1 comments/ 13620 views/ 9 favorites Agent Carter: Peggy's Girl By: Zev95 Outside, the rain lashed at the tiny automat like it was Noah's Ark. Inside, Angie was appropriately dramatic for the latter, not the former. "Peggy, please, I need it!" Angie pleaded. Put her palms together and everything, like Peggy was one of her mother's saints. "Because otherwise you won't get the part?" Peggy reiterated sourly. "Yes!" A sigh. "Angie, you and only you are responsible for whether or not you get the part. Your talent, your confidence, and your preparation. You have all my support, but I—" "Then do the thing! C'mon, English... I need all the help I can get. Not getting any younger, you know." Peggy barely held in a sigh. After the war, she'd felt a million years old. Angie was, in comparison, a pup that'd just finished being house-trained. "I shouldn't have done it with you in the first place, Ang. That's the truth. I know you wanted to research your role, but you didn't even get the part. And yet—" "Because we liked it! We both did!" "You cried," Peggy reminded her pointedly. "I'm a girl! I like crying! Why do you think I've read Little Women four times, for my health?" Now showing no sign of being a waitress, Angie threw herself into the booth, across from Peggy. "Please, English. Please. I just know if you don't help me, I'll blow it. But after we do the thing, I will be so calm and so on point, I'll get the part for sure! I'll... I'll bet you! Five bucks says you do this and I will get that gosh-darn part." "Well, if there's five dollars on the line... no, I shan't bet against you." "I'll lose out on a lot more money not getting the part than I would losing a bet." "Oh, so I'm robbing you now?" "Miss, can I get some coffee over here?" someone asked. Angie whirled to face him. "As soon as my friend here starts being a good friend and agrees to help her friend out!" Periodically, Peggy had to roll her eyes. It was becoming as much a defense mechanism with Angie as it was with Howard. The two had far too much in common. Peggy would have to make sure they never met. "Angie." She lowered her voice seriously. "The last time, you got hurt." "And I knew that going in, and I healed, and I liked it, all of it, so don't you go thinking you're some corrupting monster out of a dimestore pulp and I'm an innocent young maiden who just needs the love of a good man." Angie lowered her voice hurriedly. "I need this and I need you, and you know that if you were asking for this or for anything else, I would be giving it to you already." Peggy looked at her, unwilling to relinquish her seriousness no matter how charmingly Angie smiled at her. "Promise me that if you think it's too much for you, or if anything else seems amiss or uncomfortable, that you will tell me immediately." "Of course." "I won't be disappointed. I will not think any less of you. I just have to know so I can... so things can be done properly." "I know. That's how we did it last time, after all, and that worked out fine." "Yes, well." Now Peggy looked at her coffee. "I thought you'd be smart enough to be scared off." "Oh no, not me." Angie moved in quick to tap Peggy on the nose. "Dumb as a box of hammers, that's me." "Miss, my coffee—" "Urrrggghhh." Angie marched over to him with a hot pot. "Like you ever tip me anyway—" The geezer scrutinized her as she poured for him. "What are you two gals cooking up, anyway?" "Carter's going to help me run lines, that's all. I'm an actress. I need to practice staying in character." *** "When was the last time you were spanked?" Peggy demanded, her crisp British accent low, but leaving no doubt she expected to be answered. Angie bit her lip. She was suddenly aware of the taste of her gloss, her lipstick. Peggy would be tasting it soon. "When I was a kid. And even then, not unless I really had it coming. My parents were pretty big softies, ya know." Not like you. Peggy nodded absently, as if Angie's answer made no difference to her, but had nonetheless confirmed some private hypothesis. She was sitting in Angie's wicker chair, making it look like a throne with her legs crossed and a tumbler of scotch in one hand. She'd told Angie to buy it for her, though the bottle cost Angie most of her tips for that work-day, and her with a ten hour shift to cover for Roxy... "Do you think you're a talented actress?" Angie nodded, smiling, she loved this question. "Oh yeah, in my school plays, I made people cry like babies. Not just my parents. Old men, like." "And do you believe you deserve to be on Broadway?" "Yeah. Of course." Angie went slower now. A bit nervous, because she knew how Peggy could be. You didn't go up on a roller coaster without leaving your stomach at the top. And Angie was pretty attached to her stomach. "I was born for it. I can sing and dance and, and you know how good an actress I am, English, c'mon..." "You're not an actress." Peggy aimed a long, deadly finger at her and Angie couldn't help but remember the feel of one of those inside her. Feeling