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There’s a small break in the Bloodsong of Wycaro book tour. It had been Helen’s request, a few nights between cities so they could decompress at the halfway point. They’ve been at this long enough for her to know how much is too much for Carol, how much she can take before she starts to get shorter with her fans during signings, how much she can listen to women fawning over Raban.
One of the many advantages of sleeping with your manager, Carol had teased when Helen walked her through the proposed schedule. Helen had only rolled her eyes and kissed the top of Carol’s head before sending an email to Val to finalize the dates.
Now, Carol takes a sip of her Rye Manhattan and feels the tension slowly start leave her body as Helen’s hand drops to her thigh. Not moving, not teasing—just resting there, maintaining her claim.
She glances down at the ring on Helen’s finger. The one that matches her own, the one that stays tucked away in their hotel room during readings. Absentmindedly, she reaches out and starts to toy with the ring, spinning it around on Helen’s finger as she continues to sip on her drink.
Helen softens as Carol fidgets, giving her leg a small, reassuring squeeze. Always her opposite, grounding her when her mind starts to drift.
“You okay, baby?” she asks, her voice soothing as it hits Carol’s ears.
Carol hums and offers a slight nod, “Just thinking.”
“Sounds dangerous,” Helen teases, leaning forward in the booth. “Care to enlighten me?”
Carol rolls her eyes, but answers her anyway, “Our anniversary is two days after the tour ends.”
Helen nods, “It is.”
“We’re getting old,” Carol murmurs.
With a dramatic scoff, Helen pulls her hand away, but warm fingers wrap around her wrist, stopping the movement. She doesn’t resist as her hand is tugged back down and returned to its original position, fingers splayed against the fabric of Carol’s jeans.
They sit in silence for a while, the comfortable kind that can only come from almost three decades of existing together. Neither rushes to fill it, there’s no need. Helen’s thumb moves in small circles over Carol’s jeans as her gaze slowly drifts around the bar, scanning the room with a curious smile. It’s one of their favorite stops on tour, one they’ve hit a few times while in Chicago.
While Helen watches the bar, Carol watches her, eyes softening as they trace over each line and curve of Helen’s face. They are getting old, and Carol loves it. She loves that she’s had the privilege of watching Helen age, of watching each wrinkle appear on her face, of aging right alongside her. She’d never imagined this for herself, not until she’d met Helen. And, if she’s being honest, not for a while after she’d met her either.
Carol’s study of Helen’s face is interrupted by a few rushed taps on her thigh, an attempt to get her attention. She reluctantly drags her gaze from Helen’s chin, over her lips, trailing up until it meets the bright blue eyes staring back at her.
Helen nods in the direction of something across the bar and prompts, “Brunette in the corner. She look familiar to you?”
They don’t know anyone who lives in Chicago, so Carol is half expecting to see a fan when she follows Helen’s gaze, someone who was sitting in the bookstore and listening to her read an excerpt from Bloodsong earlier in the evening. The thought makes her freeze, makes her remember Helen’s hand on her thigh, makes her subtly lean away from her wife.
But it isn’t a fan. It isn’t anyone she’s seen before. At least, it isn’t anyone she’s seen in real life.
Carol lets out a low chuckle, eyes crinkling around the corners as she stares at the woman Helen had pointed out. She shakes her head and tries to look away, but she can’t seem to tear her gaze away just yet.
“She looks like fucking Raban,” Carol snorts.
“Proud, haughty Raban,” Helen teases with a smirk.
Carol elbows her, but a smile works its way onto her lips as she adds, “She really does look like him.”
“Or her,” Helen murmurs, turning her head to look back at Carol.
Carol’s frame softens as she nods, a familiar ache twisting in her chest at the mention of her original plan for the character. It doesn’t come up often, but sitting here with the spitting image of the once-female Raban just across the room makes it unavoidable.
“Do you think she’s read it?” Helen asks a beat later, expertly dragging Carol away from any potential spiraling thoughts.
Carol considers the question, tilting her head as she studies Female Raban, trying to read her from across the room. She’s met enough readers over the years to learn how to spot them, to learn what to look for. There’s something in their eyes, she’d told Helen once.
“She hasn’t,” Carol answers after a few seconds, shaking her head. “She doesn’t look like she reads mindless crap.”
She looks away just as the woman starts to turn her head in their direction, not wanting to get caught staring at a stranger. Helen’s gaze lingers for a minute, offering her a small smile when their eyes meet, before turning back to face Carol.
Carol can feel Female Raban’s eyes on her, on Helen. She tries to focus on what Helen is saying, but all she can think about is the woman staring in their direction.
Normally, she has better control over herself. Normally, she can focus on her wife without feeling the need to look across the room every five minutes.
But she can’t. Not now.
Her eyes drift occasionally, and each time they do, she sees Female Raban’s gaze fixed on Helen, unapologetically lingering on her, steady and assessing. Carol feels the beginnings of jealousy starting to bubble in the pit of her stomach, and she stares down at the hand under the table, at the ring on Helen’s finger.
“Baby?” Helen asks after a moment of Carol staring down at her lap.
She starts to take her hand away, worried that Carol is suddenly uncomfortable with the gesture, even while hidden under the table. But, once again, Carol stops her, instantly pressing her hand back against her lap.
“She keeps staring at you,” Carol mutters as she looks up at Helen.
Helen relaxes at her words, a flicker of amusement crossing her face. She lets out a small laugh and shakes her head, squeezing Carol’s leg and leaning in closer to her in the booth.
“She’s been staring at both of us for a bit now,” Helen corrects, meeting Carol’s eyes. “I’ve been watching her.”
Carol’s shoulders drop, and suddenly, she feels warmer, shy under the gaze of both Helen and Female Raban. She doesn’t dare look over again, not with this new knowledge.
“She seems interested,” Helen adds with a lilt to her voice that makes Carol’s skin burn.
“Oh,” is all she manages to get out.
This isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation. It’s rare, and getting even more so as the years pass. But, every once in a while, Helen will spot someone whose stare lingers, and, if they seem like they’re Carol’s type, she’ll bring it to her attention.
There are rules they’ve been following for years, established long before the first time they’d ever actually done it. Never back home, and never with someone who knows who Carol is. Their home is theirs, and Carol’s need for privacy outweighs any desire to get fucked by two gorgeous women.
Carol swallows thickly and risks another glance back at Female Raban. This time, their eyes meet, and she doesn’t look away. Something inside her twists, sharp and needy. She can feel the heat rising in her cheeks as she recognizes the look directed at her, even from across the crowded bar.
“Your call,” Helen offers, rubbing Carol’s thigh as she watches her teeth catch her lower lip. Her thumb presses more firmly for a second, grounding her before resuming its slow circle.
It’s only then that Carol tears her eyes away, returning her attention to Helen as she considers her options. It’s been a while since they’ve invited someone else into their bed, and she’d be lying if she said she doesn’t want to feel this woman’s hands joining Helen’s on her body.
“I mean, I think I kinda have to fuck the female Raban,” Carol says after a minute, a slight laugh to her voice.
Beside her, Helen grins, wide and delighted, “I think you do.”
“If she comes over here,” Carol adds quickly, lifting her glass to give herself something to do other than panic over a woman who might not ever exist in her life beyond being on the other side of this bar, “and she’s actually interested, then yeah. We can.”
There’s a satisfied glint in Helen’s eyes as she smiles and quietly replies, “Okay.”
“Do you think she’ll—”
Before Carol can even finish her question, Helen’s hand squeezes her thigh, and Carol watches as Female Raban downs the rest of her drink and stands, her gaze still fixated on them. Carol stares openly now, a mix of dread and anticipation filling her body, pulse loud in her ears.
Up close, she looks even more like Raban, and it’s a bit unsettling. Carol can see her on the cover of Stormshadow of Wycaro now, all she needs is a mustache and pirate attire.
“Hi,” Female Raban says when she reaches their booth, voice low and smooth in a way that makes Carol’s stomach flip. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
Carol opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Admitting defeat, she closes it and glances up at Helen, prompting her to lead the conversation.
As always, Helen comes to her rescue, her smile easy and welcoming as she replies, “Not at all.”
“I should probably apologize for staring,” Female Raban murmurs, and her eyes flick to Helen first before settling on Carol. “It was hard not to, you’re both very beautiful.”
Then, a moment later, she offers her name, “I’m Zosia.”
Helen shakes her head, “Don’t apologize. I’m Helen, and this is Carol.”
