Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Helen is hiding something. Carol isn’t too sure exactly what she’s hiding, but she knows her wife, and she knows that something is up. They’ve been home from the Bloodsong tour for two weeks now, back to their normal lives, but Helen still hasn’t completely settled, even after their anniversary weekend.

Just two decades ago, Carol would have been concerned. Her thoughts would have been filled with her greatest fears: Helen cheating, Helen finding someone else, Helen leaving. She would have let herself spiral and tried to hide it from Helen.

Now, it just annoys her more than anything. She hates when Helen keeps secrets, hates when she isn’t privy to every little thought that bounces around in her mind. It’s not that Helen owes it to her, Carol is just greedy and hates being left out of the loop. And Helen knows this and knows how much she can drag things out just to work Carol up, which only makes it worse.

Most of the time, Carol can figure it out. If Helen starts getting weird as a significant date nears, Carol knows she has something planned and she’s trying to keep it a secret. If Helen starts getting weird when they talk about work, Carol knows that there’s something Val wants from her and Helen has been tasked with getting it.

But they just celebrated their anniversary, Carol’s birthday isn’t for four more months, Helen’s isn’t for another six, and she always gets three months of freedom from work after a book tour. So Carol has no fucking idea what Helen is hiding now.

She tries to ignore her curiosity. She tells herself that maybe she’s the one who’s off. The last few stops of the tour were weird, and she’s probably still recovering from listening to pent-up straight women going on and on about Raban.

It works for a bit, until Helen tells her they’re going to spend the weekend deep cleaning the house.

“That’s what Merry Maids is for, babe,” Carol grunts, looking up from the book in her lap.

Helen chuckles, “Theresa never gets behind the fridge.”

“Why do we need to clean behind the fridge right now? We had the house cleaned before we came home from tour,” Carol frowns. “And, you can just tell her that. We tip her well, she won’t get mad.”

“We’re cleaning,” Helen says, and she pulls the book out of Carol’s hands, slipping her Wycaro bookmark—a gift from a fan—between the pages before setting it down on the side table.

Carol huffs and reaches for the book again, but a glare from Helen halts her movement instantly, and she instead groans dramatically as she stands up from the chair she’d been comfortably nestled in. She follows Helen into the kitchen, crossing her arms over her chest as cleaning supplies are pulled out and set on the island.

“You’ve been weird for two weeks, and now we’re cleaning the house,” Carol comments, leaning against the counter. “What’s going on?”

Helen doesn’t meet Carol’s eyes as she replies, “Nothing’s going on, Carol. We have a free weekend, and the house hasn’t been deep-cleaned in a while.”

Carol steps closer, sliding between Helen and the island, arms still crossed. She stops when she’s right in front of Helen, impossible to ignore, staring up at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Why are you being weird?” Carol asks again, voice tinged with annoyance.

“I’m not being weird. You’re being weird,” Helen scoffs, still looking anywhere but into Carol’s eyes.

Carol reaches up and grabs Helen’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, tugging it in her direction. She doesn’t ask again, just stares into her eyes, waiting for a response.

It comes just a few seconds later, with a sigh and rolled eyes, “Zosia is coming to visit.”

“Zosia Zosia?” Carol questions, dropping her hand from Helen’s face like she’d been burned.

“You only know one,” Helen confirms with a smirk. “She’s gonna be in Santa Fe next week for a work trip.”

During their weekend in Chicago, they’d exchanged numbers with Zosia, promising to call her if they ever made their way back to the city again and threatening to hold Zosia to her own promise to call them if she ever ended up in New Mexico. They’d kept in contact since, mostly through Helen. Carol rarely checks her own phone these days, and they’d told Zosia as much.

Zosia’s first text came in a week after Helen and Carol had left Chicago. It was a simple, playful message about hoping they’d given her the right numbers and not random ones to gently let her down. They’d spent the rest of that evening texting Zosia through Helen’s phone, with Carol’s head resting on Helen’s shoulder as Helen transcribed her verbal responses to Zosia’s messages.

Neither had really expected to hear from her, especially not so soon, but they were both thrilled that she hadn’t slipped into oblivion. They’d never offered their numbers to anyone they’d invited into their bed, but when Zosia asked to keep in touch, there was barely a moment of hesitation before Helen reached for Zosia’s phone and added herself and Carol as contacts.

In the weeks that followed, Helen and Carol had discussed their weekend a handful of times, mostly when Helen wanted to tease Carol about how needy and desperate she’d been, or how pretty she was when she was listening to both her and Zosia.

One night, when she was in an especially sadistic mood, Helen had gone as far as to force Carol’s legs open and press a vibrator to her clit while making her admit all of the things she would want to try with Zosia if they ever had the chance to see her again. She struggled through sobs and frantically thrashing hips, and when Helen finally let her come, Carol had done so with tear-stained cheeks under Helen’s watchful gaze and cooed praise.

Carol furrows her brows and tries, and fails miserably, to hide the curiosity in her voice, “Is she…is she staying here?”

“Do you want her to stay here?” Helen asks with a slight tilt of her head.

“I mean, it wouldn’t make sense for her to if she has to be in Santa Fe for work,” Carol answers quickly, shaking her head as she tries to hide her disappointment. “We could drive up to her for the night or something. I just thought you were making me clean because she would be coming here.”

Helen laughs, “We’re cleaning because the house needs it.”

“Right,” Carol nods.

“So, do you?”

Carol frowns, “Do I, what?”

“Do you want Zosia to come stay with us?” Helen questions again, reaching out to rub Carol’s arm.

“The guest room hasn’t been used since your sister came to visit two years ago. It’s collecting dust," Carol murmurs. “But, if Zosia has to be in Santa Fe, it would be inconvenient for her to stay here. It wouldn’t make sense.”

“Carol.”

Carol looks up, catching her lower lip between her teeth as she meets Helen’s gaze.

“Answer my question,” Helen prompts, voice the perfect balance of firmness and warmth. There’s no judgment behind it, no accusation.

“Yeah,” Carol answers, barely a whisper.

Helen leans down and presses a kiss to the top of Carol’s head as she murmurs, “I’ll talk to her and see how much she has to be in Santa Fe while she’s here.”

A week later, Carol stands in front of the mirror in their bedroom, a frustrated scowl on her face as she tries on the third shirt in a row. The first had been too formal, the second too feminine. And now, as she stares at her reflection, this one feels like she’s getting ready to go to Sprouts. It’s too casual for this, too casual for seeing Zosia again.

With a huff, she tugs the shirt off and lets it drop from her fingers to join the others she’d discarded in a pile on the floor. Helen’s voice echoes in her mind, telling her to pick them up. She ignores it and instead stomps toward the closet in search of a fourth option. She’ll put them back on their hangers after she settles on an outfit. Maybe.

Carol’s movement borders on aggression as she rummages through her clothes, the clattering of hangers only furthering her frustration. She thumbs through her shirts, and then Helen’s, then back to her own, hoping the perfect article will magically appear so she can join her wife downstairs while they wait for Zosia to arrive. There would probably even be enough time to have a drink if she settles on something within the next few minutes.

After a few more circles around the closet, Carol lets out a sigh loud enough for Helen to hear from the kitchen. She knows she’s overthinking this, but she can’t stop herself. It feels ridiculous to be so concerned about her outfit, especially when she knows Zosia is coming to visit because she wants to see her and Helen again. A shirt won’t change that.

“Can you come help me?” Carol calls out over the stairs.

There’s a brief silence, followed by the sound of a glass being set down on the counter, and then Carol hears footsteps padding toward the stairs, Helen coming to her rescue without question. She walks back into the bedroom and flops down on the bed to wait, crossing her arms over her chest.

Helen’s voice is gentle as she enters the room, “What do you need my help with?”

Wordlessly, Carol gestures down at her half-dressed body. A pair of dark wash jeans, a black bra, and white socks.

“I know you’re excited about Zosia being here, but I think you should wear a shirt, at least at first,” Helen teases, leaning against the door frame.

Carol falls back onto the bed and groans, “Helen.”

A chuckle leaves Helen’s throat, and she walks over to the pile of clothes Carol had left on the ground and picks them up before tossing them in her direction. Carol tries to dodge the shirts, but two hit her in the face, and her annoyance only intensifies as she notices the way Helen doesn’t even attempt to hide her amusement.

She disappears into the closet, and Carol crumples the shirts into a ball as she watches Helen immediately spring into action. A small rush of warmth spreads through Carol’s chest as she stares, a welcome familiarity in Helen picking out her clothes.

The habit had formed early in their relationship. One of the first times Helen stayed at Carol’s old apartment, Carol had been struggling to decide on something to wear for the day, stuck standing in the cramped space of her closet for ten minutes before Helen came in to check on her. With one brief glance at Carol’s face, Helen immediately offered to pick something out for her, not even poking fun at her indecision like any of her exes had. Carol had felt that same warmth then, the quiet comfort of letting someone else take control, making decisions for her.

When Helen steps out with a white tank top and a baby pink button-down and holds them out with a gentle, understanding expression, relief floods Carol’s body, forcing her shoulders to finally relax.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, taking the offered items.

Helen shakes her head, “Anytime, hon. You know that.”

Carol’s cheeks tint a faint shade of pink as she nods and tugs the tank top over her head in one swift motion. She takes her time with the button-down, sliding her arms in through the sleeves carefully, watching her reflection in the mirror.

She’s admiring Helen’s selection when she feels a firm smack on her ass, the sound echoing in their bedroom as Carol whips her head around to find Helen standing right behind her with a mischievous grin on her lips.

“You can’t blame me,” Helen laughs, raising her hands defensively. “Your ass looks very slappable in those jeans.”

Carol rolls her eyes, “I’m sure it does.”

One final slap lands on Carol’s ass, and then Helen walks toward the door, lingering in the entryway as she turns around to address Carol again.

“I’ll have a glass of wine for you when you come down. Zosia should be here any minute now,” she says before disappearing down the hallway.

With a nod, Carol tucks her hair behind her ear and rolls her sleeves up her forearms, an attempt to distract herself enough to ease her anxiety. Rationally, she knows she doesn’t have anything to be worried about. Zosia’s feelings haven’t changed since they last spoke. She’s excited to spend a week with Carol and Helen, to get to know them more, personally and intimately. She’d said as much on the phone just two nights ago.

