Her Boyfriend's Vacation

The resort entrance looked like a screensaver: palms swaying in the breeze, fountains bubbling with unnaturally blue water, and cabana boys in matching linen pants wheeling luggage over pristine stone paths. Sarah stepped out of the shuttle, already sweating -- not from the heat, but from what she knew was waiting inside.

Simon adjusted his anime backpack and immediately asked the bellhop, "Is the Wi-Fi good? I've got a tournament in like forty-five minutes."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Sarah muttered, tugging her sundress lower over her thighs. She barely had time to smooth the sweat from her brow before she saw them.

Maria and Amy, waiting under the breezy shade of the arched entrance, were a vision of horny doom.

Maria was in white. Or what was left of white. A sheer bikini top with gold rings connecting the cups, her giant breasts straining like overinflated beach balls. A matching thong -- an actual thong, not a tasteful high-waisted cut -- clung to her round hips, and her thick thighs gleamed with sunscreen. A wide-brimmed hat and oversized sunglasses gave her the illusion of decorum, but nothing about the rest of her body said "polite."

Amy, by contrast, wore something loud and red, like a fire hazard. Her bikini top had a cartoon cherry pattern across it, though the cherries were stretched to the point of becoming watermelons. Her belly poked proudly out from beneath it, soft and jiggling with every movement. She waved like she was hailing a parade float.

"There they are!" Amy yelled, already bouncing over. Her flip-flops smacked the tile like gunshots.

Simon perked up. "Oh hey, Mom! Aunt Amy!"

Before Sarah could react, Amy engulfed her in a hug -- warm, slippery, and smothering. Amy's massive chest pressed into her face, arms squeezing around her back with joyful, suffocating force. Sarah could smell coconut oil and cherry lip gloss. And... was that glitter?

"Sarah," Maria said, striding up like a rich widow about to ruin someone's marriage. "I've missed you. Welcome to Aruba, sweetheart."

Her voice was smooth, low, almost lazy. Sarah turned just in time to receive another hug, this one somehow more dangerous. Maria's hands slid to her waist. Her lips grazed Sarah's cheek. Her thighs pressed against Sarah's for just a moment too long.

Sarah let out a breath that wasn't supposed to be a moan.

"Oh, look at you," Maria purred. "You've filled out so nicely since Christmas."

"She's glowing," Amy said, pulling back and squeezing Sarah's upper arm. "That's vacation skin. Or maybe someone's just excited to be sandwiched between two big girls again."

Sarah laughed nervously, wiping sweat from her temple. "I--yeah. Excited. Totally."

Simon turned to a bellhop. "Is the gaming room open yet? I saw something online about a rhythm fighter tournament--"

"Let's check you in first, sweetheart," Maria said, already ushering them inside with a hand on Sarah's lower back.

Sarah tried not to trip. Between the oil-slicked bodies and her throbbing arousal, she felt like she was walking in a dream. A wet, confusing, deeply dangerous dream.

The resort lobby smelled like papaya and money. Cool air blasted from hidden vents in the marble walls, and a man in a guayabera shirt handed Sarah a pink cocktail before she even reached the check-in desk. She downed half of it in one gulp.

The woman at the front desk greeted them with a too-white smile. "Reservation for... Park?"

Simon nodded, still tapping his phone. "Yup. Two beds, please. Or one and a pull-out. Either way, she kicks in her sleep."

Sarah elbowed him lightly. "You snore like a dying fax machine."

"Oh, I know I do," Simon said cheerfully, not looking up.

The concierge tapped her keyboard. Then frowned.

"I'm so sorry," she said in a voice that meant I'm not sorry at all, "but it looks like your room is a single bed. No twins available tonight, I'm afraid. The resort's very full this week. Love month, you know."

Sarah sputtered into her drink.

Maria and Amy, standing just behind them, both tilted their heads in perfect synchronization. Their sunglasses glinted like predators spotting a limping gazelle.

Simon blinked. "Oh. Huh. Weird. I swear I picked two beds online. Must've glitched." He glanced at Sarah. "I guess you could bunk with Mom and Aunt Amy?"

There was a pause. A very long pause.

Sarah's face froze in that polite, terrified smile people wear when a doctor says, "It's probably not cancer."

Maria made a thoughtful hum. "That's a great idea, actually. Our room's bigger."

Amy leaned in and whispered, not even quietly, "And wetter."

Sarah choked again.

Simon handed over a credit card and signed something. "Sweet! I can spread out. Might even try the PlayStation in 4K. You'll be okay with them, right babe?"

Sarah turned to look at him.

His sweet, clueless, anime-loving face. His oversized backpack with a plush Charmander keychain. His absolute lack of suspicion despite the fact that his girlfriend was now visibly blushing, sweating, and trying not to make eye contact with either of the BBWs leering behind him.

"I... sure," she said. "Why not?"

Simon handed her one of the welcome drinks the concierge had placed on the counter. "Yours had an umbrella."

Maria took it from her hand before she could sip. "She'll have something stronger. Trust me."

Amy grabbed Sarah's suitcase. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's go get you unpacked. Or, you know... undressed."

Simon waved without looking. "Text me if they have snacks up there!"

And just like that, he waddled off toward the elevator bank, still glued to his phone, already lost to the digital world.

Sarah didn't move.

Maria came up beside her and took her arm. "You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

Amy leaned in from the other side, warm breath against her neck. "'Cause that would be adorable."

Sarah exhaled slowly.

"I--uh--just need to get used to the climate," she muttered, as the women flanked her and led her toward the private suite wing.

As they walked, Sarah glanced behind her. Simon had already vanished.

Ahead of her, Amy's thick hips swayed with each exaggerated step, her cherry bikini bottom making rude sounds against her inner thighs. Maria adjusted her sheer wrap and looked over her shoulder with a knowing smile.

Sarah adjusted the strap on her dress, her heart pounding.

The suite was too nice.

That was Sarah's first thought as she stepped inside -- then immediately tripped on a decorative ottoman shaped like a sea turtle.

"Oh, careful!" Maria cooed, catching her by the waist.

Amy snorted. "This one's already wobbly. We haven't even fed her yet."

Sarah straightened up, blinking at the room. It was enormous: a floor-to-ceiling window revealed a sweeping view of the ocean, complete with swaying palms and an absurdly attractive shirtless bartender mixing something at the tiki hut below. The bed was massive, easily bigger than a California king, dressed in white linen with pink flower petals scattered across the pillows -- a romantic touch that clearly hadn't been ordered for three.

A ceiling fan lazily rotated above them. Everything smelled like vanilla and sex.

"Where's your luggage?" Sarah asked, already regretting the question.

"Unpacked," Maria said smoothly. "We got in yesterday."

"And christened the bed," Amy added.

Maria shot her a dry look. "She didn't ask that."

"She was wondering."

"I was not--"

"Take off your shoes," Maria interrupted.

Sarah blinked.

"I--sorry?"

"You're tracking pool dust," Maria said, gesturing with her hand. "And we have a very strict 'no grime on the bed' policy."

Amy grinned. "Also a 'no panties' policy, but we ease into that."

Sarah kicked off her sandals with a laugh that was much too high-pitched. "Okay, you two are... being ridiculous."

"Oh, sweet girl," Maria said, walking toward her slowly. "You have no idea."

Sarah backed into the side of the bed as Amy closed the door with a click.

"Wait--where's Simon's room?" she asked. Her voice was light, but her brain was buzzing.

Amy sauntered up behind her and whispered, "Far. Like... can't-hear-you-scream far."

Maria was in front of her now. Her eyes gleamed behind her sunglasses. She reached out and took Sarah's hand -- and that's when Sarah realized: she was trembling.

"You remember how we taste?" Maria asked softly.

Sarah swallowed.

"Mm-hmm," she said. It came out like a whimper.

"Good," Amy purred from behind. "Then let's make this a proper reunion."

Then -- in perfect, rehearsed motion -- both women leaned in.

Amy's lips found the side of Sarah's neck. Maria took her mouth.

The kiss was... too much. Too soft and too greedy. Their curves pressed in from both sides, heat and skin and soft moans. Maria's tongue was slow, teasing, confident. Amy bit her shoulder and giggled. Sarah tried to keep her hands at her sides -- and failed.

Someone grabbed her ass. Someone else cupped her cheek. She couldn't tell who was where anymore -- just that she was melting, and no one was going to stop her.

When they finally pulled back, Sarah's lips were wet, her cheeks flushed, and her knees shaking.

Maria smiled and brushed a strand of hair from Sarah's face.

Amy licked her thumb and wiped something from Sarah's chin. "Missed a spot."

Sarah stared at both of them.

The ceiling fan spun above.

"I..." she began.

Maria leaned in. "Unpack later."

Amy added, "Or not at all."

Sarah didn't move for a full five seconds.

Her lips were still parted. Her brain, utterly blank. Her body? Hot. Pulsing. Aching. She wasn't sure if she was about to faint or hump something.

Maria adjusted her sunglasses and turned, as if they hadn't just tongue-kissed her into another dimension. "I'll freshen the champagne," she said casually, as she crossed to the minibar -- her thick hips bouncing hypnotically with every step.

Amy stayed close. Too close. Her breath was warm against Sarah's cheek.

"You good, sugarplum?" Amy asked, gently flicking one of Sarah's dress straps off her shoulder.

Sarah blinked like she'd just been unplugged from the Matrix.

"I... yeah. I'm fine. Just a little... dizzy?"

Amy's grin widened. "That's not the altitude, baby. That's estrogen and sin."

Maria popped a cork in the background. "We call it foreplay vertigo."

Amy gave Sarah's ass a casual squeeze -- firm, like testing the ripeness of fruit. "You should sit down before your thighs give out."

Sarah stumbled backward until the backs of her knees hit the bed. She sat.

It was soft. Too soft. It smelled like coconut and skin and something faintly herbal -- expensive hotel soap, maybe, or Maria's perfume. There were exactly two pillows.

Just two.

Amy sat next to her, thighs spreading, red bikini top straining, belly out and proud. "So," she said, nudging Sarah with her knee. "What's it feel like being back in the clutches of two morally bankrupt women who live to make you squirm?"

"I didn't know Aruba was going to be like this," Sarah said, half-gasp, half-laugh.

Amy fake-gasped. "You thought this was going to be a real vacation?"

Maria handed her a chilled glass of champagne. "Oh honey. You're on the unholy honeymoon package."

Sarah took the glass, fingers trembling just slightly.

Maria sat on her other side, sandwiching her in curves, heat, and trouble. "You're ours for two full weeks, darling," she murmured. "You're not going to need sunscreen. Just hydration."

Amy raised her glass. "To corrupting Sarah. Again."

Maria clinked. "And again."

Sarah looked between them. Two hungry, half-naked women on either side, already plotting. One room. One bed. One inevitable, slow descent into whatever the hell this vacation was really going to be.

She took a long sip of champagne.

**********

The pool glistened in the midday sun like an invitation -- or maybe a trap.

Sarah wasn't sure anymore.