“Hi,” Carol says quietly, her brain finally catching up with her mouth and saving her from more embarrassment.
“It’s lovely to meet you both,” Zosia practically purrs.
Carol has to fight the urge to squeeze her thighs together when she hears Zosia’s voice, but she knows Helen feels her muscles twitch under her hand. The thought only makes the urge more insistent.
“Why don’t you sit down?” Helen asks, a knowing smirk curling on her lips.
She pulls Carol closer to herself, scooting along the curve of the bench to give Zosia enough space to sit without forcing Carol to be so close to her so early into their conversation. Carol allows herself to be moved without resistance and slides her drink along with her, despite the glass being practically empty.
Zosia doesn’t hesitate to accept Helen’s offer. She smoothly slides into the circular booth, sitting opposite Carol and Helen, and makes herself comfortable within seconds.
Carol tries not to stare at Zosia’s hands as they move to settle on top of the table. She really does. And then Zosia’s fingers start to tap on the surface, and Carol can’t stop her thoughts from wandering to what the slender digits would feel like against her skin, in her mouth, inside of her.
Before Carol’s imagination can get her in trouble, she forces her eyes up and away from Zosia’s hands and clears her throat, “So, are you, uh, from around here?”
“Not originally,” Zosia shakes her head. “I’m from Poland, but I’ve been here in Chicago for a few years now. What about the two of you?”
“Just visiting for work,” Helen answers easily, her thumb never stopping its slow, absent circles against Carol’s thigh.
“Both of you?” Zosia asks with a raised eyebrow and a pointed look that makes Carol’s throat constrict.
She swallows around the feeling and nods, pausing as she decides how much to reveal before she explains, carefully, “I’m a writer. Helen’s my manager.”
She doesn’t miss the way Zosia’s eyes flick between them and then linger, more thoughtful rather than surprised. Being under such careful observation usually makes Carol uneasy, but there’s something different about Zosia. She doesn’t feel judged, doesn’t feel like a punchline waiting to happen, another joke about mixing work and pleasure she’s heard a dozen times.
Helen glances at Carol before turning her attention back to Zosia, “What about you? You come here often, or did we just get lucky tonight?”
Zosia smiles at the question, pleasure dancing across her face as she replies, “Lucky, I hope. This was my first time coming here, and I don’t usually talk to strangers, much less approach them in a bar.”
A snort leaves Carol before she can even stop it.
“I’m sorry,” she mutters immediately, looking up at Zosia.
Zosia shakes her head, eyes firm, “Don’t apologize.”
The words hit Carol squarely in the chest, making her breath hitch. She feels Helen’s hand press more firmly against her thigh, grounding her, and for a moment, she lets herself sink into it, trying to calm the fluttering panic in her stomach. She can barely focus through the pull of Zosia’s gaze, through the sharp heat of it that makes her want to simultaneously melt and hide.
Carol reaches for her glass and nervously downs the last sip she’d been saving. She notices Zosia’s eyes following her hand, undoubtedly zeroing in on the ring on her finger.
“Married,” Zosia hums, a delighted smile growing on her lips.
It isn’t a question. Just a statement, one that seems to please her, maybe even solidifying her decision to walk across the bar.
Helen nods, “We are.”
“How long?” Zosia asks softly, her head tilting slightly as she glances between Carol and Helen
From there, Zosia continues to ask questions, and the conversation drifts easily over the next hour, carried by another round of drinks and the low buzz of the bar. Carol finds herself talking more than she usually does with strangers, answering questions she’d normally deflect if they were asked by anyone else. It doesn’t feel like meaningless small talk like it does with other people. It feels intentional, like she’s being gently guided somewhere, step by step.
Helen handles most of the questions, but there are a few directed to Carol, and even then, she looks to Helen before answering, like she’s checking in with her before revealing any information to Zosia. Like she’s making sure this is okay, that it’s fine to offer this information to someone they’d just met.
Each time, Helen just smiles at Carol and waits for her response, fingers idly dancing across Carol’s thigh, not distracting, just present. She lets Carol respond when she feels comfortable enough to, giving her the space to share when she feels like she can. Pride is evident in her eyes, and Carol knows she’s going to eventually be rewarded for being so open and honest with Zosia.
The air around them shifts when Carol responds to Zosia’s question of what she does when she isn’t working. It grows heavier, more intense. Carol’s response that she doesn’t know how to slow down seems to ignite something in Zosia, giving permission she hadn’t yet asked for.
“You seem like you enjoy being told when to stop thinking,” Zosia muses, swirling the ice in her glass.
The words land harder than they should. Carol’s breath stutters, and she can feel heat rising low in her stomach, threatening to burn her insides. Her first instinct is to laugh off the comment, but the sound gets caught in her throat. She can feel Helen’s gaze sharpen beside her, can feel Helen’s hand tighten against her thigh.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” Carol stutters out when the intensity of Zosia’s gaze finally becomes too much.
Helen releases her grip on Carol and wordlessly slides out of the booth, giving her room to exit. With a curious eye, she watches as Carol stands, but she remains silent and lets her walk away.
Carol doesn’t have to turn around to know that Helen and Zosia are talking about her the second she steps away. She knows her wife, and she knows she’s probably telling Zosia about the effect her words had, about the things she’s too embarrassed to admit herself.
The second she walks into the bathroom, Carol feels a rush of relief. She’s alone, so she doesn’t have to pretend her insides aren’t screaming at her. She doesn’t have to hold her breath anymore, doesn’t have to act like she isn’t affected by every word that spills from Zosia’s lips.
She stares at her reflection in the mirror for a few seconds, and her fingers curl around the edge of the counter, willing herself to calm down. Her cheeks are flushed, and it’s started to spread down her neck and over her chest, proving her cool exterior demeanor entirely useless. Zosia probably took one look at her and instantly knew how eager she was.
Carol only has the bathroom to herself for a few minutes before she hears the door open, and she doesn’t even need to look up to know who walks in to join her. She’s heard those same footsteps for over half of her life, she’d know them anywhere.
“How are you feeling about this?” Helen asks quietly as she steps closer to Carol, moving to stand behind her.
She rests her hands on Carol’s hips, thumbs already slipping under Carol’s shirt to rub against her skin. If Carol weren’t so turned on and needy, the act would be comforting. But she is, pathetically so, so it only makes her squirm.
“We can do whatever you want,” Carol replies instantly.
She impulsively starts to wash her hands, an attempt to busy herself so she can avoid Helen’s gaze.
Firm hands grip her hips, and when Helen speaks again, her voice is full of warning, “Carol.”
Carol squeezes her eyes closed for a moment, catching her breath, working up the courage to be honest with herself, with Helen.
Then, she opens them and meets Helen’s gaze in the mirror as she whines, “I’m really fucking horny, Helen. I want you, and I want her.”
“Good,” Helen grins and leans forward, pressing a kiss to Carol’s temple. “Zosia really likes you.”
It’s hard for Carol to pretend she isn’t affected by that statement. She swallows and nods, unable to form a response as she rinses her hands under the cool water of the sink. It does little to tame the fire burning just under her skin.
“Do you want me to send her in here to talk to you?” Helen offers with a voice so soft and full of care that it makes Carol’s cunt ache.
A quick glance around the bathroom makes Carol shake her head, and she replies, “I’ll go back out.”
“If you want to talk to her alone, I can hang in here for a few minutes,” Helen whispers, sliding her hands over Carol’s stomach. “Whatever you need, baby.”
“No, it’s fine,” Carol murmurs and reaches for a paper towel to dry her hands. “We can go back together.”
Helen takes a step back to give Carol space to move, but she stays close by, watching with a careful eye as Carol meticulously dries her hands and tosses the paper towel in a nearby trash can. Then, before Carol can turn to exit the bathroom, Helen reaches out and hooks her finger in an empty belt loop on Carol’s waist, tugging her close.
Carol lets out a little yelp as she’s pulled, but she moves without hesitation, letting Helen yank her around in the small space of the bathroom. One more tug comes even as she’s standing directly in front of Helen, pulling her impossibly close, and she can’t help the pathetic, needy whine that escapes her lips as she looks up into Helen’s eyes.
“God, I can’t get enough of that sound,” Helen smirks, lowering her head to press a soft kiss to Carol’s lips.
Carol rolls her eyes, but she melts into the kiss immediately, steadying herself with her hands on Helen’s hips. It’s over almost as quickly as it started, and Carol pushes herself up on her tiptoes to steal another, mentally cursing Helen for being taller than her and wearing boots with a heel.
