Port City, USA
A warm dance hall on the main floor of Club Argent
A booth in the corner
Two women sit across from one another at a table with four water glasses, as their friend dances with the man who would take them home.
There is a strange tension between the two of them, not a tension that puts them into conflict, but a tension of agreement, of both of them moving in a common direction, of neither of them really wanting to talk about it, and of both of them needing to talk about it.
"So," Chelsea begins, running a nervous hand over her shaved head, but can't bring herself to go further.
Sharon gives her a smile, but it's thin, an attempt at comfort from someone who is herself uncomfortable. "So."
Chelsea lets out a long, slow breath. "This is... weird."
"Doesn't have to be," Sharon replies, but she doesn't sound convinced.
Even so, that's enough to open the floodgates. "Okay, so we're, like, we're doing this, right? We're both going home with him, we're gonna... do... things, with him, and I'm gonna do things with you?"
"Well, Chels, it doesn't haven't to be with me," Sharon answers, her tone turning technical. "There's nothing that says that we have to touch one another at all. It'll just be what we're comfortable with. It could just be you and him, and then me and him, or the other way around. Maybe we watch. Maybe we all just have another drink and put on a movie."
Chelsea snorts. "That's not happening, I came out to get some tonight, and I am going to get some tonight."
Sharon gives her a serious look. "Will I be in the way of that?"
Chelsea shakes her head. "No, Share. At least, I don't think so. I mean, I guess we'll play by ear, right? Like I don't think that kissing a girl is gonna be a whole lot different from kissing a boy, is it?"
Sharon smiles and blushes some. "Uh, well. It's not all that different, no, but it's more... Context matters, you know? Like, okay, usually when you see pictures of girls making out or fucking or something, it's actually for the benefit of the male audience, so that's always kind of there. So if we kiss, are we kissing because we want to, or because Sterling wants to see it?"
"But..." Chelsea thinks about that for a moment. "But if I'm watching—hypothetically, of course—if I'm watching you and Sterling fuck, are you fucking because you want to or because I want to see it? And, y'know, can't it be both?"
"Hey, that goes the other way, too, y'know," Sharon grins. "If you're watching, are you watching because you want to watch, or because Sterling and I are getting off on being watched?"
"Jesus, this is complicated." Chelsea giggles. "You ever do this before?"
"The whole threesome thing?" Sharon shrugs. "Not with another woman."
"But with two guys?"
"One guy, one enby, actually. But yeah, one Saturday night a bunch of us from the maintenace team were here and..." She waves her hand in the air. "One thing led to another, and another..."
Chelsea leans forward. "And?"
Sharon blinks, confused. "And?"
"And what happened?" Chelsea needles, suddenly curious.
"Uh. Well, hm. The man hadn't ever been with a woman before, so that was... there was a lot of coaching, and I don't think he was really into it?" Sharon shrugs again. "I had a great time with his partner, and I think he was having a great time seeing his partner happy. And it's not like he wasn't involved. Great hands."
"That's a lotta greats," Chelsea notes. "If it was so great, why just the once?"
Sharon frowns. "Great for me doesn't mean great for the other two, necessarily? Also, there was a fair bit of alcohol involved, and it might have been just a one-time thing. Everyone's busy."
"Yeah, I guess. Seems that everyone on the docks works hard." Chelsea sighs, then giggles. "Guess we have to seize the moment, then!"
Sharon grins. "It's what we're doing, right? Taking opportunity when it comes up."
"Thinkin' the same damn thing." Chelsea holds her hand open across the table and gets a high-five from Sharon.
At that moment, Tanya shows up at the table dragging Sterling behind her, grabs her purse, and heads for the exit, leaving Sharon and Chelsea in stunned silence.
"She looked like she was about to give him one hell of a talking to," Chelsea notes when she finds her voice again.
"I do not envy him," Sharon agrees. "I've been on the receiving end."
"Me too." Chelsea giggles. "Nice to know she's looking out for us."
Sharon frowns. "I don't really need looking after."
"I think she just wants to be sure we're gonna have a good time. Either that or she's gonna gut Sterling like a flounder and leave him to die in the alley."
"In which case, if you wanna get laid, you'd better start checking out your prospects real quick."
"Nah, I'll just have you." Chelsea winks and blows her friend a kiss.
Sharon laughs, and the two of them lapse into easier discussion until Sterling and Tanya return.
The parking garage next to Club Argent is sparsely populated and dimly lit. Three cars are on the same level with Sharon's, none of them especially notable. Chelsea isn't talking, she doesn't trust her voice. The anticipation is building in the pit of her stomach, and she feels like she's trembling. She feels silly, in addition to nervous, energetic, aroused...