The night had passed relatively normally, they had all gone to dinner, Simon had talked about how good the games tournament had gone. Then Sarah went up to bed with Maria and Amy, sandwiched between them as they touched and kissed her until they all fell asleep. This morning, they weren't in the room when Sarah woke up so she had decided to have breakfast with Simon then head to the pool.

She stepped onto the deck with a towel slung over one arm, sunglasses hiding her tired, horny eyes, and a resort novel she absolutely had no plans to read. Her cover-up clung to her body in the humidity, and beneath it, her bikini felt suddenly too tight in all the wrong (or right) places.

She told herself this wasn't about them.

It was just hot.

She just needed to cool off.

It wasn't because she was still thinking about that kiss. Or the way Amy's hand had cupped her ass so intimately, like it belonged there. Or the way Maria's tongue moved like she'd been planning it for weeks.

Nope.

This was about sun. And water. And maybe a fruity drink with one of those dumb umbrellas.

She claimed a lounger in the corner, tucked halfway behind a big potted palm tree -- perfect for shade and, more importantly, a little privacy. She unfolded her towel, peeled off her cover-up, and stretched out with a loud, breathy sigh.

And that's when she saw them.

Maria and Amy.

Already in the pool.

Waist-deep, facing each other. Moving slowly. Standing very close.

Their bikinis today were somehow even smaller than before. Maria's was deep emerald, the fabric stretched taut across her breasts like an afterthought. Amy's top was pink and ruffled, her bottoms practically floss. Their fat, glistening bodies shimmered with sunscreen, water sliding down their curves like syrup.

They weren't talking.

They were just... smiling.

Smiling and leaning closer.

Sarah's breath caught.

She glanced away quickly, fumbling for her book. She flipped it open to a random page and held it up like a shield.

But her eyes slid back almost instantly.

Maria had placed her hands on Amy's waist. Amy tilted her head and giggled.

It wasn't flirtation.

It was foreplay.

Sarah squeezed her thighs together.

She should've gone back to the room. She should've jumped in the pool herself. She should've done literally anything other than what she was about to do next.

But instead, she lay back, lowered the book, and watched.

They were definitely doing it on purpose.

No one stood that close in a public pool by accident.

Maria and Amy hovered just beneath one of the pool's arched fountains, steam curling around their shoulders. The water hit Maria's hair, slicking it back like a movie star in a shampoo ad. Her bikini top -- already struggling -- now clung to her even tighter, each breast barely held by the deep emerald cups. The gold clasps strained as she moved, and with each subtle shift, more of her underboob threatened to rebel.

Her belly was soft and round, glistening from a sheen of oil and pool water, and it moved gently with each breath. Her hips flared powerfully, rolling under the water like anchored buoys. From this distance, Sarah could still see the dark outline of Maria's nipples through the wet fabric.

Amy, never one to be outdone, was all curve and chaos. Her bikini was lighter -- a sugary pink that did absolutely nothing to hide her enormous chest. The top sagged in the middle under the weight of her breasts, the straps digging softly into her shoulder fat. She floated forward, her body wide and plush and buoyant. Her belly rested heavily just below the waterline, bobbing slightly as she giggled at something Maria whispered.

Her ass -- Jesus, her ass -- jutted behind her like a planet with its own gravitational field. The ruffles on her bikini bottoms clung to her lower cheeks like frosting on a cupcake, and when Maria reached under the water to cup it, Amy shivered.

Sarah saw the shiver.

Saw the grip.

Saw the way Amy leaned in, chest-to-chest with Maria, their massive bodies pressing together like dough being kneaded.

It was surreal. Sensual. Soaked.

Maria's arm snaked around Amy's back and pulled her in until their bodies merged -- breasts squishing together, bellies mashing, thighs brushing below the surface in lazy, shameless friction. They weren't grinding, exactly -- not yet -- but the pressure between them was unmistakable.

Amy's head tilted.

Maria's lips curled.

And then they kissed.

It was slow.

Wet.

A little sloppy.

And fully visible from where Sarah sat.

Maria's hand rose out of the water to cradle Amy's face, her fingers sliding across Amy's flushed cheek. Amy moaned softly -- not theatrically, not loudly -- just loud enough for Sarah to hear it over the faint reggae playing from a speaker nearby.

Sarah's book slid off her stomach and thudded onto the concrete.

Her hand twitched. Then shifted. Then slowly, cautiously, disappeared under the folds of her towel.

She looked around -- no one seemed to notice. A couple in the shallow end scrolled on their phones. A man in a sun hat was asleep with his mouth open.

It was just her.

And them.

And the pounding, sticky heat between her legs.

Her fingers slid beneath the waistband of her bikini bottoms.

Her breath hitched.

In the pool, Amy pulled Maria tighter. Their bodies writhed gently, thick and glistening, breasts squashing, lips locked, hands greedy.

Sarah's hips rolled slightly beneath her towel.

This couldn't be happening.

But it was.

And she wasn't going to stop.

Sarah's fingers slid lower, trembling slightly -- but they didn't stop.

The towel draped across her hips offered a veil of modesty, but it couldn't hide her need. Her legs parted just enough. Her hand dipped under the elastic. The warmth of her own skin, the slickness between her thighs -- it all hit her in a dizzying wave.

She bit her lip, hard.

Across the pool, the women continued.

Amy was now openly grinding against Maria, her massive breasts mashed flat against Maria's chest, her thick arms wrapped lazily around Maria's shoulders. Their bodies were like sculptures come to life -- only sweatier, fleshier, hungrier.

Maria's hands were everywhere: gripping Amy's hips, caressing her ass, sliding under her bikini bottom with a possessive ease that made Sarah gasp aloud -- just barely catching herself.

She glanced again -- no one was watching. Not the couple with the Bluetooth speaker. Not the waiter passing with a tray of mojitos. Not even the lifeguard, who seemed more interested in texting than guarding any actual lives.

Good.

She let her head fall back against the lounger, sunglasses still in place, teeth digging into her bottom lip as her fingers found the aching spot between her folds. Just a brush at first. A teasing circle.

Her hips twitched.

In the pool, Maria broke the kiss -- only to bend and start kissing down Amy's shoulder, her hand disappearing under Amy's bikini bottom, arm pumping with a slow rhythm that left no room for misinterpretation.

Amy tilted her head back, mouth parted, eyes closed, soaking in it like a goddess being worshipped.

Sarah's breath hitched. Her fingers moved faster.

The heat was unbearable -- not from the sun, but from her own body. She could feel the pressure building, the tension curling in her stomach, low and deep and insistent. Each stroke of her fingers sent a little shock through her thighs. Her free hand gripped the edge of the lounger.

She told herself to stop.

She told herself someone could walk by.

She told herself she'd just take the edge off.

But she didn't stop.

Amy reached under Maria's top now, pulling her breast free with casual greed, kissing down until she latched onto her nipple -- even from this distance, Sarah saw it clearly. Saw the soft jiggle, the open mouths, the wanton wetness of everything.

Sarah whimpered. Just once. Quietly.

She didn't care anymore.

Her thighs clenched. Her fingers moved in tight, practiced circles. She was soaked. Squirming.

The moment hit her like a wave -- fast, hot, crashing.

Sarah arched slightly on the lounger, the towel barely staying in place as her body trembled beneath it. She stuffed her knuckles into her mouth, biting down hard to stifle the moan that threatened to escape. Her legs went rigid. Her toes curled. Her eyes slammed shut behind her sunglasses.

It wasn't subtle.

But it wasn't loud either.

It was just... messy. Quiet. Shameless.

The kind of orgasm that took her breath away and left her blinking at the blue sky, stunned and already sweating again.

She didn't even know how long it lasted.

She just knew her hand was still down there.

And she didn't want to move it.

When the pulsing eased, she let her head loll to the side, heart thudding in her ears. She was dizzy. Warm. Floating.

She didn't see what happened across the pool.

Didn't see Maria, mid-kiss, tilt her head slightly and glance her way -- lips still locked with Amy's, one hand casually squeezing Amy's breast.

Didn't see Amy pull back and follow Maria's gaze, then grin around a smug little laugh.

Didn't see the silent high-five under the water.

Maria raised an eyebrow.

Amy mouthed, got her.

Then -- as if nothing had happened -- they turned back to each other. Still giggling. Still kissing. Still wrapped around one another like the world was watching, and they wanted it to.

Sarah exhaled slowly, her hand finally slipping free from her bikini bottoms. She adjusted the towel -- poorly. Her fingers were shaking. Her lips were swollen. Her bikini was completely, irredeemably soaked.

She didn't care.

In fact, the only thought she could form was:

I'm in trouble.

**********

The door to the suite swung open and slammed against the wall with a satisfying thud.

Maria entered first, water still dripping from her thighs, her hair wrapped in a resort towel like a queen preparing for battle. Amy followed, peeling off her bikini top with a loud snap and letting it drop to the floor like a defeated opponent.

"Well," Amy said, flopping back onto the bed with a heavy, gloriously jiggly bounce, "that was the hottest pool visit I've had since that married couple in Cabo."

Maria didn't smile. She smirked. There was a difference -- hers came with power and a little bit of menace. "Did you see her face when you started sucking my nipple?"

Amy rolled onto her side, her huge breasts squishing together like marshmallows under her arm. "Sweetheart, I saw everything. That poor girl was squirming like a worm in a frying pan."

"She thought we didn't notice her," Maria said, peeling off her own bikini top with slow, lazy satisfaction. "Towel over her lap, hips twitching, knuckles in her mouth... subtle."

Amy giggled and kicked her feet up. "You moaned, you exhibitionist bitch."

Maria shrugged. "I am an exhibitionist bitch."

They shared a look -- the kind of look that usually came right before someone ended up face down, ass up.

Instead, Amy sat up, wobbling slightly on the edge of the bed. "Okay, serious question: who do you think got her closer? You, with the full-body mommy moan? Or me, with the dramatic underwater tit show?"

Maria lifted an eyebrow. "You mean when you bobbed up gasping like a sex walrus?"

Amy snorted. "You say that like it's not incredibly effective."

Maria crossed to the minibar, naked from the waist up, water droplets tracking down her belly. She pulled out two little bottles of champagne and tossed one to Amy.

Amy cracked it open without sitting up. "We should make it official."

"Make what official?" Maria asked, sipping hers.

Amy's eyes glittered.

"A contest," she said. "Me versus you. Who can get her off the hardest. In public. Bonus points if she cries."

Maria laughed, a slow, rich sound. "You want to compete over Sarah?"

Amy tilted her head. "Come on. She's perfect. Soft, twitchy, trying to be polite while getting finger-fucked in a crowd? That's a full-course meal to me."

Maria looked thoughtful for exactly one second.

Then she raised her glass. "Fine. You're on."

Amy's eyes lit up. "Loser eats room service alone. Winner gets her for the night. Any way she wants."

Maria clinked her glass with a grin. "I plan to make her beg."

Amy leaned back, licking the rim of her bottle. "Then I guess I'd better make her scream."

Maria tossed her towel aside and slid onto the bed beside Amy, the mattress dipping deeply beneath her weight. Their thighs met in the middle with a warm, wet shhhk, bare skin pressing together, both of them still flushed from the heat and the thrill of corrupting someone else's girlfriend.