Helen slides her left index finger through another belt loop and tugs again, this time just to tease Carol. She’s already standing as close as possible, and now she’s just pulling on her jeans for fun, testing what reactions she can draw out of Carol.
There’s a stupid grin on her face, and Carol can’t stop the matching one that grows on her lips as she tries to wiggle out of Helen’s grasp, fighting back laughter as Helen tightens her grip on Carol’s belt loops.
“Let go of me,” Carol laughs, absent annoyance straining her voice. “Zosia’s probably left at this point because she thinks we ditched her.”
Helen’s smirk only grows at Carol’s words, “In a rush to get back to Zosia now?”
Carol is sure her face is bright red at this point, and she ducks her head, reaching down to remove Helen’s hands from her jeans. She struggles for a second, hands trembling and fumbling each time she tries to grab at Helen’s fingers.
“Helen,” Carol whines, finally looking back up and pouting up at Helen.
Helen laughs, “One more kiss.”
Then, she leans down to press her lips against Carol’s pouting ones, fingers releasing their grip on Carol’s belt loops as she pulls away.
“Feeling better?” Helen asks softly, eyes searching Carol’s for any lingering nerves.
Carol nods, and her shoulders relax as she murmurs, “Thank you.”
As she follows Helen back through the bar, her nerves still buzz under her skin, but they’re quieter now, steadier. She doesn’t feel so overwhelmed by them, by her desire for Zosia, anymore. She feels comfortable with wanting.
When they reach the booth, Zosia looks up immediately, her attention sharpening in a way that makes Carol’s spine straighten instinctively. There’s a soft smile on her face, one that doesn’t reveal any hint of annoyance at being left alone for a few minutes.
“There you are,” she says, eyes lighting up at the sight of Carol and Helen.
Carol gives her a small smile and slides back into her original spot, with Helen sliding in right behind her. She’s grateful for the familiar press of Helen’s thigh against her own as they sit, reminding her of the conversation they’d had in the bathroom.
“Sorry for…” Carol trails off, gesturing vaguely as she looks up at Zosia.
Zosia raises an eyebrow, “What did I say about apologizing earlier?”
Helen smirks beside her, but Carol doesn’t notice it, too stunned by Zosia’s words and the effect they have on her body. She can feel the flush rising on her face, brought to the surface quicker as a result of the alcohol she’s already had tonight.
But Zosia’s eyes stay fixed on her, staring, expectant. Helen stays silent.
Carol swallows thickly as she realizes Zosia is waiting for a response from her. It’s all too much, it’s not enough. She doesn’t know what it is.
She replies anyway, “You said not to.”
“I did,” Zosia hums, her voice steady and firm, the same way Helen’s gets.
Carol knows she’s completely fucked. They’d managed to pick the one woman who acts just like her wife, the one woman who’s going to know exactly what to do with her. Carol’s thighs clench at the thought.
Helen’s voice comes a moment later, “Should we get another round of drinks?”
“Please,” Carol mutters, tilting her head to meet Helen’s eyes as she nods.
The corners of Zosia’s lips curl in amusement as she purrs, “I like manners.”
Then, her eyes find Helen’s, and she nods, “I can get them.”
“I’ve got it,” Helen shakes her head as she stands. “What are you drinking?”
“Surprise me,” Zosia requests.
Helen grins and nods her head in Carol’s direction, eyes focused on Zosia as she says, “Go easy on her.”
Zosia’s smirk only deepens, “I won’t.”
Carol lets out a small huff and flops back against the booth, just barely catching the wink Helen gives Zosia before she spins on her heel and walks toward the bar, leaving the two of them alone at the table. She watches Helen for a few seconds, only long enough to see her make it to the bar, before she turns her attention to Zosia, heart thudding in her chest.
“How are you feeling?” Zosia asks softly, her voice warm and full of care in a way Carol hadn’t been expecting.
Carol only gives a noncommittal shrug at first, and then Zosia gives her a look that makes her verbally reply, “I’m…I’m okay.”
Another look. An arched eyebrow demanding more of a response.
“I’m fine, really,” Carol insists, meeting Zosia’s eyes. “I needed a minute, but now I’m okay. This is good.”
“Good,” Zosia hums and nods. “You said you’re a writer. Anything I would know?”
A snort escapes Carol, and she shakes her head, “I really doubt it.”
“Try me,” Zosia challenges.
Carol hesitates, a flash of Raban appearing in her mind. Then Zosia as Raban, facial hair and all. And then Zosia as Raban was originally conceptualized, back when Raban was based on Helen.
“I have a series. Winds of Wycaro,” she says finally, looking back up at Zosia. “New York Times best-seller, which hardly means anything, really.”
Zosia is silent as she thinks, and Carol hates that her eyes drop down to Zosia’s lips, watching as they stretch into a thin line. They’re having a conversation about her books, and she can’t control herself.
“I’m not familiar,” Zosia sighs and shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”
Carol feels a rush of relief at Zosia’s words, and she finds herself relaxing, shoulders dropping as she leans back in her seat. It shouldn’t feel good for someone to not recognize her work, but she knows this is different. It means their night doesn’t have to end here, in the bar. It means Zosia is an option. It means Zosia is more than likely going to end up in their hotel room within the next few hours.
“Don’t be,” Carol laughs, shrugging off the apology. “It’s…speculative historical romance, which is…I write about pirates and ships that sail on purple sand.”
Zosia’s eyes light up, and her voice is softer as she reveals, “I loved ships as a kid.”
She leans closer, her knee knocking against Carol’s thigh and lingering there, comfortably pressed against it, keeping Carol in place. Carol has to remind herself to breathe, has to keep her gaze fixed on Zosia, otherwise it’ll drop to their connected legs and she’ll panic again, or say something stupid about how Zosia looks just like Raban.
Helen walks up just as Carol is about to ask to hear more about Zosia’s childhood nautical fondness, skillfully carrying all three drinks in a triangular formation. She stops in front of the booth and starts to slowly lower her hands, careful not to spill anyone’s drink as she offers them up.
“Zosia, yours is at the front,” she says with a nod down at the drink.
Zosia’s hand falls to Carol’s thigh as she uses the support of warm muscle to push herself forward to grab her drink from Helen, but it doesn’t move even after she’s settled back in place, her back returned to its position pressed against the vinyl of the booth. Zosia doesn’t make any effort to pull away, and Carol doesn’t want to do anything about it.
She likes it there, likes the feeling of Zosia’s hand pressed against her, just inches away from where she wants her. It feels comfortable, safe. Just enough contact to keep her assured that Zosia wants this, wants her. Not enough to overwhelm her again, not enough to send her spiraling.
And then Helen slides into the booth and glances down, and a knowing smile makes its way to her lips. She looks to Carol for a moment, eyes bright and approving, before giving her attention to Zosia, her hand moving to rest casually on Carol’s other thigh, mirroring Zosia’s position on the other side of Carol.
“Feeling good?” Helen questions, her voice quiet and soft as she leans closer and checks in with Carol once more.
Carol nods and reaches for her drink, taking a sip without uttering a word, almost terrified of what she’d say if she opened her mouth.
Zosia notices. She arches an eyebrow, almost expectantly, as she watches Carol drink, but she doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t overstep.
Instead, she takes a sip of her own drink, humming her approval as the liquid meets her tongue. She lets the drink settle in her mouth for a moment before she swallows, slow and deliberate, knowing she has Carol’s attention on her.
“You have good taste,” Zosia murmurs as she leans forward, looking around Carol to give Helen a pointed glance.
Helen smirks, and suggestion is undeniably laced in her voice as she replies, “I hope I chose well.”
“Certainly,” Zosia nods, raising her glass to her lips again.
Then, she sets the drink down. Not in front of herself, but closer to Carol this time, subtly pushing it in her direction as she looks up at Helen again, silently seeking her approval.
When Helen nods, it’s so slight that Zosia would have missed it if she weren’t so focused on her. But it’s enough. It’s exactly what she was searching for.
“Try it, Carol,” Zosia prompts, her fingers giving the glass one last, deliberate push.
Carol hesitates just long enough for the moment to stretch, her gaze flicking to Helen again, out of instinct more than uncertainty. She had watched the interaction, so she knows what Helen wants, what she expects. Helen doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to. Her hand presses more firmly into Carol’s thigh instead, commanding.
It’s all Carol needs to reach for the glass. She lifts it almost cautiously, the cool condensation damp against her fingers, contrasting with the heat of her skin. She takes a small sip at first, and then another when Zosia lets out a quiet, approving hum that goes straight to her core.