Still, Carol feels almost as nervous as she did when she was getting ready for her second date with Helen. She’d thrown up then, and then had to change her entire outfit because she felt like it still carried residual nerves even after she’d cleaned herself up.

She didn’t have any reason to worry then, and she doesn’t have one to worry now. This isn’t a date. Zosia is just coming to stay for a week, and they’ll probably have sex a few times while she’s here. That’s it.

Before she can work herself up anymore, Carol makes her way downstairs, fingers flexing in and out of fists over and over as her hands hang at her sides until she reaches the kitchen. There’s a glass of wine on the counter, but Helen is nowhere to be seen.

“Hel?” Carol calls out while reaching for the glass, eyes peering around the entrance to the kitchen to look for Helen.

Half of the wine in the glass slides down her throat in one gulp, and Carol grips the counter as she swallows, willing the alcohol to work quickly to soothe her nerves. She doesn’t necessarily need the liquid courage to see Zosia again, but it won’t hurt.

Helen appears in the kitchen a moment later, retrieving her own glass from the island as she makes her way toward Carol, her smile warm and assuring.

“Are you nervous, baby?” she asks softly once she’s standing just inches away from Carol.

Carol scoffs, but takes another sip of her wine, a normal one this time. She ignores the heavy feeling of Helen’s eyes on her, ignores the look she knows she’s receiving. She knows Helen can see right through her. She’s had the ability since they first met, no matter how impossible Carol tries to make it.

Helen takes a small step closer and raises her hand to Carol’s cheek, thumb lightly rubbing along Carol’s cheek as she tilts her head to meet her gaze. Carol leans into the touch immediately, softening when she looks up into Helen’s eyes.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” Helen whispers, a hint of teasing in her voice. “Last time you saw Zosia, she fucked you so hard you cried.”

“Helen,” Carol whines and moves to escape her touch.

Helen smirks, “I’m just saying. It’s normal to be nervous when you know that’s how things went last time.”

“You’re not helping,” Carol rolls her eyes.

“Aren’t I?” Helen challenges with a raised eyebrow.

There’s only silence from Carol as she takes another sip of her wine, but heat rises on her cheeks, and she knows Helen can see how flustered she is. It’s going to be a long night, Carol already knows. She’d barely survived the two nights they’d spent with Zosia, caught in a constant state of arousal and frustration as they both teased her at any possible chance.

Before Helen can push Carol any further, the sound of a car door slamming closed comes from outside, and they both glance toward the front door, easily identifying its source. Zosia has arrived. She’s in their driveway.

Carol moves first. In record speed, she abandons her glass on the counter and rushes toward the door, not even bothering to glance out the peephole before she twists the lock and swings the door open. A little blue car sits in the driveway, the trunk popped open with Zosia standing behind it, ready to pull her bags out. Carol strides down the stone path to the driveway, barely even acknowledging Zosia as she moves to stand beside her, reaching for the suitcases tucked neatly in the trunk before Zosia can grab them first.

“You don’t have to—”

“Just let her,” Helen cuts Zosia off with a laugh, a few feet behind Carol.

Unlike her wife, Helen walks toward Zosia first, wrapping her arms around Zosia’s lithe frame in a warm, comfortable embrace.

Zosia happily returns the hug, hands splayed against Helen’s back as they stand together for a few seconds. Then, she steps back and turns to face Carol, who has already pulled both of her suitcases out of the trunk.

“You aren’t going to say hi to me first?” Zosia teases with a pout, tilting her head as she watches Carol.

Carol freezes instantly, releasing her grip on the handles of Zosia’s suitcases as she realizes she’d jumped into chivalrous mode on instinct. A light blush paints her cheeks, and she bites her lip as she looks up to meet Zosia’s gaze.

“Hi,” she says shyly.

Zosia’s pout deepens, “That’s it? I came all this way, and all I get is a shy little hi?”

Carol opens her mouth to reply, but she closes it just as quickly, her fingers flexing at her sides like she’s trying to remember what to do with them. She can feel Helen’s gaze on her, can sense the poorly concealed delight she knows she would find if she glances over.

Zosia steps closer, slow and deliberate, giving Carol time to stop her. Her perfume clouds Carol’s senses instantly, a mix of something citrus and woodsy, the same scent Carol had been covered in before they’d even left the bar all those months ago.

“I was hoping for a slightly more enthusiastic greeting,” Zosia murmurs, opening her arms to Carol, welcoming, not demanding.

Carol stumbles forward, falling into Zosia’s arms without hesitation. The hug is warm, familiar. It surprises Carol how natural it feels to hug Zosia, to feel her body pressed against hers in a way that isn’t sexual. She sinks into the feeling when Zosia’s arms wrap around her shoulders, firm without being possessive. Belonging. She ignores the thought, unwilling to unpack it in the driveway.

Zosia presses a soft kiss to Carol’s cheek before murmuring, “I’m happy to see you, Carol.”

The softness of the statement makes Carol’s breath catch. She takes a second to steady herself, fingers tapping against Zosia’s waist subconsciously as she works up the courage to respond.

“You too,” she manages, quieter than she intends.

When Zosia pulls away, her hands linger on Carol’s biceps for just a second longer than necessary. The touch isn’t inappropriate, just enough to make Carol acutely aware of Zosia’s fingers splayed over her muscles. Carol remembers the comments Zosia had made about her arms before, how she’d run her fingers over them and praised how gorgeous they were. She fights the urge to flex, to show off the fact that she’d upped her arm routine after learning about Zosia’s stay.

“Carol, baby, you wanna grab Zosia’s bags?” Helen interrupts, voice gentle and guiding, ready to bring the reunion inside and away from the neighbors’ view.

Heat creeps up Carol’s neck, and she nods absently, stepping back from Zosia and reaching for the suitcases again. She’s grateful to have something to do with her hands, something meaningful to channel all of her anxious energy into, at least for a few minutes.

Helen leads the way, and Zosia follows after locking the car, with Carol trailing behind them, rolling Zosia’s suitcases up the driveway. She stays a few steps back, observing Helen and Zosia, reminding herself that there’s no need to be nervous about this week. Zosia is just here to visit, nothing complicated.

“Why don’t you go set those in the guest room, and we’ll give Zosia a proper tour once we’ve started on dinner?” Helen asks Carol once they’ve all stepped inside, the question instructive despite being delivered as suggestive.

Carol nods, gaze lingering for a second as Zosia slips off her shoes and lines them neatly against the wall. Her stomach flutters as she realizes that Zosia is casually taking up space like she already belongs in the house, like she isn’t stepping into the home of a married couple she’d only spent two nights with over a month ago.

When Zosia follows Helen into the kitchen, Carol treks upstairs, carrying the suitcases with ease, practiced from dozens of trips with Helen. She always insists on carrying their bags alone, wanting to prove herself useful even after almost three decades together.

In the guest room, Carol gently sets Zosia’s suitcases at the foot of the bed. She takes a moment to adjust the pillows for a third time today, fluffing and straightening them like she hadn’t just done so an hour ago. The room has to be perfect for Zosia.

Carol smooths her hand over the comforter one last time before stepping back to assess the room. Helen had tasked her with cleaning and organizing the room the day before, knowing she needed something to busy herself with to avoid the spiral of her anxious thoughts. The room looks good, looks clean, looks neat. It’s comfortable and neutral, not too intimate for Zosia’s stay, though Carol knows it’ll see the most intimate parts of her within a few hours.

She makes her way downstairs, and an easy warmth spreads in her chest as she hears Helen and Zosia’s voices in the kitchen. Helen is showing Zosia around the space, guiding her to where things are stored so they can start on dinner together.

It should feel weird to have someone else in their space. For years, their home has been a sanctuary, the one place they’re allowed to comfortably exist without worry about the outside world. Only trusted friends and family have been allowed to experience the truest form of their relationship, the one that doesn’t have to stay hidden when they’re in the walls of the house. They’ve never let someone they’ve slept with inside, too insistent on keeping their encounters entirely separate from their real life. But here Zosia is, standing in their kitchen, in one of the most intimate rooms of the house.

And Carol doesn’t feel anything but excitement. She likes knowing that Zosia is here, that she’s making herself comfortable in her home. She wants to share this space with her, to let her in. It’s terrifying, because she barely knows Zosia, but it’s the kind of terrifying Helen encourages, the kind that makes Carol’s pulse throb in her ears.

“There you are,” Zosia coos as Carol steps into the kitchen, hip pressed against the counter.

There’s a glass of wine in one hand, and the other is splayed on the countertop, barely an inch away from Helen’s. Carol waits a second as she stares at their hands, waiting for the jealousy to rise, but it never comes. Instead, the warmth in her chest spreads further, seeping into her veins, threatening to dip low in her stomach.

“Here I am,” Carol laughs nervously, stepping further into the space.

She scans the kitchen for the glass of wine she’d abandoned in a hurry when Zosia arrived, eyes lighting up when she spots it on the island with a few sips left in the bottom. Reaching for it, Carol glances up at Helen, scanning her face for any indication of how she feels about finally having Zosia here in their home. She wonders if Helen is as nervous as she is, or if she’s completely at ease with the added presence.

It’s probably the latter, Carol surmises as her gaze flicks over Helen’s face. Helen has always been a gracious host, much kinder than Carol, and she’s been planning this with Zosia for weeks. It would be weirder if she were as nervous as Carol is.

Helen nods down at the wine in Carol’s hand as she mutters, “You can have one more before dinner. And then a glass of water.”

Carol’s stomach twists at Helen’s words. She isn’t controlling Carol’s drinking out of concern for her liver or fear that she’ll embarrass herself in front of Zosia. She’s directing, just as Zosia had in the bar.

That night, Helen had recognized Carol’s reaction and tucked the information away, keeping it safe in her mind until they had finally returned home. They’d recreated it a few times in the weeks that followed. On the couch in the living room, Helen’s steady hand raising a glass to Carol’s lips, Carol willingly accepting the gift of Helen’s control. It was just as intoxicating then, in the privacy of their home, with Helen’s praise bordering on condescension as she poured the vodka into Carol’s mouth.