so good it nearly hurt. "You're aspiring. That means you've accomplished nothing, you've proven nothing, you are an unknown quantity. And yet you're talented. And yet you belong on Broadway." "Peggy, c'mon, I thought you were just gonna tie me up some..." Peggy straightened her legs, leaned forward in her seat. Angie thought of her standing up and walking to her; a keen stab of fear ran through her. Fear of how much she wanted it. "I decide what we're going to do. That's the whole point. I asked if you wanted to be held and kissed and had sweet nothings whispered into your ear. You said no. You wanted this. You wanted me. If you speak out of turn again, you won't be able to walk right for a week." Her smile was still Peggy's, but not any Peggy Angie knew. "Much less dance." She sipped her bourbon. Angie felt funny inside, like the drink was going to her head instead of Peggy's. Peggy never spoke to her like this. Even the other time, when Angie had first asked, Peggy hadn't talked. Just kinda... growled. And usually she did talk. Sweet nothings, like she'd said. Always telling Angie how pretty she was and how good she felt and how good she tasted ('Nah, English, you're the one that tastes good. You give British cooking a good name!'). And Angie liked that, who wouldn't? But she needed this. "You're mine," Peggy continued, staring at the ice tumbling about in her drink before turning the full force of her gaze on Angie. "You said you wanted to be mine, I've taken you, you are mine. And as your mistress, I must attribute your failure thus far to you. You failing, you not working hard enough, you being unprepared." Angie opened her mouth to say it wasn't true, but remembered that Peggy had warned her about speaking out of turn. She closed her mouth again and Peggy gave a nod. "And yet, you're mine." The word slunk out of Peggy. It was a thief, headed right for Angie. "Do you know what I do when something of mine doesn't work properly?" "What, Peggy?" "I fix it." Peggy stood. She drained her glass. "Strip now." Angie shook as she did so. At first just her fingers trembling, struggling with buttons and zippers and nylons, then her whole body was quivering. It was ridiculous. She'd been naked with Peggy before. It wasn't anything she hadn't seen. But the way Peggy was looking at her... "I can't stop shaking," she said, then looked quickly to Peggy to see if she'd displeased her. Peggy took a step toward her. "Why?" she asked, the lilt of the word demanding an answer. "Because of how—how you're looking at me." Angie tried a grin. "It feels different." "You can look at people and see different things." Peggy didn't so much walk as uncoil, a long leg tracing forward across the carpet, setting its weight, drawing Angie's mistress closer, the inferno of her stare closer. "I can see my friend. My neighbor. My lover. And I can see other things, no less valid, that I normally turn a blind eye to." Angie had to open her mouth a few times to speak. She didn't want to speak out of turn, disobey the rules, not when she'd tried so hard to get Peggy playing to begin with. But Peggy wanted her to speak. That scared her the most. A good scare, like a Lon Chaney Jr. picture. "What do you see now?" Peggy held up the empty glass. Angie could see her face in its contours. "I see a slut. I see what she needs to be satisfied. I see what I can do to fulfill those needs." The glass was lowered and all Angie could see was Peggy. "The reason you're trembling is because there's nothing a slut loves more than to be used. And I know just how to use you." Weakly, Angie covered her breasts with her hands. Or just held them. "Would you?" A helpless smile flickered on her face. "I'd like that, Peg. I'd like it a whole lot." Peggy pressed the cold glass against Angie's belly, birthing a moan that Angie couldn't figure out how to let go. "You haven't earned it. Where do you keep your scripts?" "In the nightstand," Angie breathed. "But the latest one is on the kitchen table—" "I don't care about the latest one. We're not dealing with that now. Right now, we're punishing you for the failure of your last audition. Fetch me the script for that play." Angie did. She felt the cold weight of Peggy's gaze on her ass, remembered the fast burn of Peggy's hand striking it from last time. It hadn't been a spanking, not quite, but Peggy had eaten her out and she'd done it ignoring her breasts, her face, her hips, all the usual places her hands toured as she showed Angie the way to orgasm. Instead, she'd hauled Angie's lower body over and smacked her bottom, never letting Angie enjoy her tongue too much. But when it was time for her to come, it'd been so intense. Like fireworks. And yeah, sure, maybe it was always like fireworks with Peggy, but there were fireworks and then there was the Chinese New Year. Cripes, how had she managed to walk back to her own room after that? Angie came back with the script held in front of her groin, not sure if she was ready for Peggy to be looking there yet, with