Zosia watches her closely, openly, eyes tracking the way Carol swallows, the way her shoulders relax as the alcohol settles. Carol feels the instinct to shrink under Zosia’s gaze, but she doesn’t, instead letting herself enjoy the feeling of being assessed.
“She listens well,” Zosia murmurs after a moment of silent observation.
Helen lets out a soft laugh, “She does.”
Neither is looking at Carol when they speak. They’re looking at each other, voices low and conspiratorial, discussing Carol like she isn’t sitting between them. It makes her feel small, like the adults are talking while she can only observe. The realization sends an undeniable wave of arousal through Carol and makes her grip the glass a little tighter than necessary.
Zosia’s hand shifts on Carol’s thigh, this time tracing a slow, absent line that feels anything but accidental. Carol tries to control her breathing as she feels it, letting out a slow, steady exhale once she manages to calm her mind.
“You weren’t exaggerating,” Zosia adds, her tone thoughtful, bordering on teasing, as she continues her conversation with Helen. “She’s a needy little thing.”
“She is,” Helen says in a voice so fond that it makes Carol lift the glass again.
But Zosia’s free hand reaches out, tapping Carol’s wrist twice before she speaks, gentle but directive, “That’s enough for now.”
Carol obeys without thinking, setting the drink back down where Zosia had placed it before she’d pushed it along the table. Normally, she’d argue. She’d say she was an adult who didn’t need to be told when she could and couldn’t drink.
But nothing about this situation is normal, and she’s too turned on to even try to be a brat right now. All she wants is to obey, to do whatever she’s told to guarantee the night goes where she wants it to. Zosia in their hotel room, touching her, giving her exactly what she needs, all alongside Helen, both of them taking care of her.
“Good girl,” Helen hums as she presses a soft kiss to the side of Carol’s head, the words almost muted by her hair.
Carol hears them anyway. She’s heard them from Helen’s lips enough to recognize them by their vibration alone, a thought that only makes her thighs squeeze together once more.
“You’re doing well,” Zosia praises, delicately, once Carol’s attention returns to her.
Carol reaches for her own drink this time, taking a long sip just to feel the burn of the alcohol going down, to distract herself from the heat pooling between her legs. She can feel two sets of eyes on her, can feel two hands applying more pressure on her thighs. The synchronized movement makes her shudder, the intimacy of the symmetry almost overwhelming.
“Pace yourself, baby,” Helen murmurs in Carol’s ear. “We have a whole night ahead of us.”
A small, almost inaudible whine escapes Carol’s lips at Helen’s words, and she ducks her head, avoiding Zosia’s gaze as she realizes she’d likely heard it. Zosia is sitting closer to her now, almost as close as Helen is, and watching Carol intently, so it had to have been impossible to miss.
Zosia beams, “God, you’re adorable.”
That raises Carol’s head quickly, but the protest she was about to give dies in her throat as she notices the way Zosia is staring at her. Hungry, adoring, almost reverent.
Carol swallows, caught between wanting to lean into Zosia’s gaze and wanting to retreat from it, her chest tight and stomach fluttering in a way that makes her knees ache. She can feel the tension in the booth, the quiet communication that passes between Helen and Zosia without words, the way their eyes meet and linger. Her pulse hammers in her ears—part fear, part excitement, all desire. She wants this more than she’d been willing to admit earlier in the evening, and she knows Helen and Zosia can feel it radiating off of her.
Zosia takes another sip of her drink before pushing it in Carol’s direction again, the command silent this time. Carol doesn’t look to Helen for approval. She knows where this is going and what’s expected of her, so she drinks. It’s a small sip, one that ends when she hears Helen’s voice in her head, reminding her to pace herself.
The words come from Zosia this time, “Good girl.”
Her gaze never wavers, and Carol feels it crawling over her skin like fire, each glance assessing, admiring, daring. Helen’s hand presses a fraction harder, guiding her, reminding her she’s exactly where she’s meant to be.
“Thank you,” Carol whispers, voice shaky as she feels Zosia’s fingers running over her jeans again.
“You’re very welcome, Carol,” Zosia says warmly, a slow teasing smile spreading across her face. “Are you usually this polite, or are you showing off for me?”
Carol can feel the smirk in Helen’s voice as she replies, “She’s good when she wants to be.”
Zosia chuckles as she casts a brief glance toward Carol before turning her attention back to Helen, “So, she wants to be good for me.”
Carol swallows, the tension in her stomach coiling tighter with every look they exchange, with every word they speak about her, around her.
“We’re staying at a hotel just down the street,” Helen says as she meets Zosia’s eyes, finally laying the offer on the table.
Zosia smirks, and her fingers brush against Helen’s as they run along Carol’s thigh. She keeps her gaze steady on Helen, a silent exchange that leaves Carol squirming in her seat, despite both hands on her legs keeping her in place.
“Is that so?” Zosia murmurs, using her free hand to reach for her glass that’s still sitting in front of Carol. “Finish the rest of this for me.”
She barely even looks at Carol as she says it, only giving her a small, quick glance as she holds the glass out to her. The lack of attention makes Carol’s stomach twist, makes her underwear damp, makes her breath catch.
Her eyes dart to Helen first, waiting for a small nod of approval before she reaches for the offered drink.
But Zosia’s hand doesn’t release it when Carol grabs it. Carol stares for a moment, confused, until she sees Zosia turning to face her fully and the glass starting to move toward her, and she parts her lips instinctively, anticipating. With a low, satisfied hum, Zosia guides the drink into Carol’s mouth, tilting the glass until it’s empty.
By the time Zosia pulls the glass away, Carol’s mind feels fuzzier. She’s never had someone hold a glass for her to drink from like that, never needed someone else to tell her to drink. The combination of Zosia’s control and Helen’s watchful gaze makes her pulse spike.
Helen’s voice is deeper when she speaks again, and Carol immediately knows that she was just as affected by the action, “Ready?”
Both Zosia and Carol nod, and Helen slides out of the booth first, offering her hand to Carol to take as she exits the booth. Carol is tipsy enough not to care about holding Helen’s hand in public, so she grabs it without hesitation, lacing their fingers together and leaning against Helen for support as she steadies herself.
Zosia follows right behind her, laying a hand at the small of Carol’s back, not enough to be perceived as anything but friendly by anyone who might see them walking out of the bar together.
With Helen guiding, they make it outside easily, only stopping once they’re a few feet down the sidewalk, away from the noise of the bar. Zosia’s hand is still against Carol’s back, more firm now, almost possessive.
“We’re just a few blocks down that way,” Helen directs to Zosia, nodding her head toward their hotel. “We can come back in the morning for your car if you drove.”
The implication hits Carol hard. Zosia would probably be staying with them tonight, in the massive bed Helen had made sure was in their room because she knew it was what Carol needed this weekend. Her cheeks burn, but she stays silent, letting the two of them orchestrate the plans while she clings to Helen and the growing anticipation of what’s to come.
When she feels Helen tug on her hand, Carol allows herself to be led down the sidewalk, with Zosia’s hand still at her back, helping Helen guide her to the hotel. It’s a short walk, but Carol feels the weight of each step, an acknowledgment that she’s giving in to her desires. This isn’t just flirting over drinks anymore.
It’s Zosia striding through the lobby with them, even smiling at the concierge at the front desk. It’s Zosia joining them in the elevator with fingers that teasingly slip underneath the back of Carol’s shirt. It’s Zosia walking into their hotel room like she had always meant to be there.
It’s a pile of three pairs of shoes discarded by the door, mixed together, a reminder of where the night is heading.
Helen leads Carol to the bed, her movements slow and deliberate, letting the tension in the room build. She positions her on the edge, right in the center. Then, Helen nods for Zosia to sit beside Carol before lowering herself onto the ottoman at the foot of the bed, facing both with a calm, collected expression.
“We talk first,” Helen nods, glancing between Carol and Zosia. “Rules.”
Zosia shifts, positioning herself so she can easily look between Carol and Helen, her knee now pressing against Carol’s thigh.
Carol remains still, hands in her lap, as she stares at Helen intently, ready to cling to every word that falls from her lips, despite having been part of this conversation plenty of times over the years. Still, she likes hearing it from Helen, likes hearing the rules, likes being reminded of the structure they’ve established.
“You can do whatever you want to Carol,” Helen starts, shifting her attention to Zosia, sharp without being unkind. “Touch her however you want, say whatever you want to her. She likes being teased, and she’s beautiful when you make her beg.”