Amy stretched like a cat, letting her belly roll free, her breasts wobbling proudly with the motion. "Okay, okay," she said between giggles. "Rules. We need ground rules, or it's just gonna turn into a three-way by accident."

Maria raised an eyebrow. "Is that... not the endgame?"

"Sure, eventually," Amy said, running her fingers through her damp hair. "But for now, this is sport. Like lesbian croquet."

Maria gave her a look. "I don't think croquet involves fingering people under pool towels."

Amy shrugged. "Not good croquet."

Maria leaned back on her elbows, breasts rising like twin monuments to unapologetic maturity. "Fine. Rule one: public space. Has to happen somewhere we could get caught."

Amy nodded, then paused. "But don't get caught. I don't want to explain to Simon why his girlfriend is moaning into a brunch menu."

"Agreed. Rule two," Maria said, swirling the bottle in her hand, "Sarah can't know it's a competition. Has to feel spontaneous."

"Oooh, psychological warfare," Amy purred. "I like it."

They both sat there for a moment, the hum of the ceiling fan mixing with the distant sound of ocean waves outside their window.

Then Amy added, "And no stealing orgasms. Like, you can't just jump in when the other person's working her. No co-op mode."

Maria smirked. "So it's a solo round."

"Yup. One woman, one target, one... mess."

Maria rolled her eyes. "You're so poetic."

"I try."

There was a pause. Then Amy said, almost dreamily, "You know where I wanna try it?"

Maria glanced over. "God help me, what?"

"Breakfast. She'll be all sleepy, wearing something flowy and loose, maybe one of those little sundresses that clings when she's dewy--"

"You mean sweaty."

"I mean perfect." Amy's hand drifted lazily across her own belly. "She'll be picking at fruit and trying to act innocent, and I'll just... slide under the table and--"

Maria cut her off. "You're not allowed to edge yourself while describing your strategy."

Amy grinned. "Too late."

Maria laughed softly, leaned over -- and pressed her palm right into the front of Amy's still-wet bikini bottoms.

Amy gasped.

"I knew it," Maria said, not removing her hand. "You're already soaked."

"I've been soaked," Amy breathed, hips shifting slightly under the pressure. "You started it with that moan in the pool. You knew she could hear it."

Maria leaned in, lips brushing Amy's ear. "You knew she'd start touching herself."

Amy whimpered. "I wanted her to."

Maria started rubbing slow circles. "You're not going to win this."

Amy turned her face toward her, eyes glassy. "Wanna bet?"

Maria pressed harder. "I already did."

Amy didn't last long under Maria's palm.

One minute she was smirking, talking trash and squirming under the teasing pressure -- the next, her head fell back against the pillow, lips parted, breathing shallow. Her hips bucked slightly, greedy for more friction. Maria didn't give it to her.

Not yet.

Instead, she leaned in and kissed her.

Not a soft kiss. Not a sweet one. A deep, hungry one -- mouths crashing, teeth grazing, tongues pushing for dominance. Their bodies pressed together, full and slick and shameless. Amy's hands found Maria's hips, gripping them with needy fingers, her thighs parting almost involuntarily.

Maria broke the kiss and spoke low into her mouth. "You're not going to win."

Amy laughed -- then gasped as Maria's fingers slipped beneath her bikini bottom. "Oh, honey. I've already got my breakfast spot picked out."

Maria slid two fingers in, slow and steady. "You'll choke on your croissant."

"Only if she sits on my face first."

Maria growled and shoved Amy onto her stomach.

Amy let out a delighted squeal, her fat ass wobbling as she was bent over the edge of the bed, her thighs jiggling under her as she arched her back like she'd been waiting for this all day.

Maria stood, slowly untying the sarong she'd never taken off. From the suitcase near the dresser, she pulled out a small velvet pouch -- always prepared.

"Is that the green one?" Amy called over her shoulder, still panting into the sheets.

"No," Maria said. "The big one."

Amy moaned theatrically.

Maria stepped into the harness, tightened it around her thick hips, and adjusted the heavy, dark silicone shaft with a flick of her hand. It was long, wide, veined -- cartoonish in size and perfectly molded for ruining her favorite slut.

"Still think you're gonna win?" Maria asked, gripping Amy's hips and teasing the tip between her cheeks.

Amy looked back, hair falling into her face. "If you fuck me right now, I know I'm gonna win."

Maria slid in with a single thrust.

Amy let out a garbled scream into the pillows.

Maria set a slow, devastating rhythm -- hips rolling, thick thighs slapping softly against the back of Amy's. With each push, Amy's moans got louder, more guttural, her arms reaching for anything to hold on to. She rocked back greedily, mouth open, eyes fluttering.

"Think Sarah could take this?" Maria whispered, bending low over her back.

Amy barely managed, "She wants to. She just doesn't know it yet."

"She will." Thrust. "When I take her dancing." Thrust. "And make her come on the floor." Thrust. "In front of strangers."

Amy was panting now. "She's gonna come on my tongue while you watch."

"Oh yeah?"

"I'm gonna eat her until she cries."

Maria pulled out almost all the way -- then slammed back in.

Amy sobbed.

Maria leaned in again, voice thick with lust. "She's going to belong to us."

Amy nodded frantically into the sheets. "God, yes."

Maria grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled, just enough to make Amy gasp.

"She already does."

Amy came. Hard.

She lay face-down across the mattress, her legs still trembling, ass pink and glistening, drool collecting in the crook of her elbow. Maria sat beside her, still in the harness, her chest rising and falling in deep, even breaths. She peeled the strap-on off with a grunt and dropped it on the carpet with a wet thunk.

"God," Amy groaned, muffled into the pillow. "I need a Gatorade and a life coach."

Maria smirked, dragging her fingers lazily down Amy's spine. "You need a towel and a round two."

Amy rolled over slowly, one breast flopping dramatically as she flopped beside Maria. "You're disgusting."

Maria raised a brow. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

They lay there in silence for a moment, catching their breath, sweat drying against their soft, glowing skin. Maria eventually reached for the half-empty champagne bottle on the nightstand and took a long, lazy sip.

"So," she said, passing the bottle to Amy, "we doing this?"

Amy drank and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Hell yes."

"Then I'll take her out tonight."

Amy narrowed her eyes. "Oh?"

"For drinks. Rooftop bar. Dress code. Maybe a little dancing."

"Mm." Amy's eyes sparkled. "Going full cougar."

Maria smirked. "She won't make it to dessert."

Amy stretched, belly wobbling gently as she flexed. "Fine. Then I'll take breakfast. Nothing fancy. Just her, me, and a strategically-placed croissant."

Maria choked on a laugh. "You're sick."

"You love it. You should come watch."

They clinked the bottle between them like a toast.

Amy snuggled closer, her thigh sliding over Maria's, both of them sticky, warm, and utterly smug. "You think she has any idea what she's in for?"

Maria looked toward the ceiling, smile curling.

"She will."

Amy grinned and pulled the covers up. "Wake me up in six orgasms."

Maria curled an arm around her and closed her eyes.

They fell asleep like that -- tangled in each other, the sheets damp with sweat and something darker, their dreams filled with soft moans, tropical lights, and Sarah's helpless little gasp.

**********

The late afternoon sun was beginning to mellow, casting warm gold over the palm trees and rippling waves. Sarah sat in a lounge chair by the beach bar, oversized sunglasses on, the remains of a blended mango drink sweating beside her. Her thighs stuck lightly to the vinyl cushion beneath her sundress, and her bikini straps peeked out just enough to remind her that she hadn't changed -- or cooled off -- since this morning's sinful poolside detour.

She flipped a page in her book without reading it.

Her mind was elsewhere.

Still on the feel of her fingers. The sight of Amy's breasts. Maria's moan echoing across the water.

She shifted in her seat -- and that's when she saw her.

Maria. Walking toward her like she owned the sand.

She wore a flowy sea-green wrap dress that caught the breeze in all the right ways, slit high enough to flash thick, sun-kissed thigh with every step. Her hair was loosely pinned, gold hoops in her ears, dark sunglasses perched on her nose like she was posing for a resort catalog called MILFs & Mojitos.

Sarah sat up quickly, tugging the hem of her sundress down even though it didn't do much.

Maria approached with the confidence of a woman who never asked for attention -- just collected it.

"Well don't you look like a vacation fantasy," she said, standing just close enough that her shadow fell over Sarah's knees.

Sarah squinted up at her. "I could say the same about you."

Maria smiled -- a small, dangerous thing.

"Got any plans tonight?" she asked, gently brushing a lock of hair behind Sarah's ear. Her fingers were cool. Her touch was not.

Sarah blinked. "Um. I think Simon's watching a livestream of... anime bowling?"

Maria's head tilted. "You sound free."

"I--guess I am."

"Perfect." Maria looked out toward the ocean for a moment, like she hadn't just short-circuited Sarah's nervous system. "There's a rooftop bar here. Pretty little view. Very strong cocktails. Join me?"

Sarah hesitated. Not because she didn't want to. But because everything in her body wanted to -- and that was exactly the problem.

"Just drinks?" she asked, her voice too casual.

Maria leaned down slightly, voice low and velvety. "That depends entirely on you, sweetheart."

Sarah's breath caught.

Maria stood up straight again, adjusted her sunglasses, and added, "Wear something you can move in. I might make you dance."

Before Sarah could respond, Maria turned and strolled off down the path -- hips swaying, the slit in her dress fluttering open just enough to reveal the barest flash of cheek beneath.

Sarah stared after her.

She didn't realize she was still squeezing her thighs together until the ice in her mango drink shifted with the sound of her pulse.

**********

The elevator doors opened with a chime and a gust of fragrant air -- citrus, salt, and whatever exotic cologne the bartenders were wearing. The rooftop bar sprawled across polished stone tiles, lit by strings of gold fairy lights and the last remnants of sunset. A jazz trio played near the edge of the deck, just loud enough to make conversation feel conspiratorial.

Sarah stepped out slowly, heart hammering.

She'd chosen a dress she hadn't dared wear before -- soft black, sleeveless, clinging to her curves with subtle stretch and ending just below her ass. Every time she shifted, it rode a little higher. She hadn't worn a bra. Her heels clicked as she walked, adding to the strange, powerful anxiety humming under her skin.

Maria was already there.

Seated at a table tucked into a corner nook, legs crossed, one arm draped across the back of the cushioned bench like she'd been posing for hours. Her dress was dark red and plunging deep. Her breasts were lifted and framed like an altar. A single curl had fallen from her loose updo, brushing her collarbone. She looked expensive, dangerous, and devastatingly pleased with herself.

Sarah's stomach flipped.

Maria's eyes met hers -- slow sweep up and down. The look she gave her wasn't approval.

It was ownership.

Sarah took her seat stiffly, knees pressed together, pulse in her ears.

"You look edible," Maria said, voice low, eyes twinkling. "And you wore black. How considerate. It'll hide the stains."

Sarah's breath hitched. "I... it's just a dress."

Maria didn't respond right away. She sipped her drink -- something dark with a lemon twist -- and set it down with theatrical precision.