those eyes that burned so cold, that saw exactly how Angie could handle of pleasure and of pain. Peggy took the script from her. Her eyes traced up Angie's body after. Angie felt so naked. She tried not to shake. "You memorized it?" "Only... only the scene I auditioned for." "What role?" "Juliet, of course. Swing for the bleachers, right?" "Only when you're playing ball," Peggy replied curtly. "What scene did you audition?" "Act 4, scene 1." "Do you remember your lines?" "I didn't get the part, Peg." "Then I hope you have a very good memory indeed, because how you perform right now will determine the severity of your punishment. I'll be Paris. You be Juliet." "Okay. Okay." Angie continued silently. I can do this, I can make Peggy happy, I can be her good girl... "Happily met, my lady and my wife," Peggy said, her voice almost back to normal, but not when coupled with her eyes. She was behind Angie now, staring at her ass again, and Angie knew she was thinking. Thinking of what that ass would look like after she was done with it. Angie closed her eyes. She would do anything for Peggy. She could remember a few lines from a few weeks ago. And it was like her body generated them, responded to Peggy's presence with them, like it did her quivering, her arousal. "That may be, sir, when I may be a wife." "That 'may be' must be, love, on Thursday next." "What must be should be." Peggy lowered the script. "Shall be." "What?" "You got it wrong. It's 'shall be'. Climb onto the bed. Put your hands against the headboard. Peggy rolled up the script into a cylinder. Angie tried smiling at her. "Yes, mistress." It didn't get her anything. She wasn't sure she wanted it to. She crawled onto the mattress, her knees throwing the carefully folded sheets into disarray, and put her hands on the headboard. "Do not take your hands off the headboard." "I won't, mistress, I promise I won't." The first blow caught her right across the buttocks, Angie crying out and pulling hard against her own grip on the headboard to free herself from the sudden pain. But she wouldn't let herself move her hands. She wouldn't let Peggy down. Peggy would never let her down. Again and again the rolled-up script paddled her ass. Peggy didn't stop until tears were rolling down her pretty face. Then the script paused. The end of it scraped over Angie's lower back as Peggy considered her. Looking at her in the way that could only feel good when it was Peggy. Only Peggy got to look at her like Angie was hers, because she was hers. All hers... The script unfurled. "Come you to make confession to this father?" Peggy asked, once more in character. "To answer that, I should confess to you." The pain lingered, seeming even stronger without additional blows to numb her to what was already there. It burnt into her flesh and sizzled in her cunt, but only because it was Peggy that had done it. "Do not deny to him that you love me." Because she was Peggy's, but she was Peggy's slut, and Peggy knew just how to use her. "I will confess to you that I love you." Peggy tutted. "'That I love him.'" Angie gave a nervous laugh. "I love you, Peggy." "Do you think this is a game?" Angie started to turn. "Keep your hands on the goddamn headboard. I didn't give you permission to move one goddamn inch." Angie bowed her head. Thrust her ass out. Peggy rolled the script back up. This time, Angie had no problem keeping her hands on the headboard. She didn't try to escape the paddling. She wasn't trying to avoid more pain. Only to satisfy the raging needs inside her. The need for Peggy, the need to come, it all seemed to melt into one boiling mass inside her— Then the script stopped. Unrolled. It seemed far too short a spanking for the mistake Angie had made, for disappointing her mistress, but perhaps Peggy was forgiving of a mistake made out of love. Angie closed her eyes and centered herself, trying to ignore the hot tears dripping off her jaw. She wished there were more of them, a fresh batch to mark her submission to Peggy. "I will confess to you that I love him," Angie said. "So will ye, I am sure, that you love me." "If I do so, it will be of more price, Being spoke behind your back, than to your face." Peggy came around the bed, the script held at her side, flapping in her hand. She wiped at Angie's face with gentle fingers. "Poor soul, thy face is much abused with tears." "The tears have got small victory by that; For it was bad enough before their spite." Having cleaned Angie's face, Peggy put her fingers at Angie's mouth. Angie cleaned Peggy's fingers of her own tears, sucking gently as Peggy continued. "Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with that report." The fingers drew away, wet with Angie's saliva, to let her speak. "That is no slander, sir, which is a truth; And what I spake, I spake it to my face." Peggy's hand withdrew from Angie's face. It crested her head, it ran through her hair, it trailed along her supine back, her spine, like Peggy was touring her