Carol shakes the thought away as quickly as it had arrived, unwilling to deal with flushed cheeks she’d have to explain to both Helen and Zosia. Not this early in the evening.

She nods once at Helen, agreeing to the parameters she’d set, before tilting her head toward the ingredients spread on the counters and asking, “Can I help?”

Helen’s lips curl into a smirk as she replies, “Do you think you could wash the vegetables for us?”

The patronizing question makes Carol’s skin burn. Helen’s tone was intentional, a choice made to make Carol feel small, to remind her of her place. Carol is more than capable of washing some vegetables and they both know it, but Zosia’s raised eyebrow makes Carol question her own abilities in a way that leaves her underwear damp.

“I can wash vegetables, Helen,” Carol grumbles, trying to mask her reaction to the question.

She stumbles over to the sink, where Helen had already laid out what needed to be washed on the counter next to it: a few bell peppers, two zucchinis, and a carton of mushrooms. Carol feels two sets of eyes on her as she turns her back, and she doesn’t have to turn around to know Helen and Zosia are both watching her with amused smiles, both just as aroused as she is at Helen’s display.

As Carol washes the vegetables, Helen and Zosia move around the kitchen together, pulling out all of the pans and knives they’ll need to prepare dinner. She can hear Helen leading Zosia, giving her tasks that are greater responsibilities than washing the vegetables.

Curious, Carol glances over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of the two together, and Zosia finds her gaze immediately, a warm smile spreading on her lips.

“Do you need help, sweetheart?” Zosia asks, voice dripping with familiar condescension.

Carol’s ears burn, and her mouth parts momentarily to respond, but she closes it just as quickly and settles for shaking her head, afraid of what would come out if she tried to speak. She turns back to the task at hand, rinsing the vegetables under running water, making sure they’re clean for the meal.

As she turns the sink off, Carol turns to offer to chop the vegetables, but Helen rejects it with a swift shake of her head, a knowing smile playing at her lips that makes Carol’s stomach drop. Instead, Helen asks Carol to stir the sauce she’d been preparing and holds the wooden spoon out in her direction.

Carol hesitates for a moment, unable to pinpoint the feeling boiling under her skin, or just outright unwilling to name it. She’s unsure which it is, but right now, standing in the kitchen under Helen and Zosia’s watchful eyes, doesn’t feel like the time to dwell on it. So she steps away from the sink and accepts the outstretched spoon with a small nod, pushing down any lingering feelings of uncertainty.

Zosia passes Carol on her way to the sink to retrieve the vegetables that had been left, and she pauses, stopping to press a gentle kiss to her cheek, her lips soft and wet against the warm skin.

“Thank you for washing these for me,” she murmurs, eyes flicking up to meet Carol’s in an intense gaze.

The atmosphere in the kitchen thickens as Zosia steps away and glances toward Helen, a silent, heated exchange passing between them, a conversation that Carol tries, and fails, to follow. She nods dumbly, taking the last step toward the stove as her hand reaches for the handle of the pot to stabilize it.

Helen’s voice comes just as Carol makes contact with the handle, “The pot is hot, so be careful, Carol.”

The flush on Carol’s cheeks burns deeper, turning a darker shade of red as she nods and bites her lip, carefully stirring the sauce in the pot without looking up at Helen.

An unnecessary reminder, a comment aimed to tease her.

Dinner preparations continue with the same charged energy. Carol is delegated to more menial tasks with patronizing instructions from Helen and Zosia, and she’s left feeling like a child desperate to help her parents in the kitchen.

The connection makes her stomach burn. She knows what Helen and Zosia are doing, and, as much as it humiliates her, she’s so turned on that she can’t argue, willingly accepting the submission they’ve coaxed out of her through pointed looks and gentle voices.

They’re talking around her again, talking about her, talking for her. Zosia asks a question about Carol’s food preferences, and Helen answers without even casting a glance in her direction. Helen tells Zosia that Carol had helped clean the house to prepare for her visit, and Zosia directs the praise to Helen despite explicitly acknowledging Carol’s effort.

Carol hates it. She’s wet and her mind is fuzzy, but she hates it. At least, she tells herself she does. But, deep down, she knows this is exactly what she craves—Helen and Zosia taking care of her, anticipating her needs, making decisions for her.

When the meal is ready, Helen instructs Carol to set the table in the formal dining room. They rarely use it, instead eating at the table right off the kitchen, or in the living room on particularly lazy nights. But tonight they have a guest, and a guest means they eat in the formal dining room.

Helen guides Carol to the head of the table before settling on her left, and Zosia takes her seat on Carol’s other side, squeezing her shoulder as she sits. The remainder of Carol’s glass of water sits next to her empty wine glass, Helen’s instruction echoing in her mind as they settle.

“It smells delicious,” Zosia praises, reaching across the table to squeeze Helen’s hand.

Carol follows the movement, breath catching at the sight of their connected hands. She’s growing more comfortable with the warmth in her chest that comes with watching Helen and Zosia together, something she knows she’ll have to unpack with Helen later. But, for now, she enjoys the presence Zosia brings, the addition to their home welcomed with open arms.

“So, uh, what do you want to do while you’re in town?” Carol asks Zosia a few minutes later, once they’ve started to dive into their meals.

It’s an attempt at a normal conversation. Carol is trying to keep herself grounded, trying not to sink too deeply into her arousal at this point in the evening. It’s just after six o’clock, too early to give in completely just yet.

Zosia smiles and gives Carol her full attention, setting down her glass as she turns to face her. She swallows her sip of wine, humming softly and tapping her fingers along the edge of the table.

“I want to visit the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum,” she starts with a nod. “Helen mentioned a botanical garden, too. Honestly, she’s the one with the details. She insisted on planning my trip."

Carol chuckles, “Yeah, she’s like that. Be careful giving her too much power, or you’ll end up in a hotel made of ice above the Arctic Circle.”

Zosia’s nose scrunches as she laughs, “That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Thank you!” Helen gasps, dramatically waving a hand. “She enjoyed it, even if she won’t admit it. The complaints seemed to cease after a few trips to the hot tub, if I remember correctly.”

“I can imagine,” Zosia hums around her wine glass, eyes openly roaming over Helen’s frame.

With a sigh, Carol finishes the rest of her water and turns her attention to Helen expectantly, nodding down at her empty wine glass. A mischievous glint flashes in Helen’s eyes, and Carol half-expects the request to be denied.

“Zosia, will you refill Carol’s wine?” Helen asks, glancing over in her direction.

Zosia’s lips curl into a playful smile as she nods and reaches for the bottle in the middle of the table. Dark eyes flick to Carol as she starts to pour, and Carol recognizes the look deep within them. She’d seen it in the bar in Chicago, when Zosia had instructed her to drink out of her glass.

The look carries the same weight now. Carol knows what’s expected of her this time and how she’ll be rewarded if she obeys. It’s up to her to play along, to give Helen and Zosia what they want.

Carol raises the glass to her lips as soon as Zosia stops pouring, eagerly glancing between her and Helen, gauging their reactions to her willful obedience. They’re both seemingly satisfied with the action, so Carol continues to sip on the wine as she eats, listening in on Helen and Zosia’s conversation.

They don’t outright involve her in any discussion. Instead, they continue to answer for her and talk around her. Helen looks in Carol’s direction when Zosia asks about the remainder of the book tour, and, momentarily, Carol thinks she’s prompting her to respond. She starts to open her mouth, but Helen beats her to it, giving Zosia a rundown of the last few readings and how they’ve adjusted to being back home after the tour.

When everyone has finished eating, Zosia starts to stand, but Helen stops her with an outstretched hand and a look toward Carol.

“Carol can handle the dishes,” she says simply, shaking her head. “You’re a guest, Zosia.”

A pout forms on Carol’s lips, one she wouldn’t dare use in front of anyone that wasn’t Helen, except for Zosia now. She hates doing the dishes, and with Zosia here, she’s even less inclined to do them.

“But—”

Helen cuts her protest off with a firm glare. Carol turns to Zosia, searching for backup, but all Zosia does is nod, eyes softening as she stares back at Carol.

“Fine,” Carol mutters, scooting her chair back as she stands from her spot at the table.

“Without an attitude, Carol,” Helen adds with an arched eyebrow, voice low and warning.

Carol ducks her head and nods, shoulders dropping as she starts to collect the dishes from the table. She stacks the plates together before piling the silverware on top, carefully balancing everything while she straightens her back.

“Good girl,” Zosia praises sweetly.

She stands, grabbing her wine glass with one hand while her other squeezes Carol’s shoulder as she walks by, following Helen into the living room without another word. Carol is left standing alone in the dining room with heat rising on her cheeks and her grip tightening on the plates.

In the kitchen, Carol quickly rinses the plates and silverware and slides them into place in the dishwasher before moving on to the dishes that were used to prepare their meal. Everything that didn’t have to be washed by hand was loaded into the dishwasher before they ate, and a small pile of pots and knives was left in the sink to be dealt with after dinner, now Carol’s responsibility.

Carol uses more soap than necessary to wash the dishes, barely paying attention as she scrubs at the residue left on the pots. She doesn’t want to have to go back over them, too focused on being able to join Helen and Zosia in the living room as quickly as possible. Soapy water splashes out of the sink and onto her tank top, and Carol sighs to herself, taking it as a hint to slow down.

Her mind races as she circles the sponge along the face of a plate. With strained ears, she tries to listen for Helen and Zosia’s voices for any indication of what they’re discussing, but their voices are reduced to muffled tones she can’t distinguish. Carol gives up after a few seconds, returning her full attention to the dishes in the sink.

She works with more intention to clean the remainder of the dishes, and, finally, a few minutes later, she rinses the final pot and sets it out to dry. Wiping her hands on a nearby towel, Carol turns around and scans the kitchen for any dishes that had been left out, and she lets out a grateful hum when she finds the space empty.

When Carol enters the living room, she finds Zosia sitting alone on the couch, with Helen sitting in the armchair to the side. Silence falls over the room when Carol steps in, and she suddenly feels insecure, shrinking in on herself as she settles on the other side of the couch, keeping a distance between herself and Zosia.

