sheets and screams, “Mama! Mama! Mama!” escaping her half-painted lips until Lola’s fingers on her hips leave bruises.
“Ay, Mama’s pretty girl, Mama’s best little girl, so cute,” Lola murmurs, now speaking entirely in Spanish. “Mama loves f*cking her pretty little daughter’s tight puss*, yeah, yeah…! Mmn, f*ck, my daughter’s c*nt is the best, gonna breed my baby—”
Nacho reaches down to frantically rub little circles into her cl*t. Lola speeds up, losing track of language, dissolving into animalistic grunts and growls as Nacho approaches her org*sm. But it’s not enough yet, it’s not enough, she needs more if she’s gonna be able to finish.
“Knot me!” she yells, not caring who might hear. “Now, now, nowww, I need it Mama, breed me, please, I need it I need it need—”
Lola grunts, her knot forcing its way inside Nacho. She keeps pushing until it’s all the way inside, then continues working her hips in tiny little motions as that knot swells from the force of Nacho’s muscles clamping down on it. It’s Nacho’s org*sm that draws Lola’s out of her, which, in turn, makes Nacho’s last even longer. They both howl in pleasure, and Lola’s internal testicl*s must be full, because Nacho feels herself fill up with more cum than she thinks she’s ever received from an alpha. It’d be spilling out of her without the knot to keep it all inside.
That knot keeps them firmly connected to each other as Lola collapses onto Nacho’s back. She rolls them over onto their sides, the pair of them struggling to catch their breaths. Nacho’s dress is torn, wet, and ruined, and she groans as she lifts a foot to undo the buckle and kick her shoe off. She repeats the process with her other high heel, then, finally, lets herself go limp.
She’ll worry about the ramifications of this — this encounter, this erosion of her self-control and morals, the cum in her fertile c*nt — later. For now, she just focuses on trying to breathe.
“Ah… That was good, Ignacia,” Lola mutters against the back of her head. “I can’t wait to see you in the other outfits, if this is what happens when you wear omega clothes.”
Nacho blinks. “You still—? Lola, you cannot be serious.”
“What? I spent a lot of money today!” Lola says. Her piercings dig into Nacho’s back when she pulls her close. “I wanna get my money’s worth.”
“You didn’t already?”
“Well…” Nacho can hear the grin in Lola’s voice. “I guess I can’t complain.”
“Good,” Nacho says. “Because if you do, I’m cutting your dick off.”
“Fair enough. Get some rest, Nachita. There are at least three more pairs of panties in those bags I wanna rip off of you before the night’s out.”
Nacho groans. “You’re ridiculous.”
Lola pecks her on the back of the neck and giggles. “And you’re a cutie. Get some rest.”
As they drift off, knotted together, Nacho can’t help but feel a secret, secret, secret pang of desire to wear the rest of what Lola picked out for her.
She’s still not letting her hair grow back out, though.