property. "Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd it." The hand came around her hips, it went under Angie's legs. Fingers pressed against Angie's slit. It was wet. It'd been wet for as long as Peggy had been looking at her. Angie shifted in desire, as far as she could with her hands locked to the headboard. She pressed herself against those soft, warm, wonderful fingers. She moaned. "Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd it," Peggy repeated. Angie searched her mind for the next line, but there was nothing. Her gaze went misty once more, new tears in her eyes. She didn't feel bad about being punished; she deserved it. But oh, why'd she have to let down Peggy? And right after Peggy had decided to reward her... Peggy struck her ass with renewed vigor, but the blows stopped even faster than before. Peggy knew just how to bring Angie to the edge of release, in so many ways, but then drew back, tipping Angie over into pain instead of pleasure. When Angie felt Peggy's hand on her ass, caressing her punished flesh, it felt like an angel. She wanted more, so much more, but the script crashed against her ass again. Peggy thrashed wildly against the headboard, moaning and groaning, smelling her own sweat and her own arousal. It was dripping down her thighs. She would sleep on it tonight, a wet spot in her sheets... "It may be so, for it is not mine own!" Angie shouted, not caring if Mrs. Fry heard, not caring if everyone heard. She didn't know if she wanted for Peggy to stop or go on, to keep being punished or to be rewarded, she just wanted Peggy to be happy with her, Peggy to keep her, Peggy to be hers like she was Peggy's. "Are you at leisure, holy father, now; Or shall I come to you at evening mass?" Peggy stopped paddling Angie. The pain was terrible, but so was the pleasure. Angie could remember Peggy's fingers in her sex so strongly it was like she was still there; feel the sensation of pain so hot that she could think of nothing else. Only the next line. It would make Peggy happy. "The next line is the Friar's," Peggy started, her voice allowing no pleasure at Angie's success. "What is it?" "My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now. My lord, we must entreat the time alone." Peggy put her hand on Angie's right, still clawing into the headboard. She gave it a squeeze, then took it off the wood. She had to pry Angie's fingers loose. "God shield I should disturb devotion! Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye: Till then, adieu; and keep this holy kiss." Peggy brought the hand down, carried it for her lover to between Angie's thighs. As soon as it was touched to her need, Angie's hand moved with a will of its own. She stroked herself. She made herself feel good. For Peggy. For Peggy to see. As Angie did to herself what she knew Peggy wanted her to do, Peggy's hand alighted on her ass again. Stroked the tender flesh. Made the lingering heat bloom. Angie's fingers flew inside her pussy as Peggy groped her ass. "Now I want you to count each stroke I give you," Peggy said, her voice warmer somehow, more favoring. It was like rain in the desert. "So I know you'll remember this lesson." Angie was so hot that she didn't think she could keep an accurate count, but she still nodded frantically. No one would do right by Peggy like her, no one would be as good a friend, as good a gal, as she was to English. As she counted off every stroke Peggy delivered to her ass, Angie barely recognized her own voice. Not with the burning pain in it, or the incredible pleasure it spoke off. And Angie didn't care how hard it was to concentrate. She didn't lose count, she didn't stop playing with herself like Peggy wanted to see. She needed the pleasure to keep from going out of her mind with the pain, and she needed the pain to remind her she was Peggy's. When she reached a hundred, Peggy stopped. Angie only felt pleasure, her hand a blur on her slick clit, but she felt lost. Not Peggy's. That was the one thing she really hated, the one thing she didn't like on any level—but then she felt Peggy's finger on her asshole. "This is mine too," Peggy said, and penetrated her as easily as she would walk through the front door of her own home. Angie came, harder than she ever had in her life, her cunt all clit and wetness and electricity and fingers, pelvis bucking hard against where her hand was lost inside herself. She was part of Peggy. Peggy was part of her. "You can let go of the headboard now," a voice said, and Angie slumped down onto the mattress, still jerking in orgasm, drained of every reserve, of all discipline, of any sense she had dissatisfied Peggy. All that was left was her mistress. Her Peggy. Agent Carter: Peggy's Girl Pt. 02 Peggy had broken into high-security HYDRA compounds. A closed-door audition was no major problem. From the shadows, she watched as Angie ran her dialogue, preened and postured to display her effervescent look, all but showed her teeth like a horse at auction. They ran her through her paces, the