There’s a brief, deliberate pause before she continues, “You can kiss me, you can touch me, but you can’t fuck me. That’s just for Carol. She’s greedy.”
Carol doesn’t deny it. That part of Helen is hers, nobody else is allowed to have her like that.
“Understood,” Zosia says easily, nodding her head. “I’m okay with that.”
Then, Helen turns to face Carol, “And you’re gonna be good for Zosia, aren’t you? Gonna let her do whatever she wants to you?”
“Yes,” Carol answers immediately, the word desperately tumbling out before she can overthink it.
“Good girl,” Zosia smiles as she reaches out to cup Carol’s jaw, her thumb lightly brushing along her bottom lip.
Helen watches the interaction with a satisfied smirk, leaning back and giving Zosia space to make the first move. She doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t intervene, doesn’t join. She just observes, eyes fixed on the sight in front of her.
The tension building in the room finally becomes too much, and Zosia leans in, pressing her lips to Carol’s in a slow, measured kiss. She’s exploring, testing Carol’s reactions, mentally documenting every moment. A small, broken sound spills from Carol’s mouth into Zosia’s, and Zosia rewards her with a tighter grip on her jaw, pulling her closer as she deepens the kiss.
The noise Carol makes this time is louder, almost helpless, and it vibrates deep in her chest, echoing between their mouths.
Helen doesn’t wait once she hears it, smoothly moving from the ottoman to the bed, slipping into place on the other side of Carol. Cool hands disappear under Carol’s shirt, a stark contrast to the warm skin they land on, and Zosia swallows the whine that escapes Carol’s lips as Helen’s hands start to wander, inching their way up her torso.
Zosia pulls back just enough to look at Carol, dark eyes almost black with desire as she speaks, “God, you’re loud.”
Carol freezes for half a second, embarrassment flaring hot and sharp, spreading through her body. It twists into something hotter, something needier, and the sound she makes trying to swallow it down only reaffirms Zosia’s observation.
Chuckling, Helen leans forward and presses her mouth to Carol’s shoulder with a hum, “So needy. Just desperate for us to touch you, aren’t you?”
There’s a small nod in response, but Zosia isn’t satisfied. She digs her fingers into Carol’s jaw, and a small, pathetic whine fills the room.
“Use your words, Carol,” Zosia instructs, her voice firm and coaxing.
Another whine, and then Carol breathes, “I am.”
“Good girl,” Helen murmurs, reaching up to push Carol’s jacket off her shoulders before pausing and looking over to Zosia, “Why don’t you undress her for us?”
Zosia meets Helen’s eyes and nods instantly, slowly easing her grasp on Carol’s jaw. She starts with Carol’s jacket, eyes locked with Carol’s as she slides it off her frame, before setting it aside on the bed. The action is sensual, intimate, and Carol can’t recall a time she’s felt so aroused just from someone other than Helen undressing her.
Her shirt and bra are delicately placed beside her jacket, and Carol wonders if Zosia has ever acted without such measured movements. Every action feels purposeful, drawn out with intention.
“Stand up for me,” Zosia instructs.
Carol stumbles as she stands, graced with the balance of a baby deer when she’s this horny, knees weak and unsteady under Zosia and Helen’s shared dominance.
Helen’s hands are on her waist immediately, helping steady her with a knowing smirk barely visible on her lips. Carol almost makes a bratty comment about it, but the movement in the corner of her eye kills any words that were about to come out. She watches as Zosia sinks down to her knees, hands expertly finding the button on Carol’s jeans.
“Fuck,” Carol breathes as her gaze tilts downward.
With deft fingers, Zosia quickly unbuttons and unzips Carol’s jeans and starts to tug them down her legs, revealing a simple pair of black underwear. Zosia leans forward as her hands push the jeans down, lips ghosting Carol’s thighs and pressing soft, light kisses over the warm skin.
“Lift your leg for me,” Zosia says softly, tapping Carol’s ankle once the jeans pool at her feet.
Carol obeys, raising her right leg first, and then her left when Zosia prompts her. Her jeans join the pile of her clothes on the bed, neatly folded and placed on top before Zosia moves the pile onto the ottoman and steps back, nudging Carol’s shoulder to get her to sit back down on the bed. Carol’s socks are removed next, while she sits on the edge of the bed and watches Zosia work with careful precision.
When Zosia stands again, she tugs off her own pants and shirt, giving them the same careful treatment as Carol’s clothes before setting them on the ottoman. They’re quickly joined by Helen’s tossed jeans and jacket, leaving her standing in a tank top and underwear.
Zosia reaches behind herself to take off her bra, but Helen rushes forward, covering her hands with her own, stopping her. There’s no resistance from Zosia, her hands falling to her sides instead, so Helen carefully unhooks the clasp, slowly removing the garment and dropping it to the pile of Zosia’s clothes.
Carol’s eyes immediately dart to Zosia’s chest, greedily roaming over pert breasts and stiffening nipples until they’re covered by Helen’s grasping hands. She watches intently, chest heaving and fingers clinging to the bed, as Helen’s hands leisurely slide down Zosia’s torso. Her eyes follow the path to Zosia’s panties, and she swallows thickly when Helen’s fingers hook into the waistband and tug, pulling the delicate lace down long, slender legs.
“I think we have an audience,” Helen husks into Zosia’s ear with a throaty chuckle.
Zosia leans back against Helen’s front and laughs, gaze flicking to Carol’s wide eyes and white knuckles. She smirks and turns her body to face Carol, studying her silently for a breath.
Then, she teases, “Feeling left out, Carol?”
Carol’s jaw clenches, and she shakes her head. A lie. Everyone in the room knows it.
“Are you sure, baby?” Helen raises an eyebrow. “I think you’re about to rip that comforter.”
Carol frees the bedding from her grip and drops her shoulders, forcefully releasing the tension in her body. She knows that tonight is about her, that she doesn’t have any reason to be so tense watching Helen undress Zosia, but she’s needy and desperate, and she’s been teased for the last two hours. She needs someone to finally touch her.
Helen nods in Carol’s direction, looking at Zosia as she offers, “Do whatever you want to her. Give her whatever you think she deserves.”
A wide, devilish smile breaks out on Zosia’s face, and she gestures toward the bed, instructing, “Lie down in the center, head against the pillows.”
She waits for Carol to get into position before she joins her on the plush bed, the mattress dipping underneath her weight as she crawls between Carol’s legs without hesitation.
Helen stands back, lingering at the end of the bed as she watches Zosia settle, unsure where she should go. She’d offered for Zosia to start, to do whatever she wants, so she doesn’t want to overstep just yet, doesn’t want to invade.
But then Zosia’s head turns, and a gentle voice calls out Helen’s name. An offering.
A hand is outstretched toward her, so Helen takes it, allowing herself to be pulled toward the bed. She moves to sit beside Zosia, using her free hand to steady herself before bringing it to run along Carol’s leg. Gentle, reminding.
Zosia leans forward, capturing Helen’s lips in a deep kiss while Carol lies beneath them, staring up with lips parted in a gasp. Helen’s hand buries itself in Zosia’s hair, pulling her closer as her tongue slips between Zosia’s lips, savoring the taste she finds—a heady mix of Zosia, Carol, and vodka.
Carol reaches for Helen, desperate to be involved, but her hand is swatted away immediately, left ignored as it falls back to the bed. Her cheeks burn in humiliation, only adding to the arousal running through her veins. All she can do is watch as Zosia offers herself up to Helen, moaning into her mouth, swallowing the quiet noises Helen lets out.
She squirms in place, heart thudding in her chest as she attempts to squeeze her thighs together, but Zosia is still positioned between her legs, preventing them from closing. And, she knows better than to let her hand drift down, so she’s stuck staring while the wet patch on her underwear grows more insistent.
Finally, after what feels like hours for Carol, Helen and Zosia part, and Helen’s hand releases its hold on Zosia’s hair as Zosia’s hands fall from Helen’s arms, both women panting and blinking rapidly as they pull away.
“Are you done?” Carol asks, annoyance straining her voice.
She’s expecting a scolding, a smack to her thigh, a pinch to her side. Any punishment for her tone. But Zosia just laughs, and Helen joins her. They laugh at her, and Carol huffs, rolling her eyes as she flops back down against the bed.
“You’re adorable,” Zosia giggles, her fingers lightly grazing against Carol’s thigh. “This is going to be a fun night.”