"Oh no you don't," Tanya says, putting her hand on Chelsea's as Chelsea's fingers land on the car door handle. "Sterling and I will take the back. You ride shotgun. If he's in the front, Sharon won't be driving her best."
"Why can't he sit in the back with me?" Chelsea asks. Even to her own ears she sounds like a petulant child.
"Because then Sharon will be distracted by the two of you behind her. So scoot. Sterling sits in the back with me until you all get wherever you're going."
Sterling just keeps quiet. Smart man, Chelsea thinks, walking around the car to sit up front next to Sharon. The two of them share an amused look about Tanya's meddling as Chelsea does up her seatbelt.
"There," Tanya says, strapping herself in. "Isn't that better?"
Sharon grins. "Now you can have Sterling all to yourself," she teases.
"It'll be the best five minutes of my life," Tanya growls.
"But your apartment's ten minutes away."
"Not if you actually get your shit-ass car in gear and drive."
Chelsea snickers. "Oh come on, Tanya, Sterling's all kinds of fun."
"Jesus, I danced with the guy, alright?" she huffs. "What more do you all want?"
"You... all realize I'm still here, right?" Sterling asks as Sharon pushes the starter button.
Tanya groans jokingly. "Ugh, don't you ever shut up?"
Chelsea and Sharon laugh. "Aw, come on, Tanya, I like the sound of his voice," Chelsea says, finally relaxing a little as Sharon starts to pull out of the parking space.
"Yeah, I'm sure you'll be hearing a lot of it tonight," Tanya says. "Probably a lot of moaning and shouting."
"Sounds likely," Sharon confirms. Chelsea knows that no-nonsense tone as a quiet warning to change the subject, and she knows Tanya will recognize it, too. And Chelsea's glad for that; the teasing that she and Sharon had shared in the club was much more friendly. Tanya's jokes have an edge on them, verging on meanness from time to time, and she could kill a mood like swatting a mosquito. It wasn't always deliberate on her part, but Chelsea figures that right now it's intentional.
"Any big plans for tonight?" Sterling asks, obviously directing the question to Tanya.
"Nah." The shrug is practically audible. "Got a bit of research to do for a client, but it's not a whole lot of trouble. I mean obviously if I had big plans I wouldn't be out and drinking, right?"
"That's pretty understandable."
Chelsea really does like the sound of his voice. It's soothing. She squirms in her seat, trying to be subtle about it, but hearing him talk, even saying such normal things, was making her wet.
Sharon looks over with an expression that says, You, too?, and Chelsea nods, feeling her cheeks get warm with embarrassment. Sharon just grins as she drives out of the garage and on to the street, focusing on getting their friend home safe.
Sterling, for his part, is still talking. "I imagine you're quite good at that sort of research. Sharon mentioned something about costuming, and information tech?"
"Two different parts of my life, but yeah." Tanya seems to have softened a bit.
"What sort of costuming?"
Chelsea shifts in her seat and carefully doesn't look at Sharon. Tanya lets out a breath. "Oh, you know. Whatever the play needs, right? I can find just about anything online, so when I sit down with a director, we work a bunch of stuff out and I go hunting. It's actually one of the more boring theater jobs out there."
"Oh, I don't think it would be boring."
"Not if you're interested in it," Tanya says. "But somehow I don't think a conflict resolution officer really wants to know about French cuffs and cutaway spreads."
Sterling chuckles. "Another time. I am interested, but somehow I don't think that we have the time right now to get into it."
"Might never get another chance," Tanya mutters.
"Oh, I'm sure in time we'll be the best of friends."
The idea sends a thrill through Chelsea. She hadn't been thinking beyond the one night, but the offered possibility of seeing him more sounds like something to be explored.
"Somehow, I doubt that, dockie."
Chelsea's stomach does a turn. She hopes that Sterling and Tanya can get along, at least. She looks at Sharon, and it seems that she's carrying the same worry; neither of them want to be forced into an awkward argument between the two.
Funnily enough, it doesn't occur to Chelsea to worry about what might happen between her and Sharon around Sterling.
"Anyway, I'm almost home," Tanya says. "We can talk costumes another day, alright?" She doesn't sound sincere about that.
"I look forward to it." Sterling's reply does sound genuine, at least.
A moment later, Tanya's climbing out of the car and heading into her apartment building, and Sharon lets out an audible sigh. The tension seems to leave the vehicle. "So," she asks, "where are we heading?"
"My apartment isn't far, and there's space there," Sterling offers from the back seat.