Broadway men—expecting her to perform a three-hour show, matinee and evening, however many days of a week they needed. But Peggy recognized stern stuff in others as much as herself. In another world, Angie could crawl under barbed wire and sling a rifle with the best of them. Here, she could manage showtunes. There were three directors. Two of them had enthusiastic reactions, but the last counseled his fellows to be calm. They told Angie they would get back to her. The first two were hearty about her chances; the third was hung-up on another audition who the other two were not nearly as sold on. He insisted, though, and whatever the pecking order, he seemed to have final say. He mollified them with a promise to sleep on it, but from the set of his spine as they left, Peggy knew he had no intention of changing his mind. She thought it called for investigation. *** Peggy twisted his arm nearly to the breaking point. "Did you think I wouldn't find out? Two hours of work, while I was bored with nothing better to do, that's all it took! The talent agency sends aspiring young actresses to whore for you, so you'll take their more established clients, no matter their suitability for the role!" He tried to protest. Peggy twisted his arm to the breaking point. "I'll be having a conversation with them as well. You will cease this arrangement immediately. If you want sex, you can either prevail upon your wife for it or find someone who hasn't been manipulated into offering it! Otherwise, you'll bloody well settle for your right hand, assuming I don't break it off!" He whimpered in abject surrender. Peggy eased the pressure, just a little. "Now. In a world where you didn't enter into this despicable arrangement, who would you have cast in the part?" He said a name. Peggy smiled. "Call her." *** "I got the part!" Angie screamed. Peggy expected Angie to run to her for a hug, but Angie didn't run anywhere in particular. Just scrambled about the apartment like a headless chicken, waving the blouse she'd been ironing around like it was a winning lottery ticket. "I got it! I got it!" Finally, from nearly bowling Peggy over, she realized there was someone around to hear her cries. She threw herself in an embrace with Peggy, though the blouse she was holding slapped Peggy in the face. "Thank you, thank you!" "Me? I didn't have anything to do with it. What an odd suggestion!" "For helping me, dunce-hat! I never would've gotten it if you hadn't taught me to be all cool and collected—" Angie swaggered around in imitation of Peggy, bending her elbows out from her waist in a way that had Peggy immediately thinking I do not do that! "You are the best friend a gal could ask for! The best Lesbian a gal could ask for! Jiminy Christmas, I'm so glad I've got you all to myself!" She hugged Peggy again, this time from the rear, and Peggy barely minded how hard Angie was manhandling her about with her embrace. Angie rained kisses on her cheek, tickled her, practically ravished her with affection. Until somehow they found their way to the bed, Peggy thrown down on it, Angie crashing down on her with a real kiss, and Peggy thought she might quite like being ravished. "But, don't get me wrong," Angie said, rearing up with a queer expression on her face. "My big break is nice and all, but what's really important is that now I get your reward." "My reward?" "Uh-huh." Angie's tongue poked at the inside of her cheek. "I mean, I got so jammed up when you were punishing me, I can't imagine what you'll do for the velvet glove treatment!" "I do believe I 'reward' you on a near-nightly basis. Although I am glad to hear it compares so favorably to you having a gainful employment." Angie smiled ruefully. "C'mon, Peg. You're telling me you don't have nothing planned?" "I... have some small ideas... for a special occasion." "What could be more special than this? You gonna go back to Germany and make the Krauts say uncle all over again?" Peggy blinked. She realized, yet again, that Angie would do anything for her. Absolutely anything for her. It was something of an awesome fact. As well as quite stimulating. "Go to the icebox," Peggy said. "Fetch a cucumber." Angie bit her lip. "You mean...?" "If the woman of the hour is open to it—so to speak." "It's been a long while since I had a guy, English. But I imagine anything he does with a prong, you'd do much better!" "Who said anything about me?" Peggy smiled in that way she knew was just somewhat intimidating. "We're going to be doing this together." *** "Geez, Peggy, geez—you sure don't mess around!" Angie tried to play it off with a laugh, but Peggy silenced her with a kiss. She wouldn't let Angie be anywhere but here, with her, experiencing the pleasure Peggy wanted her to feel. "I certainly don't." Angie felt even more naked with Peggy dressed, still in her sleek professional suit, still wearing her red fedora even. And her without a stitch on. With the feel of her stockings still on her skin as had she peeled them off, Peggy watching every