Then she reached across the table and gently ran a finger along Sarah's forearm. "It's not just anything when you wear it."

Sarah swallowed hard.

The waiter appeared -- young, cute, deeply oblivious.

"Can I get you ladies anything to drink?"

"I'll have what she's having," Sarah blurted, then immediately looked down.

Maria smirked. "Two dark and stormies," she told him. "Thank you, sweetheart."

He nodded and disappeared.

"You're nervous," Maria said softly.

Sarah gave a weak laugh. "A little."

"I like that," Maria said, sliding her hand down to Sarah's wrist, then letting it rest there -- warm and firm. "Nervous means you're paying attention."

The drinks arrived, clinking gently. Sarah took a big sip and immediately choked a little on the rum. Maria raised an amused brow but said nothing.

They chatted -- kind of.

Maria did most of the talking: stories from past vacations, flirtatious little comments, questions Sarah couldn't tell were jokes. Sarah answered, but every time she tried to focus, Maria's hand shifted -- from wrist to palm, from palm to knee, then slowly... higher.

The first time Maria's fingertips grazed just beneath the hem of Sarah's dress, Sarah jolted like she'd been shocked.

Maria smiled behind her drink.

"You're already soaked, aren't you?"

Sarah opened her mouth, closed it again. Her thighs clenched.

Maria leaned closer, voice a whisper now. "And we haven't even danced yet."

She stood and took Sarah's hand, leading her to the stairs.

The music hit first -- a deep, pulsing bass that seemed to hum through the walls of the club as Maria led Sarah down the stairs. The floor below the rooftop was dimly lit, the kind of soft red glow that blurred judgment and made everyone look like a better decision. Couples swayed in the low light, close and lazy, some barely moving at all. The bar glowed like a strip of fire in the back, but Maria didn't head there.

She pulled Sarah onto the dance floor instead.

Sarah followed numbly, her dress already clinging with sweat in places it hadn't before. The first beat of the music wrapped around her like hands. She felt bare. Obvious. Every nerve in her thighs and belly was already humming.

Maria turned toward her, smiling lazily. "Just move," she said.

They started slow. Hips swaying. Bodies finding a rhythm. Maria's hands stayed polite at first -- one on Sarah's waist, the other trailing along her arm, like a date with manners. Sarah tried to relax into it. Focus on the music. Pretend her thighs weren't damp. Pretend she wasn't remembering the way Maria's fingers had toyed with her knee at the bar like it was a warm-up act.

Then Maria turned around -- her back to Sarah -- and pressed back.

Pressed in.

Pressed down.

Her ass -- heavy, soft, massive -- nestled perfectly into the curve of Sarah's lap like it had been sculpted to fit there. Sarah let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her hands instinctively came to rest on Maria's hips.

And then Maria began to move.

Slow, deliberate grinding. Hips rolling in figure-eights, her plush backside dragging over Sarah's thighs, her thick body practically draping her in heat and sin.

Sarah swallowed. "Maria--"

"Shh," Maria said, without turning. "Dance with me."

Sarah moved. Or tried to. Her hips twitched in response, her body caught in the rhythm and the closeness, but her mind was blank with sensation.

Then Maria turned around, turning Sarah with her so that her breasts were pressed against Sarah's back.

One hand -- casual, confident -- slid down Sarah's front... and then under her hemline.

Sarah froze. Her breath hitched so fast it sounded like a gasp.

Maria's fingers found the inside of her thigh. Then higher. Then--

"Oh my god," Sarah whispered.

Maria didn't stop dancing.

Her fingers pressed between Sarah's legs, slipping beneath her damp panties with practiced ease. She stroked -- not fast, but deliberately, each touch designed to unravel.

Sarah clutched her waist. "We can't--"

"We are," Maria murmured, her lips brushing Sarah's ear. "And no one can see."

They were in a crowd. Close bodies. Low lights. Pulsing bass.

But all Sarah could feel was Maria's fingers sliding over her slit, teasing her clit, curling inside her with slow, wet precision. She bit her lip. Hard.

Someone brushed past them, a man laughing drunkenly with a glowing cocktail in hand. He didn't even glance their way.

Maria pressed in closer. "You like being touched in public?"

Sarah whimpered.

"You like being mine?"

Sarah nodded.

"Say it."

"I'm--yours," she gasped.

Maria chuckled, slow and low. "Good girl."

And her fingers went deeper.

Maria's fingers moved like they knew exactly what Sarah needed -- no guessing, no hesitation. Just confidence. Rhythm. Pressure.

Sarah's body was melting, hips jerking in tiny, traitorous rolls that only Maria could feel. Every nerve in her body screamed someone will see -- but no one did. The club was too dark. The crowd too close. Everyone was lost in their own drunken, grinding little worlds.

But Sarah's world had narrowed to this:

Maria's fingers.

Maria's voice.

Maria's breasts pressing into her back like a weighted blanket of sin.

"Such a good girl," Maria whispered again, lips grazing her ear. "Wearing that little dress just for me."

Sarah's knees buckled slightly. Maria caught her with her free arm, keeping her upright as her fingers moved faster, more focused now -- tiny circles that sent electric pulses through Sarah's thighs and belly and spine.

"You love this, don't you?" Maria's breath was hot against her cheek. "Getting used in front of all these people. No one even knows what a slut you're being."

Sarah whimpered -- a desperate, half-choked sound that barely cleared her throat.

She was going to come.

Her thighs clenched around Maria's hand, hips trembling now with effort. The music throbbed around them, bass vibrating up through her heels and into her core. Maria kissed her temple, slow and possessive, while her fingers stayed locked in a steady rhythm.

"Let go," Maria murmured. "Come for me."

Sarah did.

She came hard -- body going stiff, eyes rolling back behind her sunglasses, mouth open in a silent scream she didn't dare let out. Her hips jerked forward once, twice. Her panties were soaked. Her thighs were shaking. Her whole body was shaking.

And still, Maria held her steady -- fingers slowing, dragging out the last cruel waves of pleasure.

When it passed, Sarah sagged against her like a marionette with its strings cut.

Maria kissed her cheek and whispered, "Good girl."

Sarah blinked, barely able to respond. Her legs felt like jelly. Her skin was flushed and damp. Her clit was still twitching. And her underwear... forget it. Might as well throw them off the balcony.

Maria withdrew her hand like she'd just finished adjusting a bracelet. Casual. Effortless.

She turned Sarah, smoothed her dress, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Then she leaned in, kissed her softly, and said, "One point for me."

**********

Sarah shuffled down the path toward the café patio like a woman recovering from an exorcism. Or a particularly luxurious mugging. Her thighs ached. Her underwear was still in her purse. Her hair had that freshly-fucked fluffiness she couldn't quite tame, and her sunglasses did little to hide the dazed, pleased, ruined expression she hadn't been able to wipe off since last night's dancefloor debauchery.

She didn't know what she was walking into. She just knew she needed coffee.

The patio was breezy, shaded by white canopies and dripping with tropical plants. A few couples lingered over breakfast, but it was mostly quiet -- just the clink of silverware, the soft hum of jazz, and the smell of butter and guava jam.

"Ayyy, there she is!" Amy's voice cut through the calm like a cannonball.

Sarah winced and turned to see her already waving from a corner table -- bare shoulders, sunglasses perched on her head, and cleavage that could crush a coconut. She wore a sheer mesh cover-up over her bikini and zero intention of behaving.

Sarah approached cautiously. "Morning."

Amy smirked. "Is it?"

"I don't know," Sarah admitted. "I think I blacked out somewhere between the third cocktail and... whenever Maria started narrating what she was doing to me."

Amy pulled out a chair with her foot. "Sounds like someone had a good night."

Sarah sat, gingerly. "Let's say... educational."

A waiter appeared with two glasses of fresh juice and a pot of coffee.

"We're doing girl time today," Amy told him cheerfully. "Just us two. No Maria."

Sarah raised a brow. "She sleeping in?"

Amy stirred sugar into her coffee, unbothered. "Something like that."

What Sarah didn't see -- or notice -- was Maria seated three tables over, tucked behind a hibiscus hedge, wearing a wide sun hat and large sunglasses. Her plate was untouched. Her gaze was not.

Back at Amy's table, Sarah poured herself coffee with a trembling hand. "I'm still... kind of recovering."

Amy speared a piece of waffle with casual focus. "You look fantastic. Glow-y. Did she make you come with just her fingers again?"

Sarah nearly choked on her coffee.

Amy winked. "Yeah, that's her specialty. But I have better range."

Sarah gave her a look. "Is this really girl talk?"

Amy leaned in, eyes dancing. "Depends. You wearing anything under that dress?"

Sarah blinked. "Excuse me?"

Amy chewed. Swallowed. "You know. Panties. Bra. Or are you just floating around Aruba like some sexy little free-range nymph?"

"I--I'm wearing a dress," Sarah stammered.

Amy grinned. "A dress isn't an answer."

Sarah reached for her juice. "I think I need more vitamin C and less interrogation."

Amy's foot brushed her ankle under the table.

"You'll get both," she said. "Trust me."

Sarah started to say something about how tropical fruit just tasted better on vacation when she felt it -- a warm hand on her ankle.

She paused mid-sentence. "Did you--?"

Amy didn't look up from her plate. "Mmhm."

The hand slid higher. Slowly. Teasing. Sarah's legs tensed under the table, her fork frozen mid-air.

"Amy," she whispered.

Amy finally looked up, eyes sparkling like she'd been waiting for this moment all morning. "Just relax."

Then she disappeared under the table.

Sarah blinked. "Amy?"

A second passed. Then another.

And then she felt fingers on the inside of her thigh.

Not her calf. Not her knee. Her thigh. High enough to make her flinch. High enough to tell her this wasn't a joke.

"Oh my god," she hissed, hands gripping the edge of the table.

Amy didn't say a word. She didn't have to.

Her fingers danced higher, spreading Sarah's legs with gentle persistence, like she knew exactly how far to push without resistance. Sarah shifted in her seat, but there was nowhere to go. The tablecloth hung low -- mercifully -- and the other guests were far enough not to notice the increasingly erratic movement of her elbows.

She was about to reach under and stop her when Amy's hands reached her hips, lifted the hem of her dress, and slid up between her legs.

Sarah gasped. "Amy, we can't--"

And then Amy's mouth was on her.

There was no preamble. No warning.

Just lips, and heat, and a tongue that moved like it had memorized her. Sarah's head fell back instinctively, a tiny strangled noise escaping before she could catch it. Her foot kicked out under the table. Her spoon rattled in its saucer.

Amy licked. Teased. Dipped her tongue inside and hummed like she was sampling a new cocktail. Sarah's knees jerked. Her back arched slightly.

No one was looking.

Maria, three tables away, sipped her iced coffee.

Sarah gripped her thighs and bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

Amy's tongue flicked again. Then again. Then slower.

Sarah reached for her juice. Her hand shook. She spilled some. "Sorry," she muttered to no one, wiping at the table with a napkin she couldn't focus on.

Amy moaned beneath her.

Sarah's eyes went wide. "Stop that," she whispered.

Another moan. Louder. It vibrated against her clit.