"I'm game," Sharon says, looking over. Chelsea nods, argeeing with a grin. Sharon's apartment is down by the docks and not especially big, and Chelsea is still living in her just-off-campus one-bedroom apartment and doesn't particularly feel like Sterling's first impression of her including movie posters on the wall, plastic cacti, and stuffed animals, not to mention the pile of unclean laundry in the middle of the floor.
"Where is this fabled apartment?" Sharon asks. "Got directions?"
Sterling does, unsurprisingly, have directions, and guides Sharon to an old three-story walkup. She parks the car on the road and the three of them emerge into the cool night. Sterling exudes an air of quiet confidence holding the door that makes Chelsea's giddy nervousness feel all the more obvious and uncomfortable, but that doesn't stop her excitment. Either Sterling and Sharon don't notice, or they're too polite to mention anything, as at Sterling's direction Chelsea leads the three of them up to the top floor and waits outside a door as Sterling gets his keys from his pocket.
Sterling's living room is the size of Chelsea's whole apartment, possibly more. Most prominent is the bar in one corner, but there's also a nice wooden dining table with four chairs near to that, a comfortable-looking armchair facing a decently-sized television, a couch at a right angle to that which Chelsea suspected had a pull-out bed, and a couple bookshelves stacked to overflowing with a wide assortment of literature. The bar has some unusual structure around it that suggests there had been walls there at some point, perhaps a whole extra room. Two closed doors and a third doorway suggest a bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen.
Sterling slips off his shoes, and Sharon and Chelsea follow suit. "What do you think?" he asks.
Sharon looks around. "I like it," she says, stepping into the room. "Roomy. Luxurious, even." She slips her long coat off, as though expecting it not to fall to the floor, and ever the gentleman, Sterling takes it and hangs it up.
"Yeah, it's nice," Chelsea adds, also slipping off her coat and handing it over to be hung in the closet.
Their host smiles and steps into the open space. "Make yourselves at home. Can I get either of you a drink?"
Chelsea shakes her head. "Maybe water? I had enough at the bar."
"Well, I'm done driving, so I don't have to be a good girl any more," Sharon replies with a smirk, moving towards the bar. "Do you have some good vodka? I could use a screwdriver."
"I do, in fact," Sterling says, moving in the opposite direction. "I keep the orange juice in the kitchen fridge, though, so I'll be right there."
Chelsea follows Sharon across the room, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. "This is... I dunno, this feels so normal," Chelsea says quietly.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I thought it would be, uh..." Chelsea shrugs. "Different? But it feels like a guy just took me home, except you're—"
Sharon cuts her off, turning on her heel and taking her hands, meeting her eyes with a fierce intensity in her gaze and a wicked grin. "Let me kiss you."
Almost without thinking, Chelsea gives a wide-eyed nod, and Sharon pulls her close by the hands, their mouths meeting in a warm, friendly gesture. She can feel Sharon's excitement, Sharon's hands squeezing hers, the warmth of Sharon's breath even through her mostly-closed mouth.
They pull apart after just a moment, leaving Chelsea wanting more. "Now it's different," Sharon says with a wink, turning back and pulling out a bar stool.
"It sure is," Chelsea agrees, standing still, a bit stunned. Sterling walks past her carrying a carton of orange juice, spurring her back into motion as she walks, more staggers, towards the dining set.
"Seems like the party's getting going," Sterling notes dryly, pulling down a glass and reaching under the bar for a clear half-empty bottle.
"It's going to be a good night," Sharon nods, looking over at Chelsea, who also nods, a dreamy smile on her face.
It is some time later. Chelsea isn't really certain how long, there isn't a clock on the wall.
She's sitting in a dining chair, staring off into space, a mostly-full glass of water sitting beside her. Her body thrums with excitement and untethered energy, and she can't seem to keep her legs still.
She takes a few deep breaths, listening to the sounds from the bedroom, the moans and gasps that her friend is making. She wants to be there with her, wants to feel her touch, and Sterling's, wants to feel their hands, their kisses, their embrace. She wants to fuck.
And yet, she's sitting at the dining table, listening, processing, gathering herself, still fully dressed.
"There's a party trick I used to do, back in college. And a little after."
She can still hear Sterling's assertion. Calm, easy, almost offhand. She can reconstruct the scene in her mind.
Sharon is sitting at the bar, holding the drink he had prepared for her, looking on with interest. But his eyes are fixed on Chelsea. "Would you like to be my guinea pig?"
She would. She did. She had stood in the middle of the room at his direction. She sips at the water beside her, recollecting.
"The rules are these," Sterling says. "I only touch you with my hands, which stay between your hips," he puts a hand on her hip by way of demonstration, "and your shoulders." He puts the other on her shoulder. "I don't touch your legs, I don't touch your face. And I don't touch anything under your bra, although with your permission I might put my hands under your shirt."