inch they traveled to make sure not a trace was left behind. Dear God. Dear Lord, she had nothing left to take off. Not a single thing she hadn't shown Peggy, wouldn't show her. She sat on the bed and looked down at the cucumber and laughed again. She couldn't help it. Just when she felt all vulnerable and goosy, she saw that cucumber and wondered if it would miss being a goulash. She was glad Peggy didn't have a real dildo, like the one an old girlfriend of Angie's had used. It might've been too intimidating. The cucumber was just ridiculous enough to Angie to be comfortable with. She smiled even as Peggy fixed her with a nasty look. "So glad you're amused, Ms. Martinelli. Reach down. Open yourself up to me." Angie wasn't sure what she meant until Peggy's eyes dropped leadingly to her sex. Then, lip bitten, Angie brought her hands into her lap. Reached down, felt her labia—it seemed to sizzle at the touch—and spread the lips of her pussy. Peggy watched the pinkness glisten inside her. "Good girl," Peggy said in a high, imperial voice that made Angie glisten just a little brighter. "Keep that open for me. I'll be using it momentarily." "Why not use it right now?" Angie asked. She meant it teasingly, but there was a note of desperation in her voice. The outlandish suggestion of a cucumber put her at ease, but she was still knotted up with herself, eager for Peggy's reward. The longer she waited, the more she wanted. "Because I haven't yet had my fill of those eminently kissable lips," Peggy teased right back, taking Angie's chin in her strong fingers, red nails angling Angie's mouth up to meet hers. "And later, you'll need them to scream how much you love me." "I could scream right now," Angie breathed just as Peggy kissed her. It seemed impossible to kiss Peggy when she was so domineering, like holding red-hot magma in her mouth, Peggy's tongue scorching and sizzling, turning Angie's teeth and gums and tongue into moans she had to let out. Only for Peggy to bottle them up with her fierce possession of Angie's mouth, make them grow louder and thicker and hotter until they burned, growling, deep in Angie's chest. In her stomach. Lower... "Oh!" Angie said shrilly, feeling herself clench like her body was expecting, demanding Peggy's fingers. Usually when Peggy kissed her like that, it was when they were right in the middle of it—not just starting. "I'm ready, English. I think I'm really ready..." Peggy bit Angie's lip as she pulled away, tugging on it like she wanted to keep Angie in her mouth forever. But she forced herself back, shaking her head with all her discipline, and offered Angie a smile that started shaky but soon turned steely as ever. "Well then. I will defer to the lady's opinion. Hold yourself open, Angie. It won't fit, otherwise." Peggy didn't just put it in. Oh no. She started by rubbing its cold tip on Angie's knee. Slowly, so slowly, she started it up Angie's leg. Angie could feel just how big it was by how much of it was touching her flesh. She'd do anything for Peggy, but it was so much to take, even for her mistress. "Look at it, Angie." Peggy's voice was like ice in winter, the kind that was so cold it burnt you. She was all calm and collected, but her words set Angie on fire. "Look at what we're going to do. It's not me doing this to you. It's you letting me. Because whatever I do, I will never do anything that you don't want me to do. And you want this. Don't you?" "I want you," Angie said. Voice thin and reedy. "I want you to do it to me." "You want to help me do it to you." Angie squeezed her eyes shut in need. "Oh yes, oh please, oh yes..." Angie set her jaw, humming in need, in nervousness, in anticipation and eagerness and fright and trust. It was so big. But it was Peggy. Not only could she not imagine Peggy ever hurting her, but she couldn't imagine Peggy doing something to her that wouldn't make her feel... worshipped. Whether Peggy did it with pain or with pleasure, Angie always ended up feeling transported beyond either, beyond all sensation, to a place that made her feel—she would never admit it out loud—like she'd been brought into contact with Peggy Carter's soul. Angie beamed a little. Knowing it was coming. Her reward from the goddess that had chosen to worship her. But instead, she felt Peggy's soft thumb caress her lips, ease over her cheek. Her eyes blinked open, wondering at the delay—just in time to close again as Peggy kissed her once more. Not the volcanic eruption of before, but slow and sweet, full of love but also need, like Peggy wanted to imbibe some of the affection and warmth that overflowed from Angie at all hours. "When you're being brave," Peggy said, though she paused the sentence with a kiss rather than a comma, "but you're so nervous," another kiss that only made Angie more impatient, because it wasn't where she needed Peggy, "and so eager at the same time," Angie didn't know how the cucumber would feel better than this, but she knew it would, "it is just adorable." "Peg, put it