“I’m glad I’m a source of entertainment for you,” Carol bites, and then she softens, instantly regretting it. “I’m sorry. I’m just…can you please…”
Helen absently runs her fingers over Carol’s taught stomach, staring down at her with warm eyes, “Do you need something, baby?”
Carol nods, taking a deep breath as she looks between Helen and Zosia.
“Words,” Zosia reminds her, tone sharp and warning.
“I need you to touch me,” Carol finally forces out. “Please, Zosia. I need it. Anything.”
Zosia grins, “Good girl.”
She moves back to her previous position, where she’d been lying before she’d pulled Helen onto the bed. Zosia’s hands grip Carol’s thighs, spreading them further apart as she lowers her head, a bright pink tongue darting out to trace over the fabric of Carol’s underwear.
A relieved gasp falls from Carol’s lips at the contact, and her head falls back against the pillows, her entire body relaxing with each movement of Zosia’s tongue. She feels the bed shift beside her, and when she tilts her head, she sees Helen coming closer, stretching out on the bed alongside her.
“Feel good, baby?” Helen hums, her hand splaying across Carol’s ribs, fingertips brushing against the undersides of her breasts.
Carol nods, swallowing a moan as she quickly replies, “So good. Fuck, Zosia.”
Zosia grins against Carol’s clothed pussy, tightening her grip on her thighs as she starts to suck through the fabric, teasing her even more. Carol’s underwear is completely soaked through at this point, a sloppy mixture of her own arousal and Zosia’s saliva. The thought makes her shudder, makes her thighs clench under Zosia’s strong grip.
Helen’s hand slides up and grasps Carol’s breast as she leans forward, pressing their lips together in a gentle, sensual kiss. A bold thumb brushes against her nipple, circling, teasing. Carol whimpers into Helen’s mouth and arches her chest into the touch, desperate for more already.
“I need to taste you properly,” Zosia murmurs against Carol’s underwear, her fingers finally tugging down the black cotton. “Fingers okay?”
Helen pulls away from the kiss to let Carol answer, but all she offers is a frantic nod that earns her a pinch to the thigh. A reminder. She has to use her words.
“Fuck, yes, please,” Carol grits out, looking down to meet Zosia’s gaze.
“I won’t be so nice next time,” Zosia warns in a voice lower, rougher, than it’s been the entire night.
Carol drops her head back against the pillows and lets out a quick breath, wildly aroused by Zosia’s threat. She doesn’t get long to steady herself, because Helen’s mouth latches to her neck in an instant, kissing a wet, hot trail down the warm column, teeth nipping at the sensitive flesh.
She completely gives up on trying to maintain any semblance of composure when Zosia’s tongue runs along her slit, gathering the wetness that’s already spilled out of her cunt. It’s barely anything, but it’s already too much. Two mouths on her, both focused on bringing her pleasure.
A low moan spills into the room when Zosia’s tongue finally flattens against Carol’s clit, and Carol’s hand reaches down to tangle in Zosia’s hair, blunt nails threatening to dig into the scalp with each swipe of her tongue. She tries to direct the pressure against her, but Zosia doesn’t budge, moving at her own pace, maintaining the control she has.
Every measured movement Carol had witnessed from Zosia just ten minutes ago is completely gone now, replaced with a new version of Zosia, a side she hadn’t been expecting. Zosia eats her out messily, hungrily, moaning against Carol’s cunt as she consumes like she’s been starving for years.
When two slender fingers join Zosia’s mouth, trailing through her dripping arousal to gather enough slick to enter her pussy, Carol lets out a noise caught somewhere between a gasp and a cry. Her fist tightens in Zosia’s hair, and she lifts her hips to coax Zosia’s fingers deeper, a rough pinch to her nipple drawing out another strangled sound.
“You sound so pretty for us, Carol,” Helen hums against Carol’s collarbone. “So desperate and pathetic with Zosia’s fingers inside of you.”
Zosia lifts her head, a smirk on her lips as she counters, “She didn’t need my fingers for that.”
“Zosia,” Carol whines, grinding her hips down to meet the thrusts of Zosia’s fingers.
“She’s right,” Helen grins as she leans down to circle one of Carol’s nipples with the tip of her tongue. “It doesn’t take much to get you like this.”
Carol’s left hand reaches down to join the right in Zosia’s hair, and she tugs her back down between her legs, aching without the tongue on her clit. She feels a rush of wetness spill onto Zosia’s fingers at Helen’s words, at her desperation being pointed out and spoken about while she’s being fucked.
It doesn’t take much longer for Carol to feel the familiar tightening of her stomach, the coil threatening to snap with each thrust of Zosia’s fingers inside of her. She can feel how desperately she’s clenching around her, can feel how tightly Zosia’s hand is gripping her hip to keep her from bucking too wildly. There’s going to be a bruise there, she’s sure of it.
Helen recognizes it immediately. The way Carol’s eyebrows knit together, the stutter in her breaths, the way her body starts to bow off the bed.
“She’s close,” she announces to Zosia, amusement laced in her voice.
Immediately, Zosia intensifies her efforts. Sucks harder at Carol’s clit, slides a third finger inside of her on a particularly rough thrust. It’s exactly what Carol needs, and she can feel the heat in her body reaching an apex, ready to explode any second.
“Please, fuck, please,” she gasps out, eyes searching for Helen’s as she pleads for permission.
And then Zosia pulls away. She detaches her mouth first, pressing a soft kiss to Carol’s thigh, then slides her fingers out, ignoring the series of whines from Carol.
“What the fuck?” Carol gasps, tugging on Zosia’s hair, trying to pull her back down. “Zosia, no.”
A rough slap to her breast from Helen silences Carol’s whining, and she releases Zosia’s hair, falling back against the bed with an annoyed huff. She knows better than to try to fight more, no matter how much she wants to. The memory of a bruised ass that ached for a week and made it impossible to sit down and write is enough of a warning.
“I was being good,” Carol whispers weakly, frustrated tears welling in her eyes as she looks between Helen and Zosia, a last, futile attempt to get what she wants.
“You were,” Zosia says softly, nodding as she moves from her position. “You were being so good for us.”
Helen presses a kiss to Carol’s breast, the one she’d just slapped, and murmurs, “And you can keep being good.”
With another nod, Zosia repositions herself, this time straddling Carol’s waist as she stares down at her and lowers her hand toward Carol’s face, fingers still glistening with her wetness in the low light of the room. Carol’s lips part instinctively, meeting Zosia’s gaze as she opens her mouth wider.
“Clean my fingers off,” Zosia commands, desire making her voice come out rougher.
Carol obeys immediately, her tongue darting out to lap at the wetness coating Zosia’s fingers. She doesn’t hesitate as Zosia slips the slender digits into her mouth, slowly easing them into the warm wetness.
“That’s it, baby. There you go,” Helen praises, her hand stroking Carol’s hair as she watches her take Zosia’s fingers.
“Such a good girl for us,” Zosia adds. “So good.”
She starts to slide her fingers in and out of Carol’s mouth, mimicking the movements she’d made in her cunt, at a significantly slower, gentler pace. She doesn’t want to overwhelm her, despite the desire to hear Carol gagging on her fingers. Not yet, though, not just as she’s started to recover from being denied. She tucks the thought away for later, knowing the urge won’t disappear on its own.
Zosia’s hips start to move slowly as she works her fingers in Carol’s mouth, grinding her cunt against Carol’s stomach with each movement. She lets out a small, almost inaudible sigh and tilts her head back, pressing her fingers down against Carol’s tongue as she starts to build a steady rhythm.
Carol moans around Zosia’s fingers, hands reaching up to grasp at Zosia’s hips to guide her, to keep her steady as she grinds against her stomach. She forces her eyes to stay open so she can watch the sight above her, completely blown away by how erotic it is.
And then Zosia’s hips stop rolling. Helen’s hand is on Zosia’s shoulder, stilling her movement.
“Let me take care of you,” she offers, and the glint in her eye tells Zosia she has a plan, one that involves working Carol up more.
Zosia only hesitates for a second before nodding and sliding her fingers out of Carol’s mouth, wiping them on the bed as she moves to lie down beside her, watching Helen with a curious grin.
Helen taps Carol’s thigh as she looks down at her, “Why don’t you kneel right over here for me, baby?”
Carol nods wordlessly, scrambling to follow Helen’s instructions now that she’s started to regain feeling in her body. She positions herself in the spot Helen had pointed to, right beside Zosia’s outstretched body.
“Can you be good and stay still for us?” Zosia asks, tilting her head as she looks up at Carol. “Keep your hands to yourself?”
