Pearl's throat snaps shut at the sound of Garnet's voice in her ear, sealing her breath within. She feels herself sink beneath her weight, heavy and warm against her back, pressing closed whatever bit of space had remained between her skin and the carpet.

Garnet's thighs close around her, the damp patch in her jeans rubbing the side of her hip -- as soon as the sensation registers, a spasm shoots down Pearl's spine. God, she really is a disaster, isn't she? Making a mess out of everything she touches. Now the carpet, too, already she's staining it with her arousal and sweat.

Yet despite the shame seizing hold of her skin like wildfire, Pearl's legs are butter in Garnet's hold, not a drop of resistance to be found in her muscles as she bends them up. Then Garnet rocks forward, and in a single motion a thousand tiny tendrils tickle and rub and scratch everywhere, and Pearl is so wholly unprepared that her moan slides up an octave.

It only lasts a second, though, leaving her body buzzing and still beneath Garnet. She pushes her palms against the floor, tries to get herself to move the same way -- only to find herself a trembling, boneless mess, incapable of moving an inch.

"Again," she whimpers.