“You can keep talking. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Carol mutters, lifting her glass to take a sip of her wine.

Zosia turns to face Carol, shaking her head with a smile, “You didn’t interrupt, Carol.”

Helen smirks, “I was just telling Zosia about last night.”

“Last night?” Carol asks with furrowed brows.

It hits her a second later. Helen had spent the entire night teasing Carol about Zosia’s arrival, describing all of the filthy things they’d planned to do to her in the upcoming week. She’d put on their biggest toy and made Carol sit in her lap as she whispered in her ear and held her hips still, not letting Carol move, no matter how much she tried to squirm.

“Oh,” she mutters shyly, avoiding Zosia’s gaze.

But she can’t escape her that easily.

“Come here,” Zosia says, sweetly coaxing Carol over.

Despite Carol’s embarrassment, she obeys and moves closer to Zosia, angling her knees toward her. But it isn’t exactly what Zosia had in mind.

Zosia clicks her tongue and instructs, “Scoot.”

Heat floods Carol’s face, and she slides again, this time not stopping until her thigh presses against Zosia’s. Her gaze flicks toward Helen, and she finds her staring back with a familiar, measured gaze that makes her pulse spike.

Zosia removes the wine glass from Carol’s hand and sets it on the coffee table before reaching for Carol’s waist and tugging. She guides her easily, pulling Carol into her lap in one smooth motion. A soft, startled sound escapes Carol’s lips as she lands, and she reaches for Zosia’s shoulders to brace herself.

“Finally,” Zosia mutters, thumbs rubbing Carol’s hips.

Carol’s ears burn, and she squirms in Zosia’s lap. She feels exposed like this, held in Zosia’s lap, entirely at her will. Her knees rest on either side of Zosia’s thighs, pressing into the couch, and she’s suddenly hyper-aware of how easy she’d been moved, how quickly she’d given in to Zosia’s control.

Zosia raises one hand to tip Carol’s chin up with two fingers, studying her face for a long moment. She doesn’t say anything at first, just silently observing as Carol stares back at her.

Finally, Zosia speaks, voice gentle and amused, “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

“I’m not—”

Zosia leans forward and kisses Carol before she can finish her denial. It’s slow and deliberate, and Carol melts instantly, forgetting what she’d tried to argue. Her mouth opens on instinct, and she leans in, hands fisting Zosia’s shirt at her shoulders.

“Easy,” Zosia whispers, pulling away with a laugh.

“Eager little thing,” Helen adds with a smirk, chuckling to herself as she sips on her glass of wine.

Carol doesn’t deny it. She looks over her shoulder, attempting to glare at Helen, but she stops herself when she sees the expression on her face. Helen is visibly aroused, bright blue eyes impossibly dark as they bore into Carol. She’s shifting in her seat and re-crossing her legs, and Carol feels a rush of arousal flood her veins at the sight.

Zosia’s hand slides up from Carol’s hip to the front of the pink button-down Helen had picked out earlier. Her fingers toy with the fabric, drawing Carol’s attention back to her.

“Can I?” she asks softly.

Carol nods immediately, but Zosia doesn’t make any move to remove it.

“Use your words, Carol,” Zosia warns.

With a shaky breath, Carol corrects herself, “Yes.”

“Good girl,” Helen praises from the armchair.

With steady hands, Zosia slowly slips the button-down from Carol’s shoulders, inch by inch, her knuckles grazing Carol’s skin as she pushes it back. Zosia lets it fall to the floor carelessly, leaving Carol in the white tank top and jeans that Helen had approved earlier in the evening.

Zosia’s mouth drifts from Carol’s lips to her jaw, pressing a line of soft kisses against her skin as her hands wander on Carol’s arms. She squeezes lightly, fingers wrapping around her biceps with open appreciation.

“Have you been working out more?” Zosia asks, clearly impressed.

Carol stiffens at the question, and she mutters, “A little.”

“A little?” Zosia repeats, tilting her head as her thumbs trace over the curve of the muscle. “This feels like more than a little.”

Carol flushes deeper, and she can feel Helen’s attention sharpen against her back.

“She wanted to make sure she looked good for you,” Helen reveals with a chuckle. “Upped her workout routine last week when she found out you were visiting.”

“Helen,” Carol whines, mortified, as she drops her head to Zosia’s shoulder to hide her face.

Zosia ghosts her fingers over Carol’s arms as she asks, “Did you?”

“Yes,” Carol admits after a few seconds of silence, lifting her head from Zosia’s shoulder.

Zosia giggles, somehow both soft and seductive, “That’s very sweet. You remembered I liked your arms, didn’t you?”

Carol nods, and Zosia ducks her head, lips skimming lower, down the line of her throat as she mouths at the warm skin. Instinctively, Carol tilts her head back, offering more of her neck to Zosia and moaning softly as she takes advantage of the action.

“Carol is so considerate, isn’t she?” Helen muses, setting her glass on the side table as she leans forward to get a better view of the sight in front of her.

“Very,” Zosia murmurs against Carol’s neck.

Carol shudders as Zosia’s hand squeezes her bicep, and she starts to squirm again, fingers curling tighter into Zosia’s shirt to keep herself steady.

Zosia presses another kiss to Carol’s throat, glancing up at her through dark lashes as she murmurs, “Did you miss me?”

A light flush creeps up Carol’s neck at the question, but she can’t bring herself to respond to it. Instead, she tightens her grip on Zosia’s hair and pulls her mouth back to her neck, an attempt to avoid having to admit the truth into the quiet of the living room. Her eyes are squeezed shut, but she can feel two distinct gazes burning into her skin, waiting for an answer.

Sharp teeth sink into the base of Carol’s neck, drawing out a low, guttural howl, and she squirms in Zosia’s lap, arching into her embrace with a needy whine.

“Fuck!” Carol gasps when Zosia bites down harder. “Yes, I did, okay?”

Zosia releases her bite and chuckles against Carol’s neck, a warm pink tongue darting out to soothe the ache her teeth left behind. She traces the indents twice before pulling away and looking up at Carol again with a smirk playing at her lips.

“Helen told me how much you’ve missed me,” Zosia purrs, hands falling from their grip on Carol’s biceps to her hips. “She told me you talk about it often, and she told me how wet you get when you remember what I did to you.”

Carol can’t find it in herself to be angry with Helen for divulging such information, especially when Zosia is using a firm grip on her hips to guide Carol to straddle her thigh, or when Zosia starts to coax Carol to start to grind down on it. Carol just chews at her bottom lip and rolls her hips, staring at Zosia with bright baby blues as she does as she’s instructed.

“Keep going,” Helen instructs from her seat. “Speed up a little for me.”

The command is meant for Zosia, and Carol knows it. She doesn’t move any faster until Zosia’s hands on her hips guide her to do so, and she lets out a quiet sigh when those same hands pull her down harder, making her grind more insistently against Zosia’s thigh.

Even through three layers of their clothing, Carol swears she can feel the heat of Zosia’s skin directly against her aching cunt. The memory of the exact feeling fills her mind, spreading through her entire body as her fingers clench around Zosia’s shoulders, the contact one of the few things keeping her upright.

Zosia leans forward, lips brushing against Carol’s ear, breath hot against her skin, as she whispers, “Good girl. Take what you need, baby.”

Desperation seeps into the movement of Carol’s hips as she starts to grind faster, pressing herself harder against Zosia’s leg. When she feels Zosia’s hands move to grasp her ass, Carol lets out a low, pathetic whine and falls forward, burying her face in Zosia’s neck, her mouth falling open in pleasure as she feels Zosia’s hands tighten their grip.

Helen’s voice comes again, the sound distant and muffled as it hits Carol’s ears, “Are you close, baby?”

Carol can only moan in response, a weak reply dying in her throat when Zosia tenses her thigh underneath her and pulls her down harder. It hadn’t taken long to get her here, squirming and clinging to Zosia as her orgasm burns low in her stomach, not after the teasing she’d been put through all evening.

“Let’s move to the bedroom,” Helen says, standing from her chair.

A strangled whine rips through Carol’s throat when Zosia’s hands hold her still, not letting her reach her orgasm just yet. She should have known better, should have known they wouldn’t have let her come this easily so early in the night. Still, she had hoped that they were being generous, that they were going to let her have this to kickstart their night together.

Uncomfortably wet and slightly stumbling, Carol makes her way upstairs with Helen and Zosia, guided by Zosia’s firm hand on the small of her back, as if they’re leading her somewhere she’s never been before, not somewhere located in her own house. She doesn’t fight it, instead leaning into Zosia’s touch and following behind Helen like a lost puppy.

The guest bedroom is at the front of the hallway, just a few steps away from the stairs. Helen pauses in the entrance and gestures for Carol to step in first, instructing her to sit on the bed and wait for her next command.

Carol obeys, of course, padding to the bed she’d checked on three times today. It’s only right that she’s the first to mess up her own work, to disturb the comforter she’d agonized over to ensure it was perfectly straight.

She watches with wide, anticipating eyes as Helen and Zosia step into the room. When Zosia grabs Helen’s arm and stops her from entering further, Carol’s breath hitches. She holds it, fists clenching in the blanket underneath her body, as she sees Zosia lean in for a kiss, finding Helen’s lips like it’s the most natural thing to her.

“Hi,” Zosia whispers as she pulls away, soft and intimate.

Helen chuckles, “Hi, Zosia.”

“I felt like I was neglecting you,” Zosia admits quietly with a shy smile on her lips.

Helen doesn’t respond verbally. She reaches for the back of Zosia’s neck and pulls her in for another kiss, one that deepens almost instantly as their lips meet. Carol tries to hold back the whine that threatens to escape, but when Zosia moans, it falls out, joining the beautiful sound in the quiet of the room.

The discomfort of Carol’s soaked underwear only heightens as the kiss continues. She tries to keep herself still, to not squirm in place, but she can’t help herself. Seeing Helen kiss someone else, seeing Helen kiss Zosia, turns her on more than she’d realized.