Before Carol can respond, Helen slides off the bed and walks toward the suitcases stacked in the corner of the room. She rummages for a few seconds as Carol and Zosia watch with bated breath, eager to see what she pulls out.
“We don’t have to worry about that,” Helen announces as she walks toward the bed, threading a silk scarf between her fingers.
Carol’s eyes widen, and she shifts on the mattress, nails biting into the skin of her thighs as Helen nears. She feels the bed dip under the weight of Helen’s knee behind her, so she moves her hands behind her back without being prompted, knowing exactly what Helen had in mind when she grabbed the scarf.
“This okay?” Helen asks quietly, checking in with Carol as she slips a finger behind the silk to check how tight it is around her wrists.
When Carol hums a quiet confirmation, Helen presses a gentle kiss to her shoulder blade and murmurs, “You’re being so good, baby. Keep being my good girl, and I’ll make it worth it.”
Carol lets out a small, frustrated sigh, but she nods, trying to relax her body as Helen moves back to the center of the bed. She wants to be good, needs to be, but the sight in front of her isn’t helping the ache between her legs at all.
“Thighs apart,” Zosia warns, tilting her head to look up at Carol. “I don’t want to see you trying to get off.”
With her hands restrained behind her back, it takes Carol a second to get into the requested position without falling over. But when she does, she glances down to see Zosia smiling at her with pride filling her eyes, and that image makes the struggle entirely worth it.
“Don’t take your eyes off of us,” Helen instructs Carol as she starts to lower herself on top of Zosia, one hand pressed into the mattress to keep herself upright.
Then, she captures Zosia’s lips in a deep, hungry kiss, teeth and tongues clashing together as Carol watches with fiery intensity. She squirms as she stares, fixated as Helen’s hand reaches up to grasp Zosia’s jaw and pull her impossibly closer. If it weren’t for the silk tied around her wrists, she’s sure she wouldn’t have been able to resist reaching out, no matter how much she wanted to be good.
Helen’s hand slides down Zosia’s neck, resting at the base while her lips trail down her jaw, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the smooth skin. Zosia’s head tilts back to give Helen more access to her, and her eyes find Carol’s, half-lidded and heavy with pleasure.
“You can leave a mark,” Zosia says with a shaky breath, tangling one hand in Helen’s hair to hold her mouth in place against her neck. “I don’t mind.”
So Helen does. Carol leans forward as she watches Helen’s lips latch onto the flesh, squeezes her hands into fists behind her back as she watches Helen start to suck. Her breath catches in her throat when Helen finally pulls away and reveals the bright spot at the base of Zosia’s neck.
“Jealous, baby?” Helen chuckles as she turns her head to glance over at Carol.
“Yes,” Carol admits quickly, surprising herself.
She’s unsure who she’s more jealous of. Both, probably, she decides a moment later. She wants to leave a mark on Zosia, wants to feel Helen leave one on her skin. Greedy, just like Helen had described her earlier.
Carol’s lower lip gets caught between her teeth as she watches Helen make her way down Zosia’s body, and she starts to roughly chew on it when the trail of fiery kisses Helen is leaving along the slender torso nears Zosia’s pussy. She’s doing everything she can to control herself, to behave for Helen and Zosia, but it’s nearly impossible.
Her thighs ache to close together, but she doesn’t dare move, terrified of the punishment she’ll receive. She knows Helen isn’t above leaving her wet and desperate all night.
She’s done it before. Edged Carol four times just to tell her to get up and start her nighttime routine, then repeated the action three nights in a row. All because Carol had been a brat and tried (and failed) to challenge her dominance. She didn’t want to go through that again.
“God, right there, Helen,” Zosia moans, her voice high-pitched and needy as Helen buries her face between muscular thighs, a skillful tongue eagerly lapping at her soaked cunt.
A whimper fills the room, and Carol’s cheeks burn as she realizes it hadn’t come from Zosia. It had slipped from her lips, a result of seeing her wife’s mouth latched to another pussy, of seeing Zosia’s face contorting in blissful pleasure.
Helen’s fingers slip into Zosia as she lifts her head and turns to address Carol, “Is it getting hard to focus, baby? Is your head getting all fuzzy?”
Carol nods, and she realizes her entire body is trembling, pent-up desire and desperation threatening to boil over. Every thrust of Helen’s wrists makes Zosia move on the bed, jostling Carol with each bounce of the plush mattress.
Time passes in a blur as Carol watches Helen and Zosia. She’s so dizzy from pure need that her vision darkens around the edges, threatening to overtake her as she hears Zosia’s moans filling her ears, the filthy, erotic sound of Helen’s fingers thrusting into her. She’s almost sure she would come just from a hand on her thigh at this point, and she knows she’s exactly where Helen and Zosia want her.
“Fuck, fuck, Helen!” Zosia gasps as her back arches off the bed, her thighs tightening around Helen’s head.
Her head lolls over on the pillow, and her gaze immediately finds Carol’s, staring directly into her eyes as her body convulses in pleasure, Helen’s name on her lips. Carol doesn’t look away, can’t bring herself to even consider it as she watches Zosia’s face contort.
Helen’s tongue continues to lap at Zosia as she rides out her orgasm, slowly easing her down from her high as she swallows every drop of it, her fingers stilling once Zosia’s body stops trembling. She doesn’t let up until Zosia drops back onto the bed and taps the top of her head, giving her permission to release her.
Carol’s breathing is ragged as Helen pulls away from Zosia and turns to face her, lips and chin glistening with Zosia’s juices. It only worsens when Helen crawls in her direction with heated eyes and a mischievous grin, and Carol digs her nails into the flesh of her palms, trying to keep herself in her body.
“Poor thing, didn’t get to touch Zosia, didn’t get to taste her,” Helen purrs with a mocking lilt to her voice. “Do you want to taste Zosia, baby?”
Carol nods frantically, not caring how pathetic she looks. She’d accept any offer Helen gives her, anything to get out of her current position, anything to not just sit there.
Firm fingers wrap around Carol’s jaw, practically prying it open as Helen says, “Open.”
Carol obeys without hesitation. She opens her mouth as wide as she can, eyes locked with Helen’s as she sticks her tongue out instinctively, getting a pretty good indication of what’s about to happen.
It comes a half a second later. Helen’s spit on her tongue, a mix of her saliva and Zosia’s arousal. Carol doesn’t dare swallow, letting the taste settle in her mouth as she continues to stare up at Helen, waiting for further instruction.
“Good girl,” Helen says, a hint of pride in her voice. “Swallow.”
Carol swallows the gift eagerly, moaning as Helen’s grip tightens, fingernails digging into the skin of her jaw.
Zosia’s voice cuts in, sharp and expectant, “What do you say?”
“Thank you,” Carol replies immediately.
“For?”
“Thank you for letting me taste Zosia,” Carol corrects herself, glancing between Helen and Zosia.
“Good girl,” Zosia purrs, a careful hand reaching out to brush against Carol’s knee. “Don’t forget your manners, Carol. I’d hate to have to leave you like this.”
Carol shudders at the contact, the ache between her legs becoming more insistent now, a reminder that she’s still waiting for release.
Helen grins and nods down at Carol’s wrists behind her back, “Let me take that off.”
She slips behind Carol and carefully unties the silk scarf, releasing her wrists from their restraints. Warm fingers gently rub the skin, and Carol lets out a small hum of appreciation, softening at the feeling.
Helen ducks her head and presses a series of soft kisses along Carol’s back, eyes peeking over a pale shoulder to see Zosia outstretched and staring up at Carol with lust-filled eyes as her hand slowly creeps up Carol’s thigh.
“Are you feeling needy, Carol?” Zosia asks, gaze flicking between Carol’s face and her exposed pussy. “You’re dripping onto the bed, making a mess.”
A humiliated whimper falls from Carol’s lips, but she nods anyway, knowing Zosia expects a response, “Yes.”
“Helen, you have to see this,” Zosia remarks as she tilts her head to look up at Helen. “Look at the wet spot on the bed.”
With an amused smirk, Helen moves to sit in front of Carol, eyes falling to the bed underneath her kneeling frame. She clicks her tongue and shakes her head as she takes in the sight, and Carol wants nothing more than for the ground to open up beneath her and swallow her whole.
No such thing occurs. Instead, Helen’s hand reaches out to run along her slit, gathering some of the sticky wetness that spills out of her cunt. The hand pulls away, then travels in Zosia’s direction until it nears her lips.