in!" Angie begged as Peggy kissed her cheek so hard, she left a lipstick imprint that would stay there the rest of the night—Peggy's name on her trophy. "I'm dying, English, c'mon!" Peggy grabbed Angie firmly, kissed her once more, slowly, precisely, softly. "The urgency is adorable too. You may just be the cutest girl in Brooklyn." "Yeah? Think I'm cute enough to find a girlfriend who won't torture me with waiting?" Angie pouted. Peggy lost herself in a smile. "Definitely. But—I could take her in a fight." Then Peggy locked eyes with Angie. She pressed the cucumber forward, guiding it unerringly against Angie, into her, inside her, never looking, her eyes never leaving Angie's as the girl's flustered expression turned to surprise, turned to concern, fulfillment, satisfaction—lips pinched together, nostrils flaring, eyes rolling back in her head as it went in and in and in—then, Peggy didn't think she could stop even if she wanted to. She guided the cucumber in and out of Angie, always finding her spot but never pushing too far, too hard, too fast. And Angie moaned and arched her back and almost couldn't bear to look at Peggy when she was so pretty, such an angel doing so many things to her, she thought she'd die if she felt so beautiful and looked at something so beautiful in the same instant. But she kept her hands at her sex. She kept holding it open for Peggy. "Good girl," Peggy purred, and her voice was definitely too much for Angie. She felt herself dying, deep in her guts. Deep down between her legs, she was going to heaven. "And that's why you deserve a reward." "Love you, Peggy, need you, love you, love being your girlfriend—" Peggy slapped her hand on Angie's thigh, held her in place as she went harder and faster, wishing she could touch herself, rut against Angie's perfect body like a dog in heat, but this was Angie's reward, not hers, and all she would let herself be concerned about was Angie's pleasure. She deserved to be punished anyway, denied, after all the lies she'd told Angie, the danger she'd put her in, the times she'd been a bad friend and a bad lover and worried Angie to death because of a promise she'd made to Steve, swearing at his grave that he could rest in peace because she would pick up where he left off, do the work he would've done if he had stayed. But she knew too that he wouldn't want her to be alone, he'd want her with someone like Angie, and he must've called in a favor from God to let Peggy meet a lover who could take all of her, the sweetness and the kindness and the compassion, but also the violence, the hurt, the punishment. As her lover quaked and moaned and needed and was satisfied, Peggy brought her lips to Angie's ear. Let her words flow inside Angie like a blood transfusion to a dying man. "I love you too, Angie. Feel how much I love you." Angie bit her lip so hard, she barely let out a peep. Just a sigh, after, like steam from a broken valve, and Peggy was embracing her, stroking her, rubbing the warmth back into her body after it had all rushed to her cunt. Angie kept sighing, kept moaning, and Peggy slowly started to kiss her, to whisper to her. But it wasn't until Angie was strong enough to wrap her own arms around Peggy that her lover truly relaxed. Angie had bitten her lip so hard, she'd drawn blood. As they cradled each other, Peggy sucked it clean in a long kiss that never seemed to end. *** "I wish I were a boy," Angie said, apropos of nothing. Peggy left her eyes shut. She was used to Angie going off on tangents, especially late at night, when all the coffee Angie drank caught up with her and left her half-dreaming. Sometimes, Peggy expected, she talked in her sleep and Peggy never even noticed. "If you were a boy, that would've been much harder to manage." "Oh, believe you me, I'm very grateful to have my lady parts when you're around. But if I were a boy, I could marry you." "You can still marry me." "Where? Back home in Britain? Cuz they still have kings and knights there, I don't think they're that advanced." Peggy suppressed a smile. "A marriage is just two people's hearts, not a piece of paper. If you mean the words, then it's a real marriage. If you don't, then it's not." She popped an eye open to see Angie staring at her with the most lovelorn expression since Peggy's childhood pug had set up station under the table, awaiting scraps like an orphan out of Dickens. "Peggy Carter," Angie said. "Will you marry me?" "I've been yours since the day we met. About time you realized it." Angie sat up. "We should have wedding rings. Not wedding ring-wedding rings, but, I don't know..." Peggy got up. As Angie came up, kneeling on the mattress to watch, she swept over to her jewelry box. The two silver rings inside were not likely to be mistaken for wedding bands, but if that's what they said they were, then it's what they were. She returned to Angie, taking her hand, placing the first ring on her middle finger instead of the other one. The look they shared told her Angie understood. Only