Confusion bubbles in Carol’s chest, joining the arousal thrumming in her veins. Her mind is already slightly fuzzy around the edges, an effect of the combination of the alcohol and the teasing, but it’s still clear enough for one thought to come through.

She doesn’t feel weird about seeing Helen with someone else. She thought it would feel wrong to see Helen kissing Zosia in their house, but it doesn’t. It feels right, it turns her on.

The thought is too much to handle in her current state, so Carol tucks it away for another time, possibly never, and resorts to what she knows best: being a brat.

“I’m waiting over here,” she says loudly, a dramatic sigh falling from her lips.

Unsurprisingly, she’s ignored. Helen continues to kiss Zosia just a few feet away from the bed, and Carol watches with a pout as Helen’s hand tightens its grip on the base of Zosia’s head. Zosia’s hands grasp Helen’s cheeks, her fingers splayed along her cheeks as their teeth and tongues clash, her low moans spilling between them and eagerly swallowed by Helen.

So, Carol tries again, “Are you guys done?”

It does the trick, but the regret Carol feels is instant when she sees the look burning in Helen’s eyes and the hardened expression on her face as she turns her head. She shrinks into herself slightly, but she doesn’t take it back, doesn’t apologize for interrupting.

“Did you say something, Carol?” Helen asks with a raised eyebrow and a pointed look.

Carol shakes her head, crossing her arms in front of her heaving chest. She doesn’t dare look over at Zosia, afraid she’ll crumble under her gaze.

“Do you want to try that again?” Helen offers, and Carol knows she’s screwed either way.

“I asked if you were done,” Carol huffs. “I’m sitting over here waiting patiently while you’re making out with Zosia.”

Zosia lets out a laugh that sends shivers down Carol’s spine and makes her sit up straight. Still, she stands her ground, staring back at Helen and ignoring the thudding in her chest.

Helen nods, taking a step toward the bed as she chastises, “Not everything is about you, Carol.”

Carol doesn’t respond, instead clenching her jaw and mentally preparing for what she knows is about to follow her outburst. It seems to have the desired effect, but a small part of her is scared of how this will play out. Still, the thought arouses her.

“Oh, so now you don’t have anything smart to say?” Helen chuckles, reaching out to roughly grab Carol by her hair. “You’re going to behave like this in front of Zosia?”

Carol swallows thickly, and she tries to look away from Helen’s intense gaze, but the grip on her hair restricts her movement, keeping her in place. She stares up at Helen, challenge burning deep in her eyes. She knows what’s coming, knows that Helen isn’t going to let her get away with this, especially with Zosia here.

A loud smack echoes through the room, a sound Carol hears before she registers the pain spreading over her cheek. Her mouth falls open in shock, and her eyes dart to Helen’s hovering hand that threatens to strike again.

“You think being a brat is going to get you what you want?” Helen asks, eyes darkening as she stares down at Carol.

Carol inhales quickly through her nose, taking a moment to steady herself and decide how she wants to respond to Helen’s words. Apologizing is out of the question. She’s in too deep to try to work her way out of it, and, judging by Helen’s breathing and Zosia’s focused gaze, it’s far from what any of them want from her. At least, right now.

Zosia hasn’t seen this side of her yet, hasn’t experienced the truest form of Carol’s brattiness. Back in Chicago, there had been small hints, but Carol kept her behavior to a minimum, too scared that it would be a turn-off for Zosia, or that she’d be unsure of how to handle her. Carol hadn’t wanted to ruin their weekend, hadn’t wanted it to end just because of her, so she behaved, for the most part.

But now, Zosia knows about Carol’s tendency to be a brat. Helen had told her about it over the phone, had detailed her favorite ways to punish Carol for it, and Zosia had expressed her enthusiasm.

It’s safe for Carol to sink into it, to be comfortable and not worry that she’s going to do something to send Zosia packing. She can brat all she wants, earn as much as she thinks she can handle from Helen and Zosia, and then some.

“It always works,” Carol settles on, spit out and aimed to earn herself the roughness she’s craving.

Fire flashes in Helen’s eyes, and, if there weren’t nearly three decades of history between them, Carol would be terrified. But she trusts Helen. She knows that Helen will only give her what she thinks she can take, and the wetness pooling in her underwear is enough to keep her settled, for now.

Another slap lands on Carol’s face, harder this time, and Carol yelps out in pain and tries to squirm out of Helen’s reach, but the hand in her hair tightens once more, trapping her in place. Her eyes flick to Zosia, not in an attempt to ask for help, but to gauge her reaction to what she’s witnessing. The desire written so plainly on her face is enough to make Carol whine and clench her thighs together.

“Is she always this much of a brat?” Zosia asks, eyes locked on Carol’s squirming figure as she speaks to Helen.

Helen chuckles darkly, “Until I put her in her place. She gets off on it, too. You should see how wet she gets when her ass is bright red.”

Carol’s cheeks are impossibly warm as Helen and Zosia continue to talk about her in her presence. A familiar annoyance starts to creep up, the one that blurs her mind at the edges a little more, the one that makes her arousal spread into the fabric of her jeans.

“I’m right here,” she huffs, eyes darting between Helen and Zosia.

Helen’s face splits into a wide grin, and she looks down at Carol with delighted, sparkling eyes as she asks, “Oh? Do you want to tell Zosia yourself then? Wanna tell her about when you acted out in a meeting with Val because you needed to be fucked, and when I finally got you home, you sobbed and begged me to spank you more? Or the time—”

“Helen,” Carol interrupts, sharp and breathy and undeniably aroused. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean then, sweetheart?” Zosia asks in a saccharine voice, taking another step forward.

It’s a trap, and Carol knows it. Any response will be met with more rough treatment. Another slap across her face, a tug of her hair, or even worse.

Carol attempts to steady her breathing before replying, “You’re talking about me like I’m not here.”

Helen smirks, “We’re allowed to discuss our toy before we play with it, Carol. And, I don’t think it’s exactly unwelcome, is it?”

Carol huffs, falling silent at the question. Admitting that Helen is right means admitting that she likes being talked about like an object, which is more humiliating than the act itself. Helen’s fingernails dig into her scalp, but Carol swallows down her gasp, fighting to stay silent and not give in.

“Helen asked you a question, Carol,” Zosia prompts, her voice heavier and darker than Carol has ever heard it before.

“It is,” Carol bites out, eyes finding Helen’s.

An arched eyebrow raises on Helen’s face, “So, if I shoved my hand down your pants, I won’t find your greedy cunt dripping?”

Helen’s grip on Carol’s head loosens just a fraction, already anticipating Carol’s response, giving her the freedom to continue to take them down this path.

Carol uses the newly-offered give to shake her head slightly, as much as she can with Helen’s fingers still threaded through her hair. Her skin vibrates with anticipation, with desire, and she watches with bated breath as Helen’s eyes turn a shade darker at her display.

Helen doesn’t bother with unbuttoning Carol’s jeans. She pushes her hand in through the waistband, past her underwear, her expression hardening when her fingers meet the arousal pooling out of Carol’s pussy.

Instinctively, Carol’s hips buck at the contact, but Helen’s hand withdraws as quickly as it had entered, moving to raise in front of Carol’s face. Her wetness glistens on Helen’s fingers in the low light of the room, and Carol fights the urge to look away, to deny what Helen had discovered.

“What’s this look like to you, Zosia?” Helen asks and turns her head to face Zosia.

Zosia clears her throat, “It looks like Carol was lying.”

“And you know what happens when you lie to me, Carol,” Helen adds, eyes finding Carol’s again. “This all could have been avoided if you were just honest with me.”

Helen carelessly wipes her fingers on Carol’s jeans and releases her grip on Carol’s hair entirely as she takes a step back.

“Clothes off,” she commands, nodding down at Carol’s frame.

It’s almost more humiliating to remove her own clothes as Helen and Zosia watch. She fumbles a few times, the excited energy in her body vibrating at a frequency that makes her hands tremble as she tries to peel off her tank top. It takes longer than usual, but after several attempts, her clothes are dropped into a pile on the floor, and she moves to sit back down on the bed, waiting for Helen’s next instruction.

It comes a moment later, “Middle of the bed, on your stomach.”

When Carol doesn’t immediately move, Helen sighs and kneels on the bed, pushing her back and rolling her over into the desired position. Carol doesn’t fight it. She lets herself be moved, enjoying the feeling of Helen’s hands roughly maneuvering her. Her face is pressed into a pillow, and she doesn’t dare lift it, not moving a single muscle in her body until Helen prompts her.

Her hips are raised, and Carol scrambles to move into the position Helen is pulling her into. On her knees, with her legs spread and her back arched, face still pressed into the pillow beneath her head.

Cool air hits her cunt as her legs are forcibly spread further apart, and Carol whimpers at the sensation, the sound muffled by the pillow. She barely lifts her head, just enough to try to get a peek at Helen and Zosia, but she’s met with a harsh slap to her ass, and she drops her head back into place, her front half sagging against the bed.

“I didn’t tell you to move,” Helen chastises with another smack punctuating the command.

Carol stays silent, clenching her jaw as she feels Helen’s hand rubbing the skin that’s already starting to warm. She braces herself for the actual punishment, attempting to steady her breathing so she can maintain some control over her body.

That control is short-lived, though. The mattress dips under more weight, and instantly, Carol knows that Zosia has joined them on the bed. She wishes she could see what she looked like now, completely naked and flanked by Helen and Zosia, who are still fully dressed. The thought sends shivers down her spine, and she feels her clit twitch, her breath stuttering in her throat.

“Fifteen sounds good, hm?” Helen asks, clearly directed at Zosia, not Carol.

Zosia hums, “I think we should add an extra five for not moving when you told her to.”

Carol swallows thickly, fingers clenching the pillow beneath her head. Twenty strikes on her ass, twenty opportunities for Helen to make her apologize. It’s not the most she’s taken before, far from it, but with being denied in the living room and Helen slapping her face here in the guest room, Carol is sure twenty spanks will break her.

Which is exactly what Helen wants. It’s what Zosia wants, it’s what Carol wants.

“Twenty, and I’m not going easy on you just because Zosia is here,” Helen says, running her fingers along Carol’s spine. “You were a brat, and you need to be put in your place. You know better, Carol.”