She shoved a napkin in her lap and leaned forward, elbows on the table, trying to look casual.

Amy's hands gripped her hips and pulled.

Sarah nearly levitated.

She was breathing hard now. Eyes unfocused. Dress hitched high. And Amy -- that terrible, wonderful woman -- was eating her like breakfast had only just begun.

Amy's tongue was relentless. Lavish. Expert. The kind of oral attention that came from a woman who did not care about consequences -- only results.

Sarah's toes curled in her sandals.

She reached for her fork and gripped it tight, like she could anchor herself to reality with stainless steel.

A voice broke through the static in her ears.

"Ma'am? Everything alright?"

Sarah jolted -- it was the waiter. He stood beside the table, pad in hand, eyebrows raised in innocent concern.

Sarah forced a smile. "Fine. I'm fine. Thank you. Everything's... good."

So good.

Amy moaned again under the table.

Sarah kicked her gently. She didn't stop.

"I'll bring more napkins," the waiter said.

Sarah nodded quickly. "That's great. So many... juices."

The waiter blinked. "Excuse me?"

"FRUIT juices," she said, too loud.

He walked away.

Sarah exhaled sharply and grabbed the nearest thing in reach: a croissant.

Amy's tongue curled just right -- pressure, circle, flick -- and Sarah bit down hard into the pastry, stifling a moan with butter and dough.

Her thighs clenched. Her stomach fluttered. Her hand trembled over the plate like she was trying to summon a polite death.

She was going to come.

Right here.

On a terrace.

Over coffee.

With a rogue MILF between her legs.

The tablecloth shifted slightly. The table itself creaked. Sarah's elbows hit the wood. Her head dropped forward.

She came like she was trying not to.

Silent. Still. Trembling. A low shudder that started in her core and rippled out through every limb.

Her vision went white.

The croissant cracked in her hand.

A soft, obscene slurp echoed beneath the table, followed by a satisfied sigh that made her want to crawl into the pool and drown.

Sarah blinked. Her body was slack. Her soul was somewhere above the canopy.

The tablecloth lifted slightly.

A pair of mischievous brown eyes peeked out first. Then a smirk. Then Amy's flushed, triumphant face.

She climbed back into her chair with the grace of a tipsy lifeguard, adjusting her mesh cover-up like nothing had happened -- as if she hadn't just tongue-fucked someone senseless next to a tropical fruit platter.

Sarah was frozen.

Half-melted croissant in one hand.

Other hand gripping her thigh.

Legs trembling.

Soul untethered.

Amy reached across the table and picked up a grape from Sarah's fruit bowl. "Mmm," she said, popping it between her lips. "Tangy."

Sarah could barely speak. "You... you just..."

Amy wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin and dropped it in her lap. "You're welcome."

Sarah stared at her. "You're insane."

Amy beamed. "You're delicious."

Sarah put the croissant down very, very slowly. Her heart was still trying to crawl out of her chest. Her panties -- what was left of them -- clung to her like guilt.

Amy leaned in, voice low. "Told you I'm better at breakfast."

Sarah didn't answer. She couldn't. She just reached for her juice like it might undo the last five minutes of her life.

Across the patio, Maria sat behind her sunglasses, leisurely stirring her iced coffee. Her mouth curled into a smile that was equal parts fond and wicked.

She took a sip and murmured under her breath.

"I think it might be a tie."

**********

After Sarah had excused herself to clean up, Maria walked up to Amy.

"I think we're equally matched," she said.

Amy turned to her and said, "Why don't we both take our prize?"

**********

Sarah had only just recovered from breakfast.

Well -- not recovered. More like "reassembled enough to walk upright." Her thighs still trembled when she turned too fast. Her skin was raw in the best possible way. And her brain short-circuited any time Amy winked at her, which was often.

So when Maria approached her at lunch with a folded robe and a cucumber-water smile, Sarah tensed.

"We booked you a spa treatment," Maria purred. "Our treat."

Amy appeared at her other side, sunglasses crooked and mouth already grinning. "Don't worry, babe -- no surprises. Just oils and serenity and light, relaxing pressure."

Sarah squinted at both of them. "The last time you said 'light pressure,' I couldn't walk for twelve hours."

Amy gasped. "That was Maria's fault."

Maria shrugged. "We'll be gentle this time."

That was a lie.

**********

The spa smelled like lavender and temptation.

Soft flute music played overhead as Sarah followed the attendant through a series of quiet, plant-filled hallways into a private suite marked VILLA SOL. She glanced back -- no sign of Maria or Amy. Maybe it really was just a massage?

The room was dimly lit, warm, and decadent. A wide massage table stood in the center, draped in plush white towels. Candles flickered on every surface. There were no windows, and the door clicked softly shut behind her with a lock that sounded far too deliberate.

"Your therapists will be in shortly," the attendant said, bowing. "Please undress to your comfort level."

He disappeared.

Sarah hesitated. Then sighed and slipped off her sundress, folding it neatly before draping herself over the table in just her panties. The soft towel beneath her was warm, welcoming, deceptively innocent.

She closed her eyes.

And heard the door unlock again.

Two voices entered.

Two familiar giggles.

And the soft shuffle of slippers on tile.

"Oh no," she muttered into the towel.

A hand -- wide and sure -- slid up her calf.

"You didn't think we'd let strangers touch you, did you?" Maria's voice, close to her ear now, low and velvet.

"Not when we know exactly where to press," Amy added, from somewhere near her thighs.

Sarah's head lifted slightly. She looked back over her shoulder.

They were both in white spa robes, hair tied up, skin glowing from the steam room. Maria was already slipping on a pair of latex gloves. Amy had a bottle of oil in one hand and a smirk in the other.

"Relax," Maria said, pressing gently on her lower back. "We're licensed in... something."

"I brought toys," Amy added cheerfully.

The candles flickered harder.

Sarah buried her face in the towel.

"God help me."

The oil was warm.

Too warm.

It hit the small of Sarah's back in a slow, deliberate drizzle, and she instinctively flinched -- not from pain, but from the certainty that she was no longer getting a massage. She was being prepared.

"Oh, shhh," Amy cooed from the side of the table, rubbing the oil in with both hands. "You're so tense."

"Gee, I wonder why," Sarah mumbled into the towel.

Maria chuckled from near her head, her gloved hands already at work. They pressed down on Sarah's shoulders with a precision that could only come from experience -- or an obsession.

"There's a knot right here," Maria murmured, thumbs digging gently into the space between Sarah's shoulder blades. "And here."

"Definitely one in her thighs," Amy added, her hands gliding lower, across the curves of Sarah's back, toward the generous slope of her ass. "We might need two sessions."

Sarah whimpered.

Their hands moved in tandem -- warm palms, slick fingers, gliding and pressing, circling and kneading. Amy poured more oil. It ran down Sarah's spine in fat, lazy trails. Maria's gloves made slick, faint sounds as she worked Sarah's shoulders, neck, and down along her ribs.

Neither woman spoke much. They didn't need to. Their touches said everything.

They called her soft.

Called her pretty.

Called her good.

"You take touch so well," Maria whispered. "Always so responsive."

"She's purring," Amy said, grinning.

Sarah was. Or moaning. Or some combination of both. Her body was melting into the table, muscles limp, mind blurring from the slow, unbearable tease.

Hands stroked her sides. Teased the edge of her panties. Slipped under to caress the very tops of her thighs. Her back arched without meaning to. Her toes curled.

She felt Amy lean over her, belly brushing her hip, lips close to her ear.

"You smell like sin and sunscreen," she whispered. "I wanna taste all of it."

Maria leaned in from the other side, breath cool on her neck.

"You're ours now, sweet thing," she purred. "We're just softening you up."

Sarah let out a shaky breath.

Her panties were soaked.

Her body, covered in oil and kisses, was no longer hers.

"Okay," Amy said brightly, clapping her slick hands. "Flip her."

Sarah blinked against the towel. "Flip me?"

But Maria was already gently turning her over, hands cradling her shoulder and hip. Amy helped guide her, and the next thing Sarah knew, she was on her back -- exposed, flushed, trembling.

The spa towel barely covered her.

Maria's eyes swept down her body, slow and deliberate. "Look at you."

Amy whistled softly. "She's a buffet."

Sarah tried to close her legs.

Amy stopped her with a firm hand to the thigh. "Ah ah. None of that."

Then Amy climbed onto the table.

Straddled it -- straddled her -- knees on either side of Sarah's hips, warm thighs caging her in. Her mesh robe was long gone. Her breasts hung heavy and glistening, just inches from Sarah's face, moving gently with every motion.

She uncorked another bottle of oil.

Poured a generous stream down Sarah's stomach, letting it run in slow, golden rivulets along her soft belly, between her breasts, into the hollow above her pelvis.

Maria let out a low, pleased hum. "Gorgeous."

Amy leaned down, hands spreading the oil across Sarah's torso, rubbing slow circles over her stomach, her sides, teasing just below her breasts without ever touching the peaks.

Sarah's nipples strained against the towel. She gasped when Amy's fingers ghosted just beside one.

Maria worked lower -- massaging Sarah's inner thighs now, knuckles brushing dangerously close to her center. Every time Sarah shifted, Maria would pause, grip her thighs tighter, and whisper, "Still, baby. Good girls don't squirm."

Sarah couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. The world was touch and oil and pressure and tension, building and building and never quite releasing.

Amy leaned over her, breasts now grazing her stomach, face close. "You want to come, baby?"

Sarah nodded quickly. "Please--"

Maria's hand slid between her legs.

One thick, confident stroke.

Sarah arched off the table with a cry.

Maria did it again. Two fingers now, slow but deep, curling at just the right angle while Amy stroked her belly, her breasts, her thighs, her everything.

Sarah came with a broken, muffled moan, biting her own fist, back arched, oil-slick skin glowing in the candlelight.

They didn't stop.

Maria kept working her fingers in slow, torturous circles.

Amy leaned down and kissed her chest -- soft, wet, open-mouthed kisses across both breasts, whispering, "You're our pretty girl, aren't you?"

Sarah nodded, barely able to speak.

Her second orgasm ripped through her mid-sentence.

She sobbed into her own shoulder.

"Again," Maria murmured.

And again, she came.

And again.

And then she stopped counting.

The room was quiet now -- except for the soft hum of the music, the subtle crackle of candle flames, and Sarah's shallow, wrecked breathing.

She lay on the table like a melted marshmallow, limbs loose, skin flushed and glistening. Her hair clung to her temples. Her lips parted slightly. Her eyes refused to focus.

Amy kissed her shoulder.

Maria kissed her hip.

Slow, sweet things. Not urgent. Not demanding. Just... adoring.

"You did so well," Maria whispered, stroking her thigh gently, like soothing a trembling horse. "So beautiful when you give in."

Sarah made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

Amy chuckled softly and leaned over to press a kiss between Sarah's breasts. "That was a premium session. Your ass is glowing."

Maria wiped her fingers with a warm towel. "She needs electrolytes. And maybe an ice pack."

Amy slid off the table and reached for the fluffy white robe that had been waiting on a nearby hook. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's get you wrapped up."

