Pearl's teeth dig in deeper, needy whines muffled by her arm. Garnet works her all too easily, she can read her body like a map -- and this is bad, this is very bad for her, because she still doesn't know if she's allowed.

The alternation between pleasure and pain, it's tantalizing and it's torturous, the tension in her abdomen sharpening and coiling upwards like a metal wire. Garnet's building her up with a clockwork methodicality, effortlessly, and when she finally asks her that Pearl burns red with shame at her utter failure to conceal it. She's not allowed. She's not allowed...

She plucks her mouth away with a soft, wet pop, gasping as if she's resurfaced above water. "Y-yes," she answers, and her shoulders droop with a strained exhale. Guilty. "I'm sorry."