“Whatever,” Carol mutters into the pillow.

Helen clicks her tongue, “Watch it, Carol. I’ll spank you and leave you wet and desperate in here alone. I’ll take Zosia into our bedroom and leave you here all night.”

She would never do it, Carol knows that, but the threat is enough to knock the wind out of her. It feels real, feels deserved, and Carol can’t deny the way it makes her cunt drip.

Helen starts with a slow, steady pace. She alternates where she lands her blows, giving Carol’s ass cheeks equal treatment as she starts to build a rhythm. The first four are almost nothing, more of a warning of what’s to come. Carol breathes through her nose and clenches her teeth with each strike, counting out loud despite not even being asked.

Number five is where things pick up. A heavy, forceful strike makes contact with Carol’s ass, and she can barely stop herself from howling. She tries to squirm away, but another set of hands stops her, holding her in place. One presses at her upper back, holding her down, while the other wraps around her waist, keeping her still.

“You don’t get to run away from it, Carol,” Zosia laughs, pressing more firmly against Carol’s back.

Three more strikes to Carol’s ass land in quick succession, each more intense than the last, and tears begin to prickle at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill with each smack. She still tries to wiggle away, but the movement is impossible with three hands holding her down.

Helen pauses, her hand roughly rubbing over Carol’s reddened ass as she mutters, “If you apologize now, I’ll take off five.”

Carol speaks before she can even think, “I’m not sorry.”

She hadn’t meant to say it. It just slipped out, her body understanding her needs more than she does. She needs all twenty, needs to feel the heat that can only be brought by Helen’s open palm.

Two hands leave her body. Zosia’s, Carol identifies once she realizes the only ones left on her are the ones on her ass and buried in her hair.

Helen’s hand on her ass lifts, and Carol arches her back as she prepares herself for the next smack. One comes, but it feels entirely different, not as measured as the ones she’s used to, not as firm.

Carol’s cunt clenches around emptiness when she realizes it. Zosia is the one spanking her now.

“Nine,” Carol gasps out.

Zosia’s next strike is more intense, leaving a fiery handprint on Carol’s ass and earning a cry from Carol’s lips. The next four continue to increase in intensity, and the tears that were pooling in Carol’s eyes start to leak out, but she still refuses to apologize each time Helen prompts her.

Her ass is on fire, and Carol knows Zosia can feel the heat radiating from it each time her hand makes contact. Arousal continues to spill out of her, even as she cries and tries to squirm away from Zosia’s touch. She’s exactly where Helen and Zosia want her, crying and desperate for more, even if she can’t admit she wants it.

“Are you ready to apologize yet?” Helen asks again, just after the sixteenth strike lands on splotchy, reddened skin.

Carol shakes her head, unable to form words. Tears streak the pillow underneath her face, and a small wet spot is visible where her mouth is spread open, drool joining the mess on the pillowcase.

There’s a second of nothing, where Carol’s sobs are the only noise filling the room, and for a moment, she wonders if that’s it, if they’ve given up on the punishment already.

She wouldn’t be so lucky.

A smack lands on both ass cheeks simultaneously, and Carol pushes back against the touch, moaning through her tears as she realizes Helen and Zosia had spanked her together.

The last three are delivered in the same manner, with skillful hands striking her flesh in sync. Carol’s cunt aches, her entire body aches. She needs Helen and Zosia, needs them to finally let her come, to give her the release she’s been pleading for.

“I’m sorry!” she cries out after the final blow lands, her frame trembling with the force of her sobs. “‘M sorry.”

“Good girl,” Helen murmurs as she starts to rub her hands over Carol’s ass, soothing the sting they’d provided. “Such a good girl for us.”

Zosia’s hands join Helen’s, running along the reddened skin with silent reverence. Carol all but collapses underneath their combined touch, barely able to keep herself upright as she continues to cry into the pillow, the sound slowly subsiding with each passing second.

“You took that so well, Carol,” Zosia adds softly, fingers subtly dipping lower, brushing against Carol’s cunt.

Carol’s tears subside a few minutes later, and Helen and Zosia gently roll her over, positioning her so she’s splayed out on the bed, wet and open for them. The light catches between her legs, drawing Zosia’s attention to her glistening cunt, and Carol’s breath catches in her throat as she notices the way Zosia’s fingers twitch against her thigh, desperate to reach out and touch her.

“Please,” Carol whimpers, her gaze flicking between Helen and Zosia.

Helen chuckles, “You haven’t even properly apologized yet, Carol. Your punishment isn’t over.”

Carol’s eyes widen, and she swallows thickly, hands finding the sheets beneath her to grasp at. She opens her mouth to protest, but Zosia arches an eyebrow, and Carol closes it immediately, not wanting to risk pushing her luck.

“What are you sorry for, Carol?” Helen prompts, rubbing her fingers along Carol’s thigh.

“Being a brat,” Carol mutters, the words half-hearted.

Helen rolls her eyes and turns to Zosia, who slips off the bed and rummages in the dresser across the room. Carol’s brows furrow as she observes Zosia, confusion filling her expression. Zosia hadn’t had time to put anything in the dresser herself, her bags still unpacked and tucked in the corner of the room.

When Zosia turns around with familiar toys in her hand—two sets of padded handcuffs and a black vibrator—Carol realizes she hadn’t been the only one to prepare the guest room. Helen had moved some of their toys into the room, storing them in the dresser so they wouldn’t have to go back into their bedroom to retrieve them.

“Now, you’re going to apologize properly,” Helen says, accepting one of the sets of handcuffs from Zosia.

Together, they restrain Carol to the bed. Helen starts with Carol’s left wrist, securing the cuff around it before lifting her arm above her head, bringing the other end of the cuff to the metal slat of the headboard. Zosia works on Carol’s right hand, mirroring Helen’s actions with a delighted smile on her lips.

As instructed, Carol tugs on the restraints, testing their secureness, making sure they aren’t too tight on her wrists. Helen uses these cuffs on her often, sometimes flipping her on her stomach and using one set on her wrists clipped to the other set on her ankles, so Carol knows how they should feel, how they should fit.

When Helen is assured that Carol can’t escape the handcuffs on her own, she and Zosia make their way back down the bed, settling between Carol’s spread legs. Carol squirms in anticipation, digging her blunt nails into the meat of her palms as she watches Helen lift the vibrator from the bed.

“I hope you didn’t let all of those pretty tears out before,” Zosia murmurs as she reaches for Carol’s stomach, ghosting her fingers over the taut skin.

The vibrator hums to life, and Carol’s thighs clench at the sound. Without thinking, she tries to close her legs, but Helen and Zosia stop her, each laying a hand on a thigh to halt the movement. It would have been impossible anyway, with the women sitting between her legs, but it didn’t stop Carol from trying.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Carol gasps as the vibrator presses against her clit, Helen’s steady hand applying firm pressure to the sensitive bud.

She lets her head lull back, mouth falling open as her whines morph into a chorus of full-blown moans, melodically bouncing around the room with the low hum of the vibrator. A finger presses insistently at Carol’s entrance, and she bucks her hips, a desperate attempt to coax the digit inside.

Zosia’s voice is throaty as she asks, “Do you want it, Carol? Do you need me inside of you?”

“Yes, fuck!” Carol cries out, tugging at the restraints as her body jerks when Helen increases the intensity of the vibrator. “Please, please, please!”

“I don’t know,” Zosia draws out, sliding two fingers along Carol’s slit, gathering the wetness that seeps from her cunt. “Do you think you deserve it, baby?”

Helen chuckles beside Zosia, her free hand roughly gripping Carol’s thigh, almost hard enough to leave bruises on the delicate skin. A low whimper escapes Carol’s throat as Helen tightens her grip, a reminder that she was asked a question.

“No,” Carol breathes, squeezing her eyes shut. “I don’t.”

Zosia grins, “Good girl. You haven’t even properly apologized yet. I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson.”

Carol’s voice is exasperated as she whines, “I said sorry.”

“Tell me what you’re sorry for, Carol,” Helen instructs, pressing the vibrator more insistently against Carol’s clit. “And then you might earn Zosia’s fingers.”

Mind fuzzy, Carol takes a deep breath, trying to orient herself. It’s hard to think with the buzzing between her legs and the burning of her ass. It’s even harder with Helen and Zosia’s expectant expressions staring down at her, waiting for her response.

“I’m sorry for being a brat,” Carol finally manages to get out. “I’m sorry.”

Helen hums almost ambivalently, “That’s a start.”

The vibrator increases another level, and Carol tries to ignore the heat pooling in her stomach, tries to ignore the way her thighs are clenching already, desperate for relief she knows isn’t coming any time soon.

“I’m sorry for interrupting you and Zosia,” she adds a minute later, once she’s formed another coherent thought. “I’m sorry for being greedy.”

“Good girl,” Zosia purrs. Her slick fingers trace small patterns on the inside of Carol’s thigh, coating them in her own wetness.

Carol’s moans spill out in quick succession, loud and pathetic under Helen and Zosia’s touch, each one slurring into the next as pleasure starts to overwhelm her. The restraints on her wrists only do so much to keep her still when she’s like this, victim to the vibrator between her legs, subject to Helen and Zosia’s exploring hands.

Her orgasm nears quickly, the muscles in her body contracting under the threat of it. She’s teetering on the edge, so close she can taste it. Frustrated tears pool in the corner of Carol’s eyes again. She knows she’s going to be denied, knows Helen won’t let her come this soon. Still, she enjoys the feeling, enjoys the pleasure ripping through her body under the attention of Helen and Zosia.

A few seconds later, the vibrator is yanked away, still buzzing in Helen’s hand as Carol collapses onto the bed, her trembling and twitching as it processes the denial. Zosia’s hands rub the skin of her stomach and thighs, slowly easing her down from her almost-high. The sensation is too much, her body too sensitive after being denied an orgasm.

Carol whines and jerks away, the tears threatening to spill from her eyes as she lets out an almost inhuman noise of frustration. She tugs at the restraints, sighing when she realizes she can’t go anywhere. She doesn’t use her safeword, though, still content to be subjected to this treatment from Helen and Zosia, desperate for more.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” Helen murmurs softly, switching the vibrator off. “Good girl. So good for us.”