They both helped Sarah sit up -- carefully, like she might tip over. She almost did.

Every muscle in her body screamed bliss. And maybe help.

Amy guided her arms into the robe. Maria tied it with a slow, smug knot that sat high on her waist like a bow on a birthday present.

Then they handed her a glass of cucumber water like it was communion.

Sarah took a sip. Then another. Then downed the whole glass and blinked slowly, like she'd just returned from war.

Amy fluffed her hair. "That's what I call a full-body tune-up."

Maria kissed her forehead. "She's finally broken in."

Sarah's legs wobbled as she stood.

They didn't ask if she could walk. They each took an arm.

And together, the three of them left the spa suite -- one gliding, one waddling, and one positively floating -- toward whatever trouble Aruba had waiting next.

**********

A few days later, Simon was practically bouncing as he packed his backpack with snacks and anime pins.

"They said cosplay's encouraged but not required," he grinned, slipping a Naruto headband over his forehead. "I'm going casual. Just anime-adjacent."

Sarah blinked at him from across the suite's living room, still recovering from what she was calling (in her head) The Spa Incident.

"That sounds... great," she said, adjusting her sunglasses to hide the bags under her eyes -- and the thousand-yard orgasm stare that hadn't quite faded.

"I'll probably be there all afternoon," Simon continued, fumbling with his phone. "There's a raffle, a screening of something with, like, magical trains, and some guy giving a panel on romantic tension in Demon Slayer. You guys'll be okay without me, right?"

Behind him, Amy appeared. In a bikini. Or... something that claimed to be one.

"Don't wait up," she said, grabbing a beach bag the size of a suitcase.

Maria breezed in next, wearing a sheer white wrap over even sheerer tan lines. "We've got a little beach spot in mind."

Simon beamed. "Have fun! Hydrate! Wear sunscreen! Love you!"

He kissed Sarah's cheek and darted out the door like a man on his way to church camp.

The door clicked shut.

Amy and Maria turned to her in unison.

"Ready to get some sun?" Amy asked sweetly.

Sarah blinked. "You're both wearing less fabric than a washcloth."

Maria smiled. "You'll fit right in."

The beach was secluded. Hidden. Private. The kind of place that didn't show up on the resort map and probably had a name like La Solitude or Sin Island.

There were no umbrellas. No children. No lifeguards.

Just golden sand, soft waves, and a sign that very clearly read: Clothing Optional.

Amy dropped her bag and immediately yanked off her bikini top. Her breasts flopped free with a bounce that would've broken beach chairs in most states.

Maria slipped her wrap off like it was part of a ceremony. She stood there in nothing but a thong and confidence, thick thighs catching the light, her wide hips curved like sculpture.

Sarah swallowed.

She wore a simple one-piece. It suddenly felt like a parka.

Amy noticed. "Aw, honey. You're overdressed for the occasion."

Maria padded over, bare feet on hot sand, and brushed Sarah's shoulder. "Off. Now."

Sarah hesitated.

Then -- with trembling hands -- peeled off the straps and let her suit fall to the towel.

Her skin flushed instantly. Heat from sun. From nerves. From the fact that she was now naked on a beach with two women who looked like sin in human form.

Amy whistled. "God, I love a confident slut."

"I'm not--" Sarah started.

Maria silenced her with a look. "Lie down."

Sarah did.

On a towel.

On the sand.

Naked.

Her heart pounded.

Maria knelt beside her and stroked her hair. "Good girl."

Amy straddled her legs, bottle of tanning oil in hand. "Time to tan every inch."

The first splash of oil hit Sarah's stomach with a warm, wet slap.

She gasped, legs tensing, arms twitching in surprise -- but Maria just purred from somewhere near her ear, "Shhh, let her work."

Amy straddled Sarah's knees, bottle in hand, pouring a thick stream of golden oil down over her belly, her ribs, then lower, letting it drip in slow, slippery rivers between her breasts and along her sides.

"We'll get that pretty skin nice and golden," Amy said, already rubbing it in with strong, practiced hands. "Gotta keep you moisturized if we're gonna ruin you every day."

Sarah whimpered. "That's not in the brochure..."

"It's in our brochure," Maria said. She'd moved to Sarah's other side now, slipping off what little she'd been wearing and kneeling on the towel, fully nude and glistening. Her curves cast deep shadows in the midday sun. Her hips brushed Sarah's arm, slick and deliberate.

Amy leaned forward and dragged both oiled palms up Sarah's body -- from her thighs, across her belly, up to her chest, until she was cupping her breasts with obscene tenderness.

"These are mine for now," Amy said, squeezing gently.

Maria reached down and pulled the towel gently from beneath Sarah's hips, baring her completely. The heat of the sun hit her freshly exposed skin like a blush that started in her core and bloomed outward.

Maria straddled her legs. "Spread," she said softly.

Sarah's knees parted before she even processed the command.

"Good girl," Maria murmured, then slicked oil across her own palms and slid them slowly up Sarah's inner thighs.

Sarah's back arched.

Their hands moved in tandem -- Amy massaging her chest, brushing her nipples with feather-light touches that made her shiver. Maria running teasing fingers up and down her thighs, never quite touching where Sarah ached.

"You're dripping already," Maria whispered, leaning down to lick a drop of sweat from Sarah's sternum. "You love being exposed."

Sarah bit her lip.

Amy leaned in from the other side and kissed her jaw. "You're on our towel now, sweetheart. That means we decide when you get to come."

Sarah trembled.

"I--I want to," she breathed.

Maria's finger ghosted over her clit. "We know."

Then she withdrew -- just enough to make Sarah sob into her own shoulder.

Amy laughed. "Uh-uh. Not yet."

They kept going.

Circling. Stroking. Teasing. Letting her hips rise and fall in desperate little jerks.

But every time she started to pant, whimper, or beg -- they stopped.

"You're in training," Maria murmured against her stomach. "You have to learn control."

Sarah's fists clenched in the towel.

Amy kissed her temple. "You're doing so well."

Another stroke. Another withdrawal.

The towel beneath Sarah was soaked. With sweat, oil, arousal -- she didn't know, didn't care. Her legs were trembling. Her chest heaved. Her skin, slick and sun-warmed, buzzed with the memory of almost.

So many almosts.

Amy had just traced a fingertip from her nipple to her navel and stopped. Maria had leaned down between her thighs, breathed hot against her clit... and then pulled away.

Again.

Sarah's hands fisted in the towel. Her hips lifted off the ground in helpless rhythm.

"Please," she whispered.

Amy, still sitting beside her, pretended not to hear. She picked up a piece of pineapple from the little cooler, popped it in her mouth, and said through a smile, "Hm?"

Maria crouched at the edge of the towel, her eyes lazily following the curve of Sarah's shaking thighs. "What was that, sweetheart?"

"Please," Sarah repeated, louder this time, her voice cracking. "Please let me come."

Maria tilted her head. "Why?"

Sarah's breath hitched.

"Because I... I need it. I can't-- I've been--"

Amy sucked juice off her fingers. "You've been what?"

"Begging," Sarah groaned, throwing her head back. Her cheeks burned hotter than the sun. "I'm begging. Please, I'll do anything, I don't care if someone sees, I need to--need to--"

Maria leaned forward until her lips were inches from Sarah's soaked, trembling center.

"You want to come right here?" she murmured. "Out in the open?"

Sarah nodded frantically.

"On our towel?" Amy added. "Where you'll stain it forever?"

"Yes," Sarah gasped.

Maria smiled.

"Then say it."

"I want to come," Sarah whispered.

Maria stroked a single finger down her folds. "Louder."

"I want to come," she repeated, breathless.

Amy leaned in from behind, brushing her lips against Sarah's ear. "Say it like you mean it, baby."

Sarah snapped.

"I WANT TO COME!" she cried, voice breaking. "Please, I'll be good, I swear, I need it--"

Maria pressed her thumb to Sarah's clit.

One firm, perfect circle.

That was all it took.

Sarah came with a strangled, sun-scorched moan -- her back arching, toes curling, thighs clamping around Maria's hand as her whole body spasmed. It rolled through her like a wave, dragging her under, making her cry out again and again with every aftershock.

Amy watched with an open grin, brushing hair from Sarah's flushed face. "Good girl."

Maria's hand never moved.

Sarah's orgasm went on so long it felt like penance and reward all at once.

When it finally, finally faded, she collapsed -- slick, twitching, and utterly ruined -- onto the towel.

Sarah didn't move for a full minute.

Couldn't.

Her limbs had gone liquid. Her brain? Fried. Her body? Still twitching occasionally like a short-circuited machine that hadn't fully powered down.

She lay there on the towel, bare and oiled and spent, her arms flopped at her sides like she'd just been rolled onto shore by a merciless wave.

Maria leaned over her, kissed her temple, and whispered, "Good girl."

Amy knelt beside her and waved a slice of pineapple in front of her face like a bribe. "Open wide, beach bunny."

Sarah opened her mouth without thinking. Sweet, tangy fruit hit her tongue. She moaned softly -- like she couldn't tell the difference between food and afterglow anymore.

Amy grinned. "That's our slut."

Maria stretched beside her, hands behind her head, breasts rising proudly to the sun like royalty. "I think she left her soul somewhere back near her bellybutton."

"She's not gonna be able to walk back to the hotel," Amy said.

Maria rolled onto her side and cupped Sarah's cheek. "Then we'll carry her."

Sarah didn't even blink. She just mumbled something incoherent into the corner of her beach towel and tried to catch her breath.

A breeze rolled in from the ocean, warm and salty, brushing over three glistening, thoroughly debauched women lounging nude under the tropical sun.

Amy licked oil from her thumb. "Let's make this an annual tradition."

Maria chuckled. "Let's make it a monthly one."

Amy leaned over Sarah and whispered, "Next time, we're bringing a vibrating towel."

Sarah made a strangled, helpless sound into a nearby sunhat.

The tide kept rolling in.

And none of them cared who saw.

**********

That night, Sarah had just come out of the pool (trying to cool off after the afternoon's pleasure) when she got a text from Maria -

Dinner in the room. Now.

Her knuckles hovered over the door to Amy and Maria's suite like they weren't entirely sure they wanted answers.

The door opened before she even made contact.

Maria stood there in a deep burgundy robe that clung to her waist like it had a crush on her. Her hair was damp and loose, curling against her shoulders. Behind her, the room flickered -- not from overhead lighting, but candles. Dozens of them. On every flat surface. Along the window sill. Even on the low dresser, where they surrounded two flutes of something chilled and pink.

The air smelled like sandalwood, wine, and trouble.

Maria stepped aside. "Come in."

Sarah entered slowly. Her heart already beating like a drum in her ears.

Amy was lounging on the sofa, legs curled under her, robe falling open just enough to remind Sarah of everything. She held a spoon with a chocolate-dipped strawberry on it.

"Evening, bunny."

Sarah blinked. "This is... not what I expected."

Maria closed the door and locked it with a soft click. "It's not a trap, sweetheart."

Amy grinned. "Well. Not yet."

Maria led her by the hand toward the couch. Sarah sank into the cushions, warm and overwhelmed.

The room was intimate, quiet, and strangely calming.