they would know what it meant, but there were the only ones who had to. "I, Margaret Beatrix Carter, do avow before God and the only person in my life that I truly love, that I will always care for her, always protect her, and always love her. Not as much as I do this moment, but more and more every day. I promise to love you more, even when you drive me mad, even when we're sick, even when we're apart—even if, somehow, we find a worse rathole than this place to live in." Angie squeezed her hand around her new ring finger and its neighbors, as if she were trying to grind the ring permanently into place. "English... write that down, please, I don't wanna forget it." "In a moment. Isn't there something you'd like to say to me?" "Oh!" "I think a simple 'I do' would suffice. Or a kiss, you don't have to say anything—" "Peggy Carter!" Angie virtually bellowed, shuffling on her knees closer to Peggy. "I, Angela Dorotea Martinelli, do solemnly swear to cook for you and clean for you and do anything you need, ever, because I love you and I want you to be happy, so much, oh, that's not good, can I start over?" "It's fine—" "I do solemnly swear to look after you just like you look out for me, and take care of you just like you take care of me, and be a good friend just like you're a good friend. I know you're perfect and everything, and maybe I ain't, but I'm going to be perfect for you. Oh, and you can have front-row tickets to all my shows, forever, I don't care if I have to buy them myself..." "That's very thoughtful." "Oh, shit, that wasn't good either. The first part was good, I think the ticket stuff brought it down. Can we strike that from the record?" "Consider it stricken." Peggy dropped the other ring into her hand. "Care to do the honors?" Smiling so wide it seemed she'd break something before she stopped, Angie slipped the ring onto Peggy's middle finger. Kissed her. Didn't stop. Except to say— "Beatrix? Really?" "Dorotea?" "No wonder we don't like men. They gave us such crap names." "Shush, darling. You'll spoil the honeymoon." After that, all was silent, save for the occasional moan and a whispered "oh, Beatrix" that never failed to result in a hail of playful slaps and amused laughter. *** Dottie loved being neighbors with Angie. Not only could she hear them easily with a glass pressed to the wall, but with a little periscope along the ledge outside the window, she could see them. She had fervently enjoyed watching Angie being rewarded for her stellar audition, but it had been their wedding vows that actually made her come. Now Dottie simply rubbed at herself as they continued to consummate the union, knowing it would take more than just watching them for her to experience such pleasure again. She would need Angie Martinelli. Agent Carter: Peggy's Girl Angie had started crying about the sixtieth time Peggy had spanked her, just tears streaming down her face, but now that it was over, they'd become sobs. And Angie tried to explain to Peggy it wasn't her, she was good, so good, it was Angie's job and the auditions and waiting by the phone for nothing and thinking it was her last day at the automat fifty times because she'd nailed that last audition, she'd nailed it, and having her ass pinched and slapped and eyed until she felt like a piece of meat in a waitressing costume, and only Peggy was allowed to do that, only Peg... Peggy shushed her. Held her. Stroked her hair and her back and her face and kissed her and whispered in her ear, sweet little nothings, just like before. Poetry, Angie realized, when she'd stopped crying and she could hear Peggy beyond just the sweet music of her voice. Peggy was reciting some whackadoo English poetry to her. There was a box of tissues on Angie's nightstand. The first thing Peggy had done, sweeping through the room, had been to put that and a waste basket beside the bed. Now Angie got it—Peggy took a tissue, held it to Angie's nose, had her blow. Into the waste basket. Another tissue to clean her tears away. Into the waste basket. And Angie really couldn't feel the pain anymore, even if she knew a bruise would rise on her ass like nothing else the next day. She was numb, though. Tranquilized on Peggy. Addicted to her. "Now," Peggy said, "feel up to going over those lines again?" "I'd rather do the Taming of the Shrew. That's my next audition." Angie tucked herself against Peggy, knowing Peg wouldn't let her go. "Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yourself, To make a bondmaid and a slave of me. That I disdain. But for these other gauds, Unbind my hands, I'll pull them off myself, Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat, Or what you will command me will I do, So well I know my duty to my elders." Peggy laughed. Kissed the top of Angie's head. "Very good. I have a good feeling about this, Ang. I think you're really going to get it this time." "Yeah?" "Yeah." Peggy kissed her Angie again. "And then I'm going to reward you." Angie felt warm inside. "Yeah?" "Yeah." So warm...