Zosia nods in agreement, “You look so pretty like this, Carol, taking your punishment so well.”

Carol mutters something incoherent in response, squeezing her eyes shut as she sinks into the bed, finally letting her muscles relax, even if it’s only temporarily. Her chest heaves as she tries to steady her breathing, and she takes deeper breaths, sucking in as much air as she can.

Helen’s finger teasingly brushes against Carol’s clit, and her entire body jolts, sensitive to the touch. A faint laugh can be heard, but Carol is too lost in her own mind to register who it comes from, all of the sounds and sensations blurring together in this state.

Her entire body aches, desperate for some sort of release. Electric currents run through her skin, the hum of pleasure and anticipation leaving her body taut and more responsive than ever.

Everything is silent for a few moments, and Carol isn’t sure if Helen and Zosia have fallen quiet or if her own body has started to tune everything out. She can’t hear her heartbeat thudding in her ears anymore, which is an indication of the latter.

Finally, Helen’s voice breaks through the clouds in Carol’s mind, “Are you ready to go again?”

Absently, Carol nods her head, willing herself to come back to her body. She feels Zosia’s hands move, sliding up her stomach until they reach her breasts, long, deft fingers circling the hardened buds of her nipples as the familiar buzzing of the vibrator returns. Carol arches into the touch, as much as she can move with the restraints around her wrists.

“Please, Zosia,” she moans, the sound needy and high-pitched as Zosia’s fingers pinch at her nipple.

Helen moves the vibrator between her legs again, and Carol twitches as it brushes against her clit, not as directly as before, not immediately. Helen trails the head of the toy along the length of Carol’s cunt, a sly grin painting her lips as she watches the wetness gather along the surface.

Carol’s breath catches in her throat, and she whines, low and desperate, “Hel.”

“I know, baby,” Helen murmurs, running her free hand along Carol’s thigh. “I know you need it. But you know what you need to do.”

A frustrated whine vibrates in Carol’s mouth, echoing around her teeth as she clenches her jaw again, trying to find some sense locked deep in her brain. A task made impossible when Zosia’s mouth wraps around her nipple, her tongue eagerly circling the bud and flicking against it.

Finally, the vibrator finds her clit again, pressing against it insistently rather than the feather-light touch from before. Carol grinds down on it without hesitation, taking whatever she’s given before it can be ripped away from her again. Her hips move erratically, almost autonomously, as she allows herself to sink deeper into the overwhelming pleasure from Helen and Zosia.

“What else do you have to apologize for?” Helen presses, looming over Carol as she presses a button to increase the intensity of the vibrator.

Carol sputters for a second, entirely confused and unable to process the question. She stays silent, but when the vibrator starts to slowly ease away from her clit, she scrambles to coax it back in place and stutters over her words, mostly sounds that have zero relation to one another.

Then, it hits her. Somewhere, a distant memory at this point, she remembers that, in her brattiness, she had lied to Helen about enjoying the way she and Zosia were speaking about her like she wasn’t sitting on the bed in front of them.

“I’m sorry for lying!” she gasps, bucking her hips off the bed. “I’m sorry for saying I didn’t like it when you and Zosia talked about me.”

Helen grins above Carol, clicking a button on the vibrator again as she praises, “Good girl. You’re really sorry for being a brat, aren’t you? Especially since I got Zosia to come see you, and you decided to act like this on her first night.”

Carol nods frantically, a small groan falling from her lips when Zosia’s teeth nip at her nipple. She tries to say it, tries to verbalize how sorry she is, but each time she tries, Zosia bites her nipple again, or Helen presses the vibrator more firmly against her clit. It’s intentional, something Carol would realize if she had any sense about her at the moment. But she doesn’t, and she still attempts to answer over and over, completely oblivious to the coordinated attack.

“Poor baby can’t even get her words out,” Helen sighs with feigned sympathy. “Maybe we should give her another use for her mouth.”

Lost in pleasure, Carol just nods. If Helen says something, it’s what’s best. She learned that long ago, learned how to let go and let Helen take control in all aspects of her life, even when it gets her into situations like this. She has no clue what she’s agreeing to, no clue what Helen had even said.

The only indication comes a minute later, when Carol opens her eyes to see Zosia kneeling over her face, her bare, glistening cunt just inches from her mouth. A low, desperate whine escapes Carol, and she opens her mouth instantly, eager to taste Zosia. Zosia is naked now, and Carol assumes her clothes have joined her own in the pile on the floor, a problem for later.

“Don’t even think about coming until I have,” Zosia breathes, burying a hand in Carol’s hair as she steadies herself. “This isn’t about you, Carol.”

Carol nods, the words directed to her registering this time. Don’t come. Get Zosia off instead.

“I want to hear that you understand, Carol,” Zosia says with a husky voice. “Say it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Carol whimpers, eyes staring up into Zosia’s impossibly dark orbs.

“Fuck,” Zosia chuckles, smiling down at her. “That’s a good, obedient girl.”

Then, she lowers herself, sighing contentedly as her cunt makes contact with Carol’s mouth. Carol springs into action immediately, her tongue eagerly lapping at Zosia’s slick wetness, moaning at the taste spilling into her mouth.

“That’s it, baby,” Zosia moans as she starts to grind against Carol’s mouth, rolling her hips in a steady rhythm.

Carol tries to focus on eating Zosia out, but it becomes increasingly difficult with the vibrator between her legs, especially when Helen keeps alternating between applying more pressure and threatening to pull it away. Still, she tries. She glides the flat of her tongue against Zosia’s clit, a desperate attempt to keep herself in the moment, to ground herself in the feeling of Zosia using her mouth.

It works for a while. Carol opens her eyes to take in the sight of Zosia above her, one hand grasping the headboard as she fucks Carol’s mouth. There’s a slight bounce to her tits as she moves, and Carol finds the vision mesmerizing, almost distracting. Zosia’s head blocks the overhead light, creating a glowing halo around her, and Carol blinks rapidly at the sight. Zosia is beautiful like this, glowing, chest heaving, mouth parted in pleasure, hair falling perfectly around her shoulders.

The hand laced in Carol’s hair tugs roughly, reminding her that she’s supposed to be doing something, not just lying there for Zosia to use. She wraps her lips around Zosia’s clit, sucking more intently as she stares, feeling her own orgasm nearing as she watches Zosia’s back arch in pleasure.

“Fuck, right there, Carol,” Zosia moans, tilting her head back as she grinds down harder against Carol’s mouth. “Fuck, stay still. Just like that. Don’t fucking move. Fuck.”

The frantic movement of Zosia’s hips keeps Carol in place. She sticks her tongue out further, letting Zosia take what she wants, letting Zosia use her to get off. It feels utterly degrading and humiliating to just lie there and let Zosia use her mouth, but Carol can’t deny how quickly it’s bringing on her own orgasm.

The vibrator between her legs disappears, and Carol whines against Zosia’s cunt, but she knows it’s for the best. She doesn’t want to come before Zosia, and Helen knows her body better than she does, so she knows that Helen had sensed it was going to happen.

Zosia continues to fuck Carol’s face, riding her tongue as if her life depends on it. Beautiful, melodic moans fall from her lips as she rolls her hips, mixing with the desperate sounds Carol lets out into Zosia’s cunt. Her thighs clench around Carol’s head, an indication of her impending orgasm, and Carol clenches her hands into fists above her head, still restrained, still useless.

“Good girl, fuck,” Zosia gasps, hips stuttering as she nears her release. “Gonna come all over your pretty little mouth.”

Her orgasm comes a second later, her entire body shuddering on top of Carol as it floods her veins, a loud moan of Carol’s name erupting from her throat. Carol laps at Zosia’s cunt as she comes, drinking down every drop of her release, working to draw out her orgasm. She doesn’t stop until Zosia rolls off of her with a satisfied hum, settling on the bed beside Carol’s outstretched body.

“Good girl,” Helen murmurs, ghosting her hands over the insides of Carol’s thighs. “You were so good for Zosia, baby. Didn’t even come before she did.”

Carol nods, licking the remnants of Zosia’s release from her lips as she looks down between her legs to meet Helen’s gaze. She shudders at the contact on her skin, still desperate for her own climax.

Helen smiles, “Do you wanna come now, baby?”

Carol nods again, eagerly this time.

“Use your words, Carol,” Helen shakes her head. “Ask nicely.”

Zosia’s mouth latches onto Carol’s neck, and she presses a series of wet, open-mouthed kisses along the warm column as her hand splays against Carol’s stomach, threatening to dip lower.

“You can do it, baby,” Zosia hums against Carol’s neck. “Just ask.”

“Can I come? Please,” Carol breathes, her voice bordering on a whine as Zosia’s tongue darts out and starts to lap at her neck. “I’ve been so good. Please, I need it.”

Helen’s expression softens as she murmurs, “I know you have. You took your punishment so well, and you made Zosia feel so good. You’ve been so good for us, haven’t you?”

Carol nods, jaw clenching as she sees Helen reach for the vibrator again, and she quietly mutters, “Please, Helen. Please.”

“You know I love how pretty you sound when you beg,” Helen grins. She lifts the vibrator and presses a few buttons, the familiar buzz humming as she continues, “If I let you come, then you have to let me use you after, okay?”

“Fuck, god, yes,” Carol nods frantically. “Please. I need it.”

Helen brings the vibrator to Carol’s clit once more, one hand gripping Carol’s thigh, keeping her spread open for her. Carol doesn’t jerk away from the vibrator this time, instead pressing herself against it more, grinding her desperate cunt down as she chases her orgasm now that it’s been so freely offered. She doesn’t want to waste any time, doesn’t want to give Helen the chance to take it back.

Her moans spill out in a slurred rush, all of the sounds and words spilling together to form something entirely incoherent, the dual sensations of the vibrator and Zosia’s mouth fogging her brain entirely.

Carol doesn’t have to use it, doesn’t have to think at all. All she has to do is take what she’s given and be a pretty toy for Helen and Zosia to play with. Nothing else matters right now.

“You’re so wet, Carol,” Zosia purrs in her ear. “I can hear it, baby. Did you get that wet from us spanking you? Or was it from me using you like a pathetic little doll?”

Carol can’t bring herself to respond. She shudders and whimpers, tugging on the restraints again as she flails on the bed, nearing her orgasm already.

It’s been hours since Zosia arrived, but the teasing had begun long before that. Helen had started their morning teasing her, not letting her come when they’d showered together. She’s been on edge since the early hours of the day, desperate for release.

With a smirk, Helen joins in, “You’re making a mess, Carol. The bed is soaked, and Zosia is supposed to be sleeping here. You'd better tell her you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Carol mutters in an incoherent babble.

Helen loves getting her like this, where she’s pliant and desperate to obey, no matter what she’s told to do, no matter how humiliating it is. Too lost in the overwhelming pleasure to even realize what Helen says to her.

“Come for us, baby,” Helen coaxes a few moments later, finally granting Carol the release she’s been begging for all evening. “Be a good girl and come, Carol.”

Carol’s body obeys Helen’s command immediately, her face contorting in ecstasy as her orgasm hits, the coil low in her stomach finally snapping. She thrashes on the bed, still held in place by the restraints on her wrists, and lets out a loud scream as her orgasm rips through her body, white-hot pleasure spreading across her skin.

The vibrator stays pressed against her clit the entire time, and Zosia continues to mouth at her neck, dragging out her release. Even when she tries to squirm away, too sensitive for more, Helen keeps it in place, watching Carol’s reaction with an amused expression.

Finally, Carol slumps down against the bed, and Helen turns it off, tossing it aside as she kisses her way up Carol’s body, lapping up the salty sweat that beads on her skin. Carol lets out small, weak whines as Helen’s lips make contact, her hips still twitching as the aftershocks of her orgasm work through her body.

While Helen’s mouth latches onto Carol’s breast, Zosia reaches up to undo the handcuffs, finally releasing Carol’s wrists. She gently lowers each arm, allowing the feeling to return to them before she moves to massage her wrists, cooing softly as Helen continues to suck on Carol’s breasts.

“You did so well, baby,” Helen murmurs against Carol’s tit, pressing a kiss to the mark she’d just made. “So good for me, for us. My perfect girl.”

Zosia’s soft voice comes from above, “You were wonderful, Carol. I’m so proud of you.”

Carol’s eyes flick up to meet Zosia’s gaze, and she nods, accepting the gentle praise. She takes a few minutes to recover from her orgasm, letting her breathing steady as her body finally relaxes, no longer strung out and desperate for release.

“You’re still completely dressed,” Carol laughs, a little breathy as she lifts Helen’s head.

Helen nods, “I had other priorities.”

Carol lets her hands wander, slipping under Helen’s shirt, fingers ghosting over her stomach. A small sigh escapes her lips as her fingertips meet the warm skin, and she looks up at Helen with lingering hunger filling her eyes.

“I think the condition of my orgasm was that you got to use me after,” she mutters as her hands slip under Helen’s bra.

“You think so?” Helen counters with a small chuckle. “I’m surprised you remember anything. You were nodding along to whatever I said, doing whatever I told you to…”

The flush on Carol’s cheeks deepens at Helen’s words, and she ducks her head, capturing Helen’s lips in a deep kiss to prevent her from saying anything else. She melts into the kiss, letting Helen lead, taking whatever she gives.

Beside them, Zosia lies on her side, propped up on her elbow while her other hand lazily circles her clit, her gaze fixed on the sight in front of her. She lets out a moan of her own as she watches Helen bite Carol’s lip, unable to keep it in.

Carol turns her head when she hears the sound, eyes widening as she notices the movement of Zosia’s hand. The realization sends a jolt straight to her clit like a live wire. She’s never been watched like this, not so openly, and the thought makes heat spread through her body.

“Sit up, Carol,” Helen murmurs as she stands from the bed.

She quickly undresses, stripping out of her clothes and tossing them onto the floor. Once she’s completely naked, she climbs back onto the bed and stretches out where Carol had been, lying next to Zosia. Helen spreads her legs and nods down, a silent instruction for Carol.

Instantly, Carol scrambles into position, taking her place between Helen’s legs with an eager grin. She ghosts her fingers over Helen’s inner thighs as she settles, her mouth watering at the sight of Helen’s cunt. It’s all hers, nothing she has to share with anyone else.

“Mine,” she mutters to herself, not loud enough for either woman to hear her.

One of Helen’s hands slides down to tangle in Carol’s hair, not tugging, not guiding, just resting, maintaining contact. Carol hums at the feeling and presses a soft kiss to Helen’s thigh, barely inches from her pussy, marking her territory.

She looks up at Helen through heavy, half-lidded eyes, and she lets out a small moan as she sees Zosia lean forward and connect their lips. Her hand is still between her legs, rubbing at her clit, a little faster than before, but still languid, just enjoying the feeling. Carol whines and drops her mouth to Helen’s cunt, using her fingers to part Helen’s folds as her tongue darts out to lap up her arousal.

Helen moans at the contact, but it’s swallowed by Zosia, barely audible over Zosia’s own moans. Instead of getting jealous, Carol takes it as a challenge, determined to make Helen moan louder, loud enough to drown out the gorgeous sounds spilling from Zosia.

Carol dives into Helen’s cunt, her tongue eagerly sinking into her slick heat with a satisfied sigh. She feels the hand in her hair tighten and pull her closer, and Carol wraps her arm around the underside of Helen’s thigh, keeping herself steady as she starts to eat her out hungrily, desperate to consume every inch of Helen’s pussy.

“Fuck, Carol,” Helen gasps against Zosia’s lips.

Her hips start to move erratically, matching the pace of Carol’s mouth, and she falls back against the bed, arching her back as Carol’s tongue swipes at her clit. Her free hand reaches for Zosia, tugging on her waist to bring her closer, to keep the three of them connected.

Carol watches the movement through her lashes, feeling a flood of arousal fill her veins. Hearing Helen moan her name while kissing Zosia is something straight from her fantasies, the ones Helen made her admit more than once.

Out of the corner of her eye, Carol notices Zosia’s hand start to work her clit faster, her fingers threatening to slip into her entrance with each movement as she grinds down against her palm. It only takes a handful of seconds for Carol to realize she’s trying to get herself to the same state as Helen so they can come together, and when she does, Carol closes her eyes and offers Helen the flat of her tongue to grind down on, to use for her own pleasure, to take.

Helen moans at the shift, “Good girl, fuck. So good, Carol.”

She uses her grip on Carol’s hair to keep her in place as she takes control, rolling her hips frantically as she works toward her orgasm. Obedience thrums in Carol’s veins as she lets Helen use her mouth, existing for Helen’s pleasure and Helen’s pleasure alone.

“Fuck, Carol,” Helen groans, pulling Carol impossibly closer to her cunt as she continues to buck against her face. “So good for letting me use you. Good girl. Such a good little mouth.”

Carol tightens her grip on Helen’s thighs and digs her fingers in hard enough to leave bruises, moaning to herself as she hears Helen’s breath stutter at the feeling. She knows Helen is close. She can hear it in her voice, in the way her moans start to blur together. She can feel it against her mouth.

When Carol opens her eyes again, she sees Zosia in a similar state, two fingers buried in her cunt, thrusting in and out in sync with the movement of Helen’s hips. Her mouth is on Helen’s breast, sucking at it, moaning against it.

By getting Helen off, she’s getting Zosia off, too. The thought burns in Carol’s mind, making her more determined to bring Helen to the edge. They both deserve it. They deserve to come, they deserve to use Carol to get off.

Zosia moans again, low and strained, like she’s fighting to hold back, to wait for Helen to come first. Carol digs her fingernails into Helen’s skin and presses her mouth harder against her cunt, moaning against the soaked flesh. Anything to push Helen over the edge.

“I’m gonna—Fuck, Carol,” Helen cries out, hips stuttering as she reaches for Zosia again, this time burying her hand in her hair and pulling her head up for a kiss.

Helen’s thighs tighten around Carol’s head, threatening to suffocate her as she rides out her orgasm, her moans and whines pouring into Zosia’s mouth as she continues to fuck Carol’s mouth, grinding her clit against the warm muscle of her tongue to draw out every single drop.

Though muffled by Helen’s thighs over her ears, Carol hears Zosia come as soon as Helen does, the sound of her pleasuring mixing with Helen’s as they kiss. Carol watches as both Helen and Zosia convulse above her, sweaty and pressed together, their breasts squished between them as they drag out their joint release.

After what feels like hours, Helen’s legs loosen around Carol’s head, and she pulls away from Helen’s cunt, gingerly lapping at the insides of her thighs, cleaning up every drop she’d missed. She takes her time, letting Helen recover from her orgasm as she takes control, taking care of Helen in the best way she knows how.

“C’mere,” Helen mutters weakly, tugging on Carol’s hair to pull her up to join her and Zosia.

Carol allows herself to be moved, careful not to press her hand into someone’s body as she slides up the bed. She’s pulled to nestle between Helen and Zosia, a lazy, satiated smile growing on her lips as she settles.

Wet fingers tap at Carol’s lips, and she parts her mouth immediately, opening herself up to Zosia as she presses inside, sliding the digits in with ease. Carol wraps her lips around them, her tongue lapping at the surface, cleaning off Zosia’s sticky wetness. She hums as the taste mixes with Helen in her mouth, a perfect combination.

“I needed this,” Zosia whispers softly, still lazily fucking her fingers into Carol’s mouth. “I’m glad I made the trip.”

Helen hums on Carol’s other side, “And it’s only the first night. I can’t wait until she figures out what we have planned for tomorrow.”

Carol’s eyes widen, and both Helen and Zosia laugh, breathy and exhausted, content. Her cunt throbs as her imagination starts to run wild, remembering everything she’d mentioned to Helen, even in passing. She has no idea what they’ve planned, and, by the sound of it, she should be terrified.

Still, she can’t deny the warmth that spreads in her chest as she feels the comfort of both Helen and Zosia at her sides. It felt right to be back with Zosia again, to have her tangled in bed with them, to just feel her.