Then the silver domes on the room service cart lifted.

Pasta. Roasted vegetables. Fruit. Warm bread.

And at the center, a rich slice of chocolate mousse cake, already garnished with a single rose petal.

Amy picked up a strawberry and leaned in. "Open."

Sarah did. The fruit was cold, sweet, slightly bitter. Her lips closed around the spoon, and Amy hummed with approval. "Good girl."

Maria sat at her feet and took one gently into her lap.

"I think our little toy needs some care," she murmured.

Her hands were firm, slow, and skilled -- rubbing gentle circles into Sarah's aching arches, then up along her calves.

Amy fed her another bite of dessert.

Maria pressed her thumbs into the arch of her foot.

Neither asked her to speak.

They just... tended to her.

After everything -- the public teasing, the spa, the beach, the endless humiliating bliss -- this wasn't what she expected. It wasn't cruel. It wasn't filthy.

It was worse.

It was affectionate.

And Sarah had no idea how to survive it.

Dinner faded into touches.

Touches faded into quiet.

And soon, the candles were the only thing moving -- flickering softly as if they, too, were trying to keep still and watch.

Sarah lay across the couch now, draped between them like a doll someone forgot to put away. Amy behind her, stroking her hair. Maria at her feet, her hands now resting on her thighs, warm and unmoving.

No one spoke.

Not until Maria stood up.

She crossed to the dresser -- the one with the pink champagne and the low-burning candles -- and opened a drawer.

From within, she withdrew something small, simple, and black.

Sarah's breath caught.

A collar.

Soft leather. No buckles, no chains. Just a polished D-ring in front and the faintest silver shimmer along the stitching. Not threatening. Not dramatic.

Just... true.

Maria turned, holding it in her hands like it was precious.

Amy's voice murmured at Sarah's ear. "Do you want it?"

Sarah didn't answer at first. Her body had already tensed, heart racing. She didn't even realize she was nodding until Amy kissed her neck.

"It's not about control," Maria said softly, approaching. "It's about belonging."

Amy's fingers traced Sarah's jaw. "We don't want to own you. We want you to choose us."

Sarah looked at them.

One in front. One behind.

Everything warm. Everything slow.

And nodded.

"Yes," she whispered. "I want to."

Maria knelt behind her and gently gathered her hair.

Amy took the collar and, with careful hands, buckled it around Sarah's throat. It fit snugly. Comfortably. Like it had always been meant to be there.

Click.

It settled against her skin like a promise.

Amy kissed her cheek. "Our good girl."

Maria kissed the back of her shoulder. "Ours."

Sarah's hands trembled in her lap. Her eyes stung.

She couldn't speak. Couldn't move.

But she'd never felt more still.

They didn't lead her.

They escorted her -- like something treasured.

One on each side, hands gently holding her arms, her hips, her fingers.

Sarah moved in a daze. The collar sat snug at her throat, reminding her with every heartbeat that she wasn't just wanted -- she was chosen.

The bed was turned down. The sheets were smooth and cool. The candlelight danced across them in ripples of gold and honey.

Maria climbed in first and held out her arms.

Sarah climbed in after her.

Amy slipped in behind, spooning up along her back, wrapping one thick leg over both of Sarah's like a gate that wouldn't open again.

"Lie still," Maria whispered.

Sarah obeyed.

And then they touched her.

Not roughly. Not hungrily.

Tenderly.

Amy's lips found her shoulder. Then her spine. Then lower -- peppering soft, teasing kisses across Sarah's lower back while her hands massaged her hips in slow, rhythmic circles.

Maria leaned up on one elbow and began kissing the backs of Sarah's fingers, one by one.

"Beautiful," she murmured. "You're so beautiful like this."

Sarah's breath caught.

She wasn't used to this kind of arousal. This kind of intimacy. It wasn't about being taken or teased -- it was about being seen.

Amy slid her hand under Sarah's front, cupping her stomach, then moving lower. She didn't even try to hide her grin as she nuzzled into Sarah's neck and whispered, "Still soaked."

Maria's fingers traced slow circles just under her breasts. She leaned in and kissed her collarbone, right above the strap.

"You wear it so well."

Sarah whimpered. Her body twitched.

They moved in time -- Amy kissing her shoulder blades, Maria massaging her thighs, both of them whispering things so sweet they were filthy by implication.

Then Amy's fingers slid between her legs, slick and warm and gentle.

Maria kissed her lips.

It was all soft and unbearable -- no rush, no force, just pressure, patience, and praise.

"You're ours," Amy whispered as her fingers circled again.

"You belong here," Maria echoed, brushing the hair from Sarah's face.

Sarah's hips began to rock, just slightly. Her moans were breathy now, almost frightened by how tender it all felt.

Amy stroked her slowly, deeply.

Maria cupped her cheek and kissed her temple.

"You can come, baby," Amy murmured.

Sarah broke.

It wasn't loud. It wasn't wild.

It was deep -- a kind of orgasm that hit behind her ribs and poured out in shaking, silent sobs. Her whole body clenched, then melted. Her hands grasped at the sheets, then at Maria's wrist, like she needed to hold on to something real.

Tears welled in her eyes. She didn't know why. Didn't care.

Maria kissed them as they came.

Amy wrapped her tighter.

And they stayed like that -- tangled, warm, full of breath and skin and something terrifyingly close to love.

The candles had burned low. The suite was dim and golden, flickering like the end of a dream.

Sarah lay between them -- bare, damp, worshipped.

Her head rested on Maria's chest, rising and falling in time with the slow rhythm of her breathing. One of Amy's thighs was still draped over her legs like a weighted blanket made of curves and mischief. Someone's hand -- maybe both -- was stroking her hair.

No one spoke for a long time.

She could hear the ocean through the balcony doors.

The air smelled like sweat and vanilla.

Sarah's fingers found the collar.

She touched it lightly, tracing the curve, the stitching, the little silver ring that sat at the hollow of her throat like a secret she no longer wanted to keep.

Maria noticed.

She lifted Sarah's hand and kissed her knuckles, one at a time.

Amy shifted behind her and nuzzled into her neck. "You've never looked hotter."

Sarah laughed softly -- or tried to. It came out as more of a sigh.

Then she said it.

Quiet. Honest. Heavy with something too big to name.

"I don't want to go back."

She didn't mean the hotel. Or the room. Or the towel. Or even the week.

She meant her life.

Maria didn't flinch.

She just kissed her again. "Then don't."

Amy lifted her head and looked down at Sarah's face. "You sure?"

Sarah nodded. "I've never been more sure of anything."

Amy grinned. "Well then--"

She kissed her, deep and lingering.

"Welcome home."

**********

The lights in the suite were low again. The candles from the night before had been replaced, relit, flickering like they knew what was coming.

So did Sarah.

She stood at the foot of the bed, barefoot, wrapped in a robe that had long since lost its claim to modesty. Her hair was still damp from a rinse in the shower. Her skin glowed from coconut oil, and her chest rose and fell in slow, shallow breaths.

Amy sat behind her on the bed, legs spread in a lazy V, a length of silk ribbon winding between her fingers like a spell she hadn't spoken yet.

Maria stood in front of the dresser.

She opened the top drawer. Reached in.

And pulled out the harness.

It was beautiful -- if that word could even apply to something so deliberate. Black leather, soft and matte, with silver rings and clean buckles. The toy itself was thick, curved, smooth. Not threatening. Just... confident.

Maria turned slowly.

Sarah's knees nearly gave out.

Maria smiled -- not wickedly, not teasing. But warmly. Like this was the most natural thing in the world.

"I think you're ready," she said simply.

Sarah nodded. Words were impossible.

Maria placed the harness on the bed, then untied her own robe and let it slide to the floor. Her full, thick body stood tall in the candlelight, her stomach soft, her hips broad, her breasts heavy and unashamed.

She didn't dress to impress.

She undressed to possess.

"Come here, baby," Amy whispered from behind, taking Sarah's hand and drawing her gently onto the mattress.

Sarah climbed up. Amy pulled her in close, pressing a kiss to her temple, then turned her around and began wrapping the silk ribbon around her wrists -- not tight. Not to trap. Just enough to feel.

"I'm going to hold you," Amy murmured. "That's all this means. You're safe."

Sarah's breath hitched. "I trust you."

"I know," Amy whispered. "You're ours."

Across the room, Maria was stepping into the harness.

One buckle at a time.

Each click echoed.

She fastened the straps low on her hips, adjusted the fit, then looked up and caught Sarah's eye.

"You're going to take this like the gift it is," she said softly. "And I'm going to love you the whole time."

Sarah's mouth fell open.

Amy kissed her shoulder and guided her forward, down, until she was kneeling at the edge of the bed, arms bound in silk, breath shaking.

Maria approached.

And everything inside Sarah turned to fire.

The bed dipped behind her. Sheets rustled. The scent of Maria's perfume mingled with candle wax and something warm and electric.

Sarah stayed still -- her knees planted wide on the mattress, her arms wrapped gently with silk in front of her, her cheek pressed to the comforter. Her pulse beat in her throat like a warning and a promise.

Amy kissed the back of her neck. "You look so perfect like this. Offered up."

Maria's hands slid along her hips from behind, steady and reverent. "And ready."

Sarah nodded, barely. She was already shaking.

Maria guided herself into place with a sure, practiced touch -- the harness now sitting snug on her waist, the toy perfectly aligned. She leaned over Sarah's back, letting her full breasts press softly into her, her stomach warm against Sarah's spine.

"Just breathe," she whispered.

Sarah obeyed.

The first push was slow.

Firm, but patient -- Maria's hands braced on her waist, her thighs cradling Sarah's, their bodies aligning like puzzle pieces that had always belonged together.

Sarah let out a ragged moan. Her fingers curled instinctively in the silk.

Amy climbed forward, kissing her way up Sarah's arm, then over her shoulder, then to her lips.

"You're doing so good," she murmured.

Maria rocked in again. A little deeper.

Amy smiled and moved up -- slowly, carefully -- until her pussy was underneath Sarah's face, one soft thigh to either side, her folds slick and flushed, her body humming with heat.

"You want to taste me, sweetheart?"

Sarah whimpered and nodded.

"Then open that pretty mouth."

Sarah lowered her face, her mouth open, eager to taste. Amy's hand stroked Sarah's hair, guiding her, grounding her.

"Good girl," she breathed.

Maria began to move.

A slow rhythm. Controlled. Her hands stayed firm on Sarah's hips, guiding her back into every thrust. Not pounding. Not harsh. But relentless. Filling her completely. Driving deep with a confidence that spoke not of conquest -- but of care.

Sarah moaned into Amy, her whole body vibrating with the pleasure of being held. Of being filled.

Of being theirs.

Amy gasped and rolled her hips, grinding slowly against Sarah's mouth, fingers weaving through her hair. "Just like that. Oh, baby, you were made for this."

Maria leaned down, her breath hot against Sarah's ear. "That's it. Take all of me. You're such a good girl."

The bed creaked beneath them. Heat built around them. The rhythm deepened -- Maria thrusting, Amy grinding, and Sarah melting, shaking, aching in every direction.

