Never-Finished Fic: Jane Doe, Jane/Peter
Dec. 29th, 2007 04:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rsadelleProbably most of you have never heard of or seen Jane Doe. It was a made-for-TV movie that wasn't that great, but Teri Hatcher, as Jane, spends the whole movie in a green shirt that's tight across her breasts. She's directed to go meet Peter for training in how to shoot a gun (I think) and is rather surprised to find out that Peter is a woman, played by Christina Cox.
Peter dropped her clothes onto the floor and fell onto her bed. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Then she closed her eyes and conjured up the image of the woman they'd paid her to train. Dark hair, red lips, green shirt stretched tight across her breasts. And the way she handled a gun--the woman was a natural.
Peter wanted her, wanted to touch her, wanted to do things to her. She rubbed her hands lightly across her stomach, warming up to the feel of skin against skin, enjoying it even if it was all her skin.
She imagined Jane in front of her, hands running down her chest and down her thighs before coming back up and catching the bottom of the green shirt. She pulled the shirt up and over her head.
Peter groaned at the imagined sight of Jane in only her jeans and bra. Jane ran her hands up through her hair, striking poses for Peter. Her hands came back down and unhooked her bra. She let her hands drop farther and the bra fell to the ground.
Jane touched her own breasts, cupping her hands around them and holding them up for Peter to admire.
Peter started to move her own hands either up or down, but determined to see the fantasy through, she stopped herself. Her hands pressed a little harder against her stomach.
Jane's hands slid back down her body to the waistband of her jeans. She undid the belt buckle and slowly drew her belt through the belt loops. She dropped the belt and brought her hands back to the waistband. She unbuttoned her jeans and slowly slid the zipper down. Peter could see the soft cloth of her panties. Jane hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her jeans and pushed them down her legs, wriggling a little as she took them off. She did the same thing with her panties. She stood still, letting Peter look at her. Then she came onto the bed, straddling Peter's legs. She crawled up Peter's body.
Peter cupped her hands around her breasts, imagining Jane's hands on her breasts, Jane's breasts in her hands.
Jane's hands cupped and stroked Peter's breasts even as Peter's hands did the same to her. She dropped quick, teasing kisses onto Peter's neck and chest. Peter arched into her touch. When she started to move her hands down Jane's body, Jane said, "Don't. Let me," and moved her own hands down over Peter's stomach to her thighs. She used light, teasing touches to open Peter's thighs. She stroked her fingers slowly inward. She brushed lightly over the edges of Peter's cunt and stroked one finger across her clit.
Peter's arms shook with the strain of moving slowly. She moaned and gasped at the small touches that were the only contact she allowed herself.
Jane slipped one finger between the edges of her cunt, the touch serving to make her wetter and more eager. She tried to move up into the touch, but Jane's free hand held her down.
Peter was surprised to hear pleading moans and whimpers coming from her own lips.
Jane slowly pressed her finger, just the one, deep into Peter's cunt. Peter struggled against the hand holding her down and tried to rock against Jane's touch, but Jane still held her firmly.
"Please," she gasped in her fantasy and aloud. "Please."
Jane smiled down at her and slipped two more fingers into her. This is what she wanted. Jane moved the hand on Peter's stomach down to press against Peter's clit. Without the hand holding her down, Peter was free to rock up into Jane's hands. Jane, still moving her hands, leaned over and kissed her hard enough to steal her breath. Peter didn't even have a chance to make any noise as she came.
Peter opened her eyes and Jane disappeared. She gasped for breath, her hands still moving against her cunt. Her movements slowed, then stopped altogether. She draped one arm over her eyes, letting the other flop onto the bed at her side. She lay there until she had caught her breath. Then she turned her head and looked at the clock. She groaned and rolled out of bed. She was supposed to get paid in an hour, and she had to take a shower first. It was really too bad that she couldn't get the image of a green shirt stretched over full breasts out of her head.
Peter dropped her clothes onto the floor and fell onto her bed. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Then she closed her eyes and conjured up the image of the woman they'd paid her to train. Dark hair, red lips, green shirt stretched tight across her breasts. And the way she handled a gun--the woman was a natural.
Peter wanted her, wanted to touch her, wanted to do things to her. She rubbed her hands lightly across her stomach, warming up to the feel of skin against skin, enjoying it even if it was all her skin.
She imagined Jane in front of her, hands running down her chest and down her thighs before coming back up and catching the bottom of the green shirt. She pulled the shirt up and over her head.
Peter groaned at the imagined sight of Jane in only her jeans and bra. Jane ran her hands up through her hair, striking poses for Peter. Her hands came back down and unhooked her bra. She let her hands drop farther and the bra fell to the ground.
Jane touched her own breasts, cupping her hands around them and holding them up for Peter to admire.
Peter started to move her own hands either up or down, but determined to see the fantasy through, she stopped herself. Her hands pressed a little harder against her stomach.
Jane's hands slid back down her body to the waistband of her jeans. She undid the belt buckle and slowly drew her belt through the belt loops. She dropped the belt and brought her hands back to the waistband. She unbuttoned her jeans and slowly slid the zipper down. Peter could see the soft cloth of her panties. Jane hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her jeans and pushed them down her legs, wriggling a little as she took them off. She did the same thing with her panties. She stood still, letting Peter look at her. Then she came onto the bed, straddling Peter's legs. She crawled up Peter's body.
Peter cupped her hands around her breasts, imagining Jane's hands on her breasts, Jane's breasts in her hands.
Jane's hands cupped and stroked Peter's breasts even as Peter's hands did the same to her. She dropped quick, teasing kisses onto Peter's neck and chest. Peter arched into her touch. When she started to move her hands down Jane's body, Jane said, "Don't. Let me," and moved her own hands down over Peter's stomach to her thighs. She used light, teasing touches to open Peter's thighs. She stroked her fingers slowly inward. She brushed lightly over the edges of Peter's cunt and stroked one finger across her clit.
Peter's arms shook with the strain of moving slowly. She moaned and gasped at the small touches that were the only contact she allowed herself.
Jane slipped one finger between the edges of her cunt, the touch serving to make her wetter and more eager. She tried to move up into the touch, but Jane's free hand held her down.
Peter was surprised to hear pleading moans and whimpers coming from her own lips.
Jane slowly pressed her finger, just the one, deep into Peter's cunt. Peter struggled against the hand holding her down and tried to rock against Jane's touch, but Jane still held her firmly.
"Please," she gasped in her fantasy and aloud. "Please."
Jane smiled down at her and slipped two more fingers into her. This is what she wanted. Jane moved the hand on Peter's stomach down to press against Peter's clit. Without the hand holding her down, Peter was free to rock up into Jane's hands. Jane, still moving her hands, leaned over and kissed her hard enough to steal her breath. Peter didn't even have a chance to make any noise as she came.
Peter opened her eyes and Jane disappeared. She gasped for breath, her hands still moving against her cunt. Her movements slowed, then stopped altogether. She draped one arm over her eyes, letting the other flop onto the bed at her side. She lay there until she had caught her breath. Then she turned her head and looked at the clock. She groaned and rolled out of bed. She was supposed to get paid in an hour, and she had to take a shower first. It was really too bad that she couldn't get the image of a green shirt stretched over full breasts out of her head.