Zosia’s tongue darts out instantly, lapping at Helen’s fingers, savoring the taste of Carol’s humiliation. She wraps her lips around the digits and starts to suck, her fingers grasping at Helen’s wrist to keep her hand in place.
“Please,” Carol whines, hands finally falling to her lap, fingertips pressing into her thighs.
Helen turns to face Carol as she teases, “Please, what?”
“Helen just fucking—” Carol cuts herself off, taking a deep breath so she doesn’t lose her temper. “I need you. Both of you. Please.”
Helen’s eyebrow quirks at Carol’s frustrated snap, but her face settles into a softened expression when she hears the correction. She slowly withdraws her fingers from Zosia’s mouth and turns to face Carol, eyes scanning her body before she nods her head.
“You’ve been so good for us,” Helen agrees with a hum. “I think it’s time for that reward, hm?”
Carol doesn’t move, afraid to nod too eagerly, afraid to appear too greedy.
“Come here,” Helen says softly once she settles with her back to the headboard, patting the soft skin of her lap. A command, an open invitation.
Without even taking a moment to think, Carol scrambles across the bed to straddle Helen’s lap, desperate to finally have something, anything. She’d get herself off just from grinding against Helen’s leg if she had to. It wouldn’t be the first time.
But she doesn’t have to, because Helen’s hands are on her immediately, roaming over her stomach, her waist, her thighs. Carol hears the rustling of the sheets behind her before she feels another set of hands on her, grasping, teasing. Zosia’s breasts press against her bare back, pinning her between two warm bodies.
Hungry for more contact, Carol’s hands reach for the hem of Helen’s tank top, and she greedily pulls up it and over Helen’s head, with little resistance to stop her. She tears Helen’s bra off with equal fervor, tossing both off the bed without even looking to where they fall.
Even after almost thirty years together, Carol still can’t get enough of Helen’s body. She’d spent their early years tracing every inch with her mouth, learning it over and over so it’d be impossible to forget. An eager pink tongue running over each freckle, drawing constellations between them, committing them to memory.
Now, she stares at Helen’s bare chest and feels the same urge, the one she’d shyly admitted into the quiet of Helen’s apartment the fifth time they slept together. She leans forward and lowers her head, running her tongue along Helen’s collarbone, keeping herself steady with hands grasping at Helen’s waist.
Two fingers press at Carol’s cunt, and she tilts her hips before sinking down on them, letting out a contented moan against Helen’s breast. It starts slow, just enough to tease her, to drag it out, to make her squirm for more.
“Such a good girl,” Zosia murmurs against the back of Carol’s neck.
She presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the skin before continuing down the line of her shoulder, leaving a wet trail in her wake. One hand snakes around Carol’s body, nails lightly running down her taut stomach, stopping just shy of Carol’s clit.
Carol shudders at the feeling, tightening her grip on Helen as she starts to fall forward, overwhelmed with the pleasure she’s finally experiencing. She knows she won’t last long, not like this. Not with Helen’s fingers inside of her, not with Zosia’s lips on her back, not with Zosia’s hand teasing her.
“Take what you need, baby,” Helen instructs, her voice a husky whisper in Carol’s ear. “Ride my fingers.”
So Carol takes and takes, building up her own rhythm with Helen’s permission. Each roll of her hips draws Helen in deeper, more forcefully. Teeth sink into her shoulder, and Carol almost screams, burying her face in Helen’s neck to muffle the noises she’s making.
“I want to hear you,” Zosia chastises with a click of her tongue before using the tip of it to soothe the sting of her bite.
Carol tilts her head, freeing her mouth as she continues to bounce in Helen’s lap, letting her moans shamelessly spill out under Zosia’s encouragement. A needy, high-pitched moan escapes when she feels Zosia’s hand finally dip down between her legs, two skillful fingers circling her clit alongside Helen’s two already inside of her.
“More, please,” Carol whimpers. “Need more.”
A third finger slides into her cunt without hesitation, stretching her out, filling her up. Helen applies more pressure behind her wrist, now matching Carol’s movements instead of making her work for it. She’s eager to watch Carol fall apart in her lap, eager to feel her come around her fingers.
Zosia follows Helen’s lead, rubbing faster, tighter circles around Carol’s clit. She sucks a mark onto Carol’s back as she draws her closer to the edge. Deep and dark, something that’ll stay for a while. Something to remind her of this.
“I can feel how close you are,” Helen says, dipping her head to wrap her lips around one of Carol’s nipples.
Carol’s eyes squeeze shut when Helen’s teeth tug at the hardened bud, the heat in her stomach nearing its peak with each passing second. When Helen bites down on it, Carol’s nails dig into the flesh of Helen’s sides, desperately trying to keep herself upright.
“Fuck, Helen!” Carol gasps, arching her chest into Helen’s mouth, greedily seeking more from her.
Zosia’s lips brush against Carol’s ear as she whispers, “Are you gonna come for us? Are you going to soak Helen’s fingers like a good girl?”
Carol nods rapidly, her voice dissolving into incoherent babbles as both Helen and Zosia double their efforts, clearly having their fill of dragging it out. Helen’s fingers thrust harder into Carol, deeper, and Zosia applies more pressure to Carol’s clit as her mouth latches onto her neck, sucking another mark into warm skin.
Helen swirls her tongue around Carol’s nipple once, twice, and then tilts her head up to look into her eyes as she purrs, “Come for us, baby. Be a good girl. You can let go.”
And then her lips are on Carol’s nipple again, teeth tugging on the tender flesh, rougher this time, as she feels Carol’s pussy clenching around her fingers. Heat floods Carol’s veins, and her entire body tenses, the extra stimulation exactly what she needed to push her over the edge.
She comes with a string of moans and a mix of Helen and Zosia’s names spilling out of her mouth and into the room, echoing off the walls, definitely loud enough for the surrounding rooms to hear. The thought doesn’t even cross Carol’s mind. Her thoughts go blank as Helen and Zosia’s fingers continue to fuck her, working her through her orgasm, determined to drag it out until the moment her body stops trembling.
“Good girl, such a good girl,” Zosia and Helen are both whispering to her, their voices mixing as they float into her ears.
She isn’t sure who’s saying what, but she can hear both of them talking to her, praising her for how well she’s doing. All she can do is let the force of her orgasm take over and pathetically cling to Helen as it does.
Finally, their fingers slowly pull away, and Carol slumps in Helen’s lap, leaning forward and resting her head against her shoulder. Zosia stays positioned behind her, her tits pressed against her back, keeping her pinned against Helen. She loves the feeling, the weight of it almost grounding as her orgasm subsides.
“That was beautiful,” Zosia whispers in Carol’s ear as her hand reaches up and starts to gently rub Carol’s back. “You did so well, Carol.”
Carol hums in response, unable to form words. She tries to weakly nod, but she hears a chuckle from Helen, and she instantly knows the attempt was awful.
“Feeling better?” Helen teases, pressing a kiss to her temple as she holds Carol in her arms, keeping her steady. “You were so pent-up, poor thing.”
They sit like that for a few minutes, with Carol sandwiched between Zosia and Helen, chest still heaving as she tries to catch her breath. She’s barely said anything, just nodded when either one has checked in with her and made sure she’s okay, and shook her head when they asked if she needed anything.
This is what she needs. To be held, to be comforted, to be cared for.
Eventually, Zosia pulls away first, pressing her lips to Carol’s shoulder in a gentle kiss as she gives her the space to move. She settles just a few feet away on the bed, sitting back on her heels as she watches Helen murmur in Carol’s ear and pat her back twice before releasing her hold on her.
“I have some toys I’d kill to use on you if the two of you are ever in Chicago again,” Zosia muses as she watches Carol stretch out on the bed. “You’d look so pretty with a gag and some clamps on your nipples.”
The words go straight to Carol’s clit like a live wire, and she fists the sheets, taking a deep breath to fight the whine that threatens to fall from her lips.
Helen smirks, “We’re going to be here for a few days, actually. I think Carol would love to see your collection.”
Then, a moment later, she adds, “If you ever find yourself in Albuquerque, you could come see ours, play with some of Carol’s favorites.”
Zosia beams at the offer, reaching out to lazily stroke Carol’s thigh as she murmurs, “I have some time off in a few months. Maybe I’ll finally visit New Mexico, especially with such a delicious offer.”
Carol knows this won't be the last time they see Zosia. The look in Helen's eye tells her as much. She's never seen Helen so taken with someone they've slept with before. There's something different about Zosia, something special.