She had no voice. No resistance.

Only obedience.

Only belonging.

Sarah's world narrowed to rhythm.

Amy under her mouth, moving in slow circles, thighs trembling with pleasure.

Maria behind her, stroking into her with slow, deliberate power.

And Sarah -- helpless in the middle -- body slick with sweat and sensation, mouth full, heart wide open.

The silk around her wrists didn't restrain.

It reminded.

She was bound. Cherished. Held.

Maria's voice was low and steady, breath close behind her ear. "Don't fight it. Just feel."

Amy's hips rocked, soft and full, guiding her tongue. "Good girl... keep going, just like that."

The praise wrecked her more than the motion.

Every thrust sent a fresh shiver up her spine. Every grind from Amy sent a new wave of wet heat across her lips. Her senses were flooded. Her thoughts gone.

And then -- it happened.

No build-up. No climax warning.

Just a sharp, glorious burst that started deep in her belly and tore through her in an uncontrollable spasm of pleasure.

She moaned -- or maybe sobbed -- into Amy's core, her body convulsing, hips twitching under Maria's weight.

Maria didn't stop.

She slowed -- just slightly -- as if savoring every last ripple.

Amy looked down at her with flushed cheeks, stroking her hair and rocking gently. "That's our girl. Let it happen. Let it all happen."

Sarah nodded, even though she wasn't sure what she was agreeing to.

Her body had unraveled.

Her thoughts had burst like fireworks.

And yet they held her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

Maria pressed a kiss to her shoulder blade and kept moving inside her -- deeper now, slower.

Amy purred above. "She's overflowing."

Sarah trembled beneath them.

But she didn't break.

She opened.

The room was quiet.

Not candlelit silence -- but that rich, weighty hush that follows something complete. Like the last note of a song still echoing in the chest.

Maria was the first to move.

She withdrew gently, slowly, pressing a kiss to the small of Sarah's back as she did. Her hands lingered, rubbing soft circles into trembling thighs before slipping away to unbuckle the harness. The straps clicked loose with the same calm certainty they had clicked on.

Amy, still straddling Sarah's chest, reached forward and gently untied the silk binding her wrists.

Sarah's arms fell open, loose and light, boneless with bliss.

"Shhh," Amy murmured, catching her hands and kissing each wrist where the ribbon had left a faint red trace. "There's our sweet girl."

Maria returned to the bed and lay down behind Sarah, pulling her close.

Amy followed, curling up in front.

A perfect Sarah sandwich.

"You still with us?" Amy asked, brushing hair from her eyes.

Sarah nodded faintly. Her lips were slightly parted. Her cheeks glowed. Her voice, when it came, was barely more than a breath.

"I never want to be anything else."

Maria kissed her neck.

Amy grinned, kissed her mouth.

"You don't have to," Maria whispered. "You're already ours."

"We'll keep you just like this," Amy added, tracing the still-warm curve of her hip. "All soft, satisfied, and spoiled rotten."

Sarah laughed -- a broken, blissed-out sound -- and curled into their warmth.

The collar still sat snug around her neck.

She didn't touch it this time.

She didn't need to.

**********

The restaurant was dimly lit and aggressively romantic.

Heart-shaped centerpieces. Champagne flutes already waiting. A violinist doing unspeakable things to a Celine Dion song in the corner.

Simon beamed. "Isn't this great?"

Sarah smiled. She wasn't sure her face muscles were connected anymore.

She wore a clingy black dress, tasteful but soft enough to hide the subtle shake in her thighs. Around her neck, tucked beneath a sheer red scarf, was the collar. Still snug. Still real.

Her hair was pinned up. Her lips wore gloss. Her skin still carried faint, invisible fingerprints from last night's worship.

Simon had dressed up too, in his own way: a blazer over a graphic tee, his favorite anime pins proudly arranged on the lapel like medals.

"I asked for the table by the window," he said, checking his phone for no reason. "You can see the whole bay when the moon hits."

Sarah nodded, trying to focus on his words and not the steady ache between her legs.

They were seated by a smiling hostess. Candles flickered on the white tablecloth. The silverware was real. The menu had no prices.

Simon opened his like a kid at Comic-Con. "I have no idea what duck confit is, but I'm getting it."

Sarah murmured something vaguely encouraging and took a deep breath.

The scent of wine, ocean breeze, and roasted garlic wafted around them.

So did the memory of Maria's hands.

Amy's voice in her ear.

The way she'd come with her wrists bound and her face buried between warm thighs.

Simon waved a hand to get the waiter's attention.

Sarah clenched her knees.

He leaned over the table, lowering his voice like he was letting her in on a juicy secret. "So the Demon Slayer meet-up got real spicy," he said, eyes sparkling. "There was this one cosplayer -- full body paint, foam sword, the works -- who had this theory about Tanjiro and romantic subtext, and--"

Sarah's smile twitched.

Her thighs pulsed.

The collar sat warm against her skin.

Simon's voice faded into background noise.

Sarah shifted in her seat.

Her hand -- slowly, carefully -- slid beneath the white linen tablecloth and rested in her lap.

She swallowed hard.

And tried to pretend she was still just... here for dinner.

"--and the best part," Simon continued, slicing a bread roll with all the enthusiasm of a man delivering breaking anime news, "was when we were talking about demon breeding cycles, and some guy yelled, 'They mate through hand-holding!'"

He laughed, delighted. "Whole place cracked up."

Sarah smiled weakly.

Her hand was no longer on her lap.

It had slipped further -- slow and careful, like a guilty whisper -- until her fingers pressed against the soft fabric between her thighs.

She shouldn't.

She absolutely shouldn't.

She pressed.

Heat. Wet. Instant.

Her legs stiffened under the table. The press of the collar against her neck felt tighter. Not choking -- just constant. Present. As if it could sense what she was doing.

Simon buttered his bread.

She slid one finger under the edge of her panties.

Then another.

"Anyway, so then the moderator said--"

Sarah's breath hitched.

She pressed her palm to her mouth and nodded at him like she was really following.

She wasn't.

She was soaked. Twitching. Trying not to gasp as her fingers found just the right angle and circled, slow and steady.

Across the restaurant, over Simon's shoulder, she caught a glimpse of something -- or someone.

A red silk wrap. A familiar curl of dark hair. A glint of jewelry in candlelight.

Was it--

Her legs shuddered.

Simon poured more water. "Do you want wine? You look a little flushed."

"I'm good," Sarah said, voice shaking like a leaf.

Under the table, her fingers moved again.

Maria?

Was she watching?

Sarah squeezed her thighs together.

Simon reached for the butter again.

Sarah pressed harder.

Simon was still talking.

Something about panel lines on cosplay armor and resin printers and a guy who glued his thumb to a katana. Sarah heard none of it.

Her eyes were glassy. Her breath came in quiet, shaky pulls through her nose. Under the table, her fingers were moving in small, desperate circles, slick with everything she couldn't say out loud.

Her thighs trembled.

The candlelight blurred.

And when Simon said, "Should we get dessert?" she nearly came.

"Y-yes," she croaked. Not to the dessert.

Simon waved cheerfully to the waiter. "Do you have the soufflé still?"

Sarah pressed harder, panting quietly into her napkin. She'd stopped pretending to be engaged and was now just trying not to pass out.

The waiter nodded. "Of course. One or two?"

Sarah's hand froze.

One or two?

As in, was she staying long enough to survive another course?

She looked up -- wide-eyed, flushed, hair slightly damp at the temples -- and blurted:

"No thank you!"

The words came out fast. Loud. Sharper than intended.

The waiter blinked.

Simon blinked.

"I mean," Sarah said, scrambling, breathless, "I'm... full."

Simon chuckled. "From bread and water?"

She stood. Abruptly. Knocking her chair just slightly.

"I think I need to lie down."

Simon stood too. "Are you okay? You look--"

"Just hot," she said, already backing away, scarf shifting slightly to reveal the collar's gleam beneath. "Room's too warm. Candles. You know. I'm gonna head up."

"Want me to walk with you?"

"No!" she said -- too fast again -- then softened. "It's okay. Stay. Enjoy the soufflé. You love soufflé."

Simon looked torn. "Well... I mean, yeah."

She kissed him on the cheek -- a quick, shaky press -- and all but fled from the restaurant.

Her heels clicked down the hallway in a frantic rhythm.

Clutching her little purse. The scarf slightly askew. The collar glinting beneath it.

Her pulse thundered in her ears. Her body still quivered. Her underwear was ruined. Her fingers were still wet.

She didn't knock.

She didn't need to.

The door to the suite was already unlocked -- just barely ajar, like they knew.

Sarah pushed it open.

The candles were already lit.

And waiting for her -- exactly as she left them -- were Amy and Maria.

Naked. Smiling.

Maria lounged on the bed, her soft curves glowing gold in the low light, her hand stroking the empty space beside her. "There you are."

Amy leaned against the headboard, one arm resting casually on her knee.

"We were wondering how long you'd last."

Maria smiled. "Two courses, maybe three."

Sarah didn't speak.

She dropped her purse.

Her scarf.

Her heels.

And crawled.

Onto the bed. Into their arms.

Amy pulled her in for a deep kiss.

Maria kissed her temple. "You're home."

The door swung gently shut behind her.

And this time, it didn't open again.

**********

Thirty-two thousand feet in the air.

Somewhere above the Atlantic.

Tray tables down, peanuts open, and Simon mid-ramble.

"Okay, but tell me the truth -- I think I crushed that anime club trivia round. Right? That guy in the All Might hoodie respected me."

Sarah nodded absently. "Mm-hmm."

Simon grinned and popped a pretzel in his mouth, chewing happily as he scrolled through his photos. "Honestly? Best. Vacation. Ever."

Sarah smiled faintly. "Totally."

But her eyes weren't on the clouds, or her phone, or even her adorably oblivious boyfriend.

They were two rows ahead -- where Maria and Amy sat side by side across the aisle.

Maria was reading a magazine she clearly wasn't interested in. Amy was sipping ginger ale with a smirk like she already knew what Sarah was thinking. Every so often, Amy would glance over her shoulder -- just enough to meet Sarah's gaze.

Maria didn't even bother to look. She just tapped one finger against her lips.

Sarah clenched her thighs.

The collar was hidden under her oversized hoodie, but it felt tight. Present. Like a string tied to two women ahead who had wrecked her body and rebuilt it from moans and sweat and praise.

She shifted in her seat.

Simon was now reviewing airplane snack tier lists out loud.

Sarah's eyes flicked past Amy and Maria... to the bathroom door.

It stood closed.

Then open.

Then closed again.

The seatbelt sign blinked off.

Sarah bit her lip.

Could she...?

Amy looked back again.

Raised an eyebrow.

Maria turned a page -- upside down -- and whispered something that made Amy laugh quietly into her drink.

Simon offered her half a granola bar. "Babe? You okay? You look kinda flushed."

Sarah smiled sweetly. "Just... thinking about how great this was."

He nodded approvingly. Then repeated, "Best vacation ever."

Her eyes slid back to the aisle.

The bathroom door.

The women who had ruined her.

She slowly unbuckled her seatbelt.

There was still time.