She nods, curious. "That's fine."
He had been confident the whole night, except where Tanya had thrown him off his game in a couple moments, but now he appears... cocky. Oversure. "And the game is this. Without touching any of your private places, using only my hands and my voice, I'm going to make you orgasm."
"You used to do this at parties?" Sharon asks in surprise.
Sterling just chuckles in reply.
Chelsea, meanwhile, had been intrigued, and very nervous. She was going to let this man touch her, make her come, in full view of Sharon.
But... on the other hand, her body would be covered. It wasn't public sex, it was just... just her. She takes a deep breath.
"I need you standing strong, like you're about to play volleyball or something. Legs apart, knees bent, well-balanced, not stiff. I don't want you passing out or falling over."
And yet she nearly had. She swallows as Sharon lets out a loud moan, her hand almost unconsciously slipping between her legs.
"Now, are you left- or right-handed?"
Right, of course.
"Then I'll start with the left hand." He takes her left hand in his own, standing just to her side, bending her elbow to ninety degrees. "Because I'll want you to notice the contrast when I move to the right."
Hands are, he explained, nerve-centers of the body. It's why we're so good at manipulating objects with our fingers.
And he ran a finger along hers, so lightly, a soft touch, not so soft as to tickle, but running back and forth easily. "I'm very good at manipulating with my fingers."
Chelsea presses her fingers between her legs, pressing her panties against her wet skin, as Sharon loudly gasps in the bedroom. She wonders if Sharon is feeling the same touch as she had, or if he's manipulating her with a different part of his body.
Chelsea glances at the blue top left by the bedroom door. She feels it's safe to assume that he's not playing by the same rules as he had with her, regardless of what he's using.
He moves on to the palm of her hand, after slowly stroking each finger, taking his time, almost luxuriating over it. "This isn't a fast process," he explains. "Your fingers are now primed, the nerves in them tingling, aware of my own touch, even remembering it. And I can see you trying to process it. Sometimes it's easier to process if you close your eyes, let your brain focus not on what it sees but on what it feels and what it hears."
She let her eyes fall closed, feeling his fingers make small circles on the palm of her hand. She closes her eyes again, remembering the touch, as her hand pulls away from her crotch, only to slip it instead under the waistband of her skirt and her panties and putting her sensitive fingers directly on that sensitive, damp skin.
Sharon gives a low, slow moan, covering up Chelsea's own quiet noises of pleasure.
His finger is running the length of her left hand, from wrist to fingertip, moving out to the edge of one finger, back across her palm, and to her wrist, before choosing another finger apparently at random. And then there were two fingers on hers. Her knees felt weak, but her stance kept her steady.
And through it all, he's talking. About the softness of his touch, the sensitivity of her hands, the way nerves interconnect in body and mind. About the way she can imagine his fingers elsewhere, what they might do without the rules of the game to restrict them.
Her fingers curl, brushing her clit lightly. She hears Sharon giving a cry of what sounds like delight. Those two sensations together don't match the power of her memory.
His hands were under her shirt, fingers and palms working her belly and ribs, never approaching her breasts. Her left hand tingles with remembered touch, quivering even though it had fallen to her side with inattention. The touches of his hands on her body were curiously not nearly as affecting as the twitching in her palm, and his words are reflecting that.
"The ribs are very sensitive," he's saying. "Ticklish, even, which is why I'm using my whole palm and not my fingertips. But even though I'm rubbing over such a large area, you're still thinking about your left hand. And you're imagining what I can do with the even more sensitive right."
Her knees had been trembling, then. Sharon had to see it. Her breath had been shuddering. Sterling had to feel it, given where his hands were.
But her mind. Leaning into his words, she had felt her control start to slip.
Her body had not helped. She'd felt her nipples peak against her bra. She had been very, very wet, even then. She believed. She had known that he was right. If he had kept going, if he had touched her right hand, if he had done the same thing to it that he had to the left, she would have buckled, her knees would give out, and she would have orgasmed right there.
And she might have lost control.
The glass of water is in her left hand.
"I need to... I'm sorry, I want to go on..." she says.
And Sterling is there, immediately, standing in front of her, his hands at his sides. "Open your eyes, Chelsea, are you alright?"
She does, she sees his concern, and she smiles. "Oh my God, yes, I'm... I'm so good, everything's wonderful, I just... I have to stop, I have to... to think about this."
His worry doesn't leave his expression. "Can I help?"
She shakes her head. "No, no please. This has been amazing, I just need a breath. A quick break."
Sharon's standing beside him. "You're alright? Did he..."
Her smile grows. "Sharon, it's really amazing, I'm not kidding. If you kept going I'd have—"
The glass of water in her left hand begins to frost over. I'd have revealed my power.
She let out a long, slow moan as cold fingers slid over her clitoris. She'd never been that close to truly losing control in years, and never because of sex. Stress burning into anger? sure. Sadness and despair? absolutely. But sex had never made her come so close to slipping.
"You have to let him try it, Share," she says, forcing herself to show excitement and joy, letting the heat in her mind and body guide her expression. It isn't a challenge, the excitement and joy are genuine, it's just tempered within her by the terror of the mere possibility of coming untethered. "I really just need to sit down. Honestly. Sterling, please stop worrying, it was really wonderful, and I want more. In a few minutes."
Sharon is clearly warring with herself, and Sterling is showing conflict as well, so Chelsea takes matters into her own hands, wrapping her arms around Sterling and giving him a deep, passionate kiss. He loosens up immediately and relaxes, his tongue dancing with hers delightfully, almost playfully. And even that is enough to relax her some, make her feel better, grant her a measure of control, so that when she turned to Sharon and did the same, her friend can tell that she's honest about her words, about just needing a break, about enjoying every moment.
Even enjoying being on the edge of losing control.
Sharon gives voice to pleasure in the bedroom, and Chelsea shudders in orgasm in the dining chair. Her hand squeezes as her body convulses in the release of tension. She realizes, catching her breath, regaining her composure, that both her hands are wet, the right with her bodily fluids, the left...
Water. And blood.
The glass had broken, looking like it had been dropped on the table, although she knows better. Her hand was cut, sliced open across the palm, and is bleeding.
Her nursing sense kicks in immediately, assessing the damage even as her breathing starts to calm. Curious detachment as the adrenaline fades. It's a shallow, clean cut, about two inches long. Bleeding, but not bad, just needs a bandage. The glass didn't shatter, not entirely, and there was nothing in the wound.
She stands up, shaking the water off her arm, cupping her hand to keep from bleeding on anything. Sterling emerges from the bedroom in his boxers and a t-shirt. "Chelsea? Are you alright? I heard noises."
She laughs easily. "You heard the glass break over Sharon?" She grins. "Everything's just fine. Although I could use a bandage and you might want to watch your step here." She gingerly moves away from the table. "I'm kind of ruining your fun night, aren't I."
He shakes his head. "It's still a fun night. And not just the glass, I heard you cry out."
Sharon appears in the doorway before Chelsea can process that statement. Her shirt and bra are gone, and she's holding an arm across her chest, trying to cover up. "Chels, you okay?"
Chelsea nods, walking slowly across the floor. "Just had a little hand failure." She points at the broken glass, a jagged half of it still standing on the table. Then, turning back to the other two, she winks. "I was distracted by something I heard in the bedroom."
Sharon blushes. "I hope it was a good distraction."
"Oh, it was. I want to hear that sound a lot more. Maybe make it a few times myself." She's an arm's length from Sterling now. "Just... uh..." she falters, embarrassed for her need of help. She opens her hand, feeling the sting of the injury. "We should probably get this dealt with first, so I don't bleed all over you two."
"I have a first aid kit in the bathroom," Sterling says, all business. "Come on."
The wound isn't that bad, but that doesn't matter at all.
Sharon holds Chelsea's hand—the undamaged hand—and wraps her arm around Chelsea's back to hold her, almost as a frame for her to lean into. Chelsea was very aware of Sharon's bare breasts pressing against her upper arm and Sharon's warm breath on her jaw and neck.
Sterling is dabbing the wound with a soft, damp cloth—or, rather, he's cleaning the blood from around the cut, carefully.
"You have great hands," Chelsea remarks. Sharon gives an affirmative half-chuckle, half growl in the back of her throat; Chelsea can see her smile in the mirror.
"Professional opinion?" he asks, not looking up from his work.
"Definitely," she says, leaning a little into Sharon's body, feeling Sharon shift to accommodate her weight.
"I trained as a field medic when I worked as a labor organizer," Sterling explains, cleaning up the last of the blood. "Kept up my first aid certifications, you never know when it might be useful."
"I'm scheduled for a class next week," Sharon adds. "Everyone on the maintenance team is being trained."
"Great plan," Chelsea says, looking down at her hand. "That's not that bad. Got gauze?"
"I do." Sterling pulls some from the kit, along with a cloth bandage to wrap the wound. He gently lifts her hand, his fingers once more running along hers, and she leans more on Sharon for support. Sharon holds her up easily, leans in close, and kisses her cheek.
"Mmm, not fair," Chelsea murmurs as Sterling presses the gauze into her palm.
"Shh," Sharon whispers. "Let us take care of you."
Sterling starts to wrap the gauze, running the cloth between her thumb and index finger, across the back of her hand, and around to the other side, always moving so slowly, carefully, sensuously. Sharon's hand slips under her waistband to cup her ass through her panties, at the same time as she nibbles at Chelsea's earlobe.
"Did he..." Chelsea moans and closes her eyes. "Did he do... the thing with his hands?"
The thing he's currently doing with his hands to hers. Again.
"Oh yes," Sharon whispers. "It's even better when you let him wander."
"I'm ready," Chelsea breathes. She's in control, now, prepared for anything. Even the hands slowly guiding her arms over her head, lifting her shirt gently up and over them. Even the quiet words in her ears that made her legs want to turn to jelly. Even her friend carefully undoing her bra, turning her on her feet, and pressing their bodies together in a warm, excited kiss.
Even as Sharon took her by the hands and led her, eyes still closed, to Sterling's bedroom, which she only knows because Sharon sits her on the edge of the bed. Sterling sits behind her, or probably kneels, his hands slipping under her arms to hold her breasts, his fingers doing the same erotic dance there that they had over her hand.
If she had been standing, she would definitely have fallen over. Her mind knows, from the feeling in her sides, that she's let out air in a moan, but she can't process the sound of it, not over the roar of her blood pounding in her head, not over Sterling's whispers in her ears.
Her skirt is gone. She has Sharon to thank for that. She can think back to a few seconds ago when her friend's hands loosened the tie and roughly slid it from her legs, but while it was happening, her thoughts had been elsewhere.
Her body is melting, sinking into Sterling's arms. Sharon is kissing her legs, her knees and thighs. Sterling's fingers are circling her nipples. She's certain that Sharon can tell that she's extremely wet. Everything is trembling, muscles she wasn't aware of before this moment are twitching.
She's overloaded, and she loves it.
And even as her body rides waves of pleasure, even as that wave pushes coherent thought from her mind, she guards that small section of herself, that little bit that she won't let slip, not a second time. And because it's safe, because she knows it's safe, she can let everything else go.
She lets everything else go.
She convulses in joy, hands grabbing hold of the blankets beside her, upper body cradled in Sterling's caring grip, legs held close by Sharon's arms. By some agreement, spoken or not Chelsea couldn't tell, Sharon and Sterling stop their ministration and just hold her as she gasps for air, slowly settling down in a process that seems to take even longer than the build-up.
There's an expectant silence in the air, no sound but three people breathing, until Chelsea finally takes a deep gulp of air, lets it out slowly, and finally speaks.
"Wow," she says.
Sharon pops up between her legs. "And you still have your panties on," she points out with a grin. "Wait 'til we get those off you."
"Hey, I'm still the least-dressed person here," Chelsea drawls wearily. "Before my panties come off at least one of you has to get more naked." She looks up at Sterling. "No offense, Sharon, but I'm hoping it's him."
"You sound like you're a bit worn out," Sterling says. There's something beautiful about his voice, something that reminds Chelsea of the sun glinting off ocean waves. She feels a little of that motion, slouched against him, almost like the whole bed is adrift on a lazy lake.
"Must be the blood loss," she jokes. She lifts her injured hand and looks at it. "Heh, not even a little red through the gauze. Barely cut myself."
"You do seem tired," Sterling continues, as the bed sways slowly back and forth in Chelsea's mind. "Maybe you ought to have a little rest for a bit."
Sharon helps her to sit up, and Chelsea scoots back onto the king-sized bed. "Mmm, maybe let Sharon have a turn?"
"You wanna watch, sweetie?" Sharon asks, sitting on the edge of the bed and slipping off her own pants.
Sterling moves out of the way as Chelsea pushes herself up towards the pillows. "From the looks of it, that's what she's wanting."
She can't deny it. She feels warm and wonderful all over, and she just wants to share that feeling with everyone, or at least everyone in this bed. She imagines those flickering patterns of light off the water again, dancing in time with Sterling's calm voice, the slow imagined swirl of the bed-turned-raft, glistening on the white spackled ceiling.
Sterling slips off his undershit, revealing his soft chest and stomach. He's not in poor shape, but he's no adonis. Chelsea doesn't care. Even if she was so shallow, given what he's capable of doing with his hands it wouldn't matter. He lounges back against the pillows, tantalizingly close, but Chelsea can't find the energy to do much about that. She wants to watch, for now.
Sharon turns around. "There. All equal. But won't be that way for long, will we, Sterling."
"You mean that you're going to crawl up here, slip my boxers off, and give me pleasure."
Chelsea imagines that light-on-the-waves feeling reflecting in Sharon's eyes, fantasizes that the swaying movement of her body is a part of the roll of the floating bed. For her part, Sharon nods, and crawls up alongside Sterling opposite Chelsea, and together, they pull his boxers down. He's already stiffly erect.
"Someone's been enjoying the show," Sharon observes, stalking closer. "What do you think, Chels? He's given us both an orgasm, maybe it's time to return the favor." She wraps her hand around his shaft and starts stroking.
"It's only fair," Chelsea replies, curling up next to Sterling. "Mind if I just hold on and watch?"
"No," Sterling and Sharon both say, a moment before Sharon slides her body up close and licks his hard cock, and Sterling leans back into the pillows with a happy moan.
Chelsea laughs. "Sounds like you've had a long day, too."
Sterling lets out a soft sigh, his voice and breath broken by the obvious pleasure of having Sharon sucking on him. "I really have. Dancing can take a lot out of me, I guess."
Chelsea runs her injured hand over his lower back. "Not too much, I hope. I'm getting a little worked up here." Her right hand holds to his knee as she nibbles on his hip, causing him to buck into Sharon's mouth, which in turn causes her to move away, pause, and laugh before resuming.
A little chain reaction. Chelsea smiles and snuggles closer, careful not to cause another mishap. "A bit ticklish, Sterling?"
"Sometimes," he breathes. "Especially when... mnmm... I'm not expecting it." He squirms a little, carefully. "Sharon's very... whew... very good at this."
Sharon lets go and sits up on her heels, proudly displaying her breasts to the other two. To Chelsea, she seemed strong, powerful, in control. Certainly her body, obviously something she takes great pride in maintaining, is an accomplishment, one which she seems to enjoy having eyes on.
"Swimming teaches breath control," she says, sliding her panties down to her knees and then lunging forward to slip them off, pressing her body against Sterling and smothering him with a powerful kiss. She pulls her knees up close, adjusting herself until she's teasing the tip of his cock with her slit. She gives him a questioning look, waiting for permission, and he hardly hesitates before nodding.
Chelsea watches her face as she impales herself on him, the beautiful shining in her eyes, the gasp on her mouth. She looks down Sharon's body, admiring the way her muscles ripple as pushes herself along Sterling's body. She can't help but look at herself with a bit of regret, not having a body like that; she's powerful, strong, but Sharon looks in this moment like she's built for sex, and not just sex, but wild, exotic, athletic, hanging-from-the-ceiling fucking.
She also can't help but think that that sort of energy might just kill the soft man at least a decade older than them that Sharon is presently, savagely riding.
Chelsea chuckles to herself, listening to the two of them gasp and moan. I should have gone first, she thinks as she slips her own panties off. Sterling's going to be dead tired after she's done with him.
Sterling's hands come up from the bed to rest on Sharon's chest, and Chelsea's hands do the same for her own, imagining them to be his, remembering what his hands had done to her only a few minutes before. The sound of his pleasure combines with her imaginings of his words, the feeling of her own fingers becomes the memory of his, and Sharon's moans of joy might as well have come from her own voice. The waves of light pass over and around and through her, and her right hand makes its way between her legs, for the second time that night playing with herself to the sound of Sharon's sexual exultations.
There is no question of losing control. She wants to watch, she's too tired to do much more, at least until she regains her strength.
Since he's leaned back some, she can't see Sterling's expression from where she's lying, but she can watch Sharon and dream of being her. From what Chelsea can tell, there's nothing special that either of them are doing. Sterling seems to be barely moving his lower body, letting Sharon do most of the work, but he sure isn't still; his hands are in constant motion, one at Sharon's breast, the other on her ass. Sharon, meanwhile, is pressing down on his shoulders, rocking her body back and forth, up and down, in a display nearly as mesmerizing as Sterling's voice had proven earlier.
As she softly bucks her hips, not wanting to disturb the others, Chelsea wonders how she must look during sex. She's never seen herself. She wonders if Sharon knows just how stunning she is.
And Chelsea laughs at herself again. She should be focused on Sterling, shouldn't she?
But she can't see him well, and Sharon's amazing body is right in front of her. In a disconnected moment, she remembers Sharon being concerned that she might be seen as mannish, but Chelsea can't see her as anything but a feminine ideal. Beautiful blonde curls flowing around her soft face, the pretty green silk choker still around her neck, her solid frame supporting large tear-drop breasts, powerful hips and abdomen moving and flexing with every push from her forceful legs. She looks like an ancient amazonian warrior, anything but male, the picture of a goddess.
She's watching who she wants to be, she realizes. And with a little discipline, a proper training regimen, and time, who she can be—well, minus the curls. Who the Bright Society probably expects her to be.
She frowns, slowing down her motions even as Sharon's speeding up. She didn't want to think about the Society right now. That means thinking about her power, and that means thinking about what happened earlier. She wants to think about what's happening now, as Sharon is quite clearly driving herself towards orgasm. And Sterling, too, whose hands Chelsea could see on Sharon's lower back, holding tight, almost clutching. There were enough people in the bed without the Society joining them.
Tonight isn't about expectations. Tonight is about joy.
Sharon's joy is peaking, demonstrably and loudly, as her whole body tenses with the sound of her ecstasy. A moment later, Chelsea can see and feel Sterling tense up as well, and his long, loud moan mixes with Sharon's cries and gasps. And while it's not orgasm, that joy is contageous, and Chelsea is swept up in the moment, feeling waves of pleasure like waves on the sea, shining like the sun-dappled water. Some of that pleasure, she knows, is excitement, anticipation for her own moment.
As the two others collapsed together on the bed, or more realistically as Sharon let herself collapse onto Sterling, Chelsea turns onto her side. "I thought I said don't steal him," she mock-complains, her hand running over her friend's back.
"Steal him?" Sharon pants in reply. "I'm just warming him up for you."
"The main event..." Sterling puffs, "Is yet to come."
Sharon rolls off Sterling to the opposite side of the bed from Chelsea. "That was... wow."
Chelsea grins. "I could tell. Seemed awfully 'wow' from where I was."
"Hm, I saw you enjoying yourself," Sterling says. "You must be in a state."
She runs her hand over his chest. "I really want you to just get on me now."
Sterling nods. "You know that it'll have to wait, though."
Sharon props herself up on her side and looks directly at Chelsea. "We'll find something to do in the meantime."
"If it's anything like earlier..." Chelsea left that hanging.
"Well," Sterling says, and his voice seems to draw the attention of both women. "Why don't I get cleaned up, and let the two of you have the bed."
Chelsea squirms and kisses his arm. "Don't be too long," she says.
"Wouldn't dream of it," he replies, cupping her chin with his hand, bringing her eyes up to meet his. "This is your celebration, after all."
My celebration. The words, and the thought, send a spark through Chelsea.
"Let's celebrate," Sharon agrees. She pushes herself up into a sitting position as Sterling slips past her to sit on the edge of the bed. "Come here, Chels."
Chelsea rolls onto her front in the space that Sterling has just vacated. She kisses Sharon's thigh gently, tasting the slight salty flavor of her friend's perspiration. Hearing small sounds of encouragement, she keeps going, kissing her way up to the outside of Sharon's hip, then up her side. She pauses at Sharon's chest and looks up at her.
Sharon looks back down, smiles, and nods.
Chelsea, a little reluctantly, kisses around the edges of Sharon's large breast. Sharon's hand finds its way to the back of her head, encouraging, massaging, and soon Chelsea is enthusiastically licking, kissing, and sucking, her own pleasure growing in line with her friend's.
"It seems like the rest did you good," Sterling says as his hand strokes her ass, and he's right. "You definitely seem a lot more energetic than you were only a few minutes ago." Like when his fingers were running over her hands, his touch on her bottom sends shivers through her whole mind and body, and his words seem powerfully true. "I just know that you and Sharon are going to have a great time until I get back."
"Mmm, where are you going?" Sharon asks. Her voice is thick with arousal, but Chelsea notices a certain odd, surreal quality to it as well, almost like she's hearing it in a dream.
"Just to get a drink," Sterling replies. "Do either of you need anything?"
"Nn-nmm," Chelsea responds in the negative, her mouth still occupied with Sharon's chest.
"Water," Sharon answers in turn.
Sterling gets up off the bed. Sharon takes Chelsea's head in her hands and gently separates Chelsea's mouth from her chest. The look in her eyes is warm, dreamy, as she guides Chelsea higher. Chelsea obliges, kissing Sharon's cleavage, her collarbone just below the silk choker, her chin and then, slowly, tenderly, the two share a deep and passionate kiss.
The two friends look in each others' eyes. "I could get used to this," Chelsea says. Sharon just smiles and pulls her in to another kiss.
Despite her musculature, Sharon can be wonderfully soft.
Much of the next moments pass as a blur as Chelsea and Sharon kiss, and kiss again. Sharon's hands do wonderful things on Chelsea's scalp, neck, shoulders, sides... She doesn't have the touch that Sterling has, but it's lovely all the same. The kissing ends, and Sharon directs Chelsea to turn around, to sit between her legs. Chelsea obliges her, pressing her body into