A couch, three women, no rules left.
It started with a glass of bourbon.
Not wine. Not tea.Claire had brought the bottle herself — bold, aged, smoky — like a middle finger to the years she'd spent swallowing everyone else's preferences.
Gloria poured three glasses. No ice.
Nina raised hers, smirked. "To what?"
Gloria smiled. "To appetites."
They clinked. Sipped. And when Claire's tongue lingered on the rim of her glass, Nina set hers down.
"Fuck this," she said. "Come here."
And just like that, the three women melted onto Gloria's velvet couch — not politely, not with any hesitations or explanations — just heat and hands and wet mouths tasting skin that had waited too long to be devoured.
Gloria first. Always Gloria.
She kissed like she'd written manuals on it. Like she'd taught younger women how to seduce their professors back in 1979. Her lips captured Claire's neck while her thigh pressed between hers, grinding. Her fingers slipped beneath Claire's blouse without asking. No one said no.
Claire gasped. "You've done this before."
Gloria didn't smile. She growled. "I've lived this."
Her fingers found Claire's nipples — already hard, desperate — and pinched gently, like punctuation marks on a moan.
Across from them, Nina had peeled off her shirt. Her caramel skin glowed under the warm lamp. She watched, one hand sliding into her jeans, stroking herself slowly.
"You two are fucking hot together."
Gloria turned, lips slick from Claire's breast. "Then come add fuel to the fire."
And so she did.
Nina knelt behind Claire, hands on her hips, lips at her ear. "You're so goddamn soft, baby. You make me wanna ruin you."
Claire whimpered. "Please…"
Gloria chuckled. "She's already halfway there."
Nina slipped her hand between Claire's thighs, fingers parting the fabric of her skirt. "Soaked."
"Because you made me…" Claire whispered, breath stuttering.
"No, baby," Nina corrected. "Because you let us."
She rubbed in slow, tight circles. Claire bucked. Gloria kissed her mouth now — wet, urgent, tongue claiming every forgotten inch.
And when Nina slipped two fingers inside, curling just right, Claire screamed into Gloria's kiss.
But Gloria wasn't done.
She pulled Claire down flat on the couch, spread her legs wide.
"She deserves to be worshipped."
And Gloria — still in control, still sinfully graceful — slid her mouth down to Claire's thighs and began to kiss.
Not lick.
Worship.
Every inch. Every wrinkle. Every story the skin told. She read it all with her tongue.
Claire sobbed. "F-Fuck… Gloria, I can't—"
"Oh, you will," Nina whispered, stripping the last of her clothes, straddling Claire's face. "You'll fucking drown."
And just like that — Claire was taken.
Nina's pussy hovered just inches from her mouth, dripping and musky and perfect. Claire's lips parted.
"Taste me," Nina begged.
She did. Hungrily.
Two mouths. One body. One glorious explosion.
Nina rode her face, moaning like thunder. "Oh fuck, Claire… yes, right there…"
And Gloria worked below, tongue circling Claire's clit like it was the center of gravity itself.
Claire shook. Cried out. Came with a wail that shattered any remaining shame.
She squirted.
Legs trembling. Eyes wild.
Nina licked her lips. Gloria licked her fingers.
"Jesus," Claire gasped. "What... what the fuck was that?"
Gloria smiled like the devil. "That, darling, was your first real orgasm."
Nina bent down. "And it won't be your last."
But someone was watching.
From the guest bathroom upstairs, the door slightly ajar — a man stood frozen.
Daniel Whitmore. Gloria's son.
He'd come home early from a failed date. Quiet. Tired.
Until he heard moaning.
He'd followed it. Stopped just before the stairs. And now?
He watched his mother kneeling between another woman's thighs, sucking with the hunger of someone half her age. He saw Claire's face buried in another woman's pussy. He saw everything.
And he was hard.
Terribly, shamefully hard.
He backed away slowly. Shut the door. Unzipped.
His hand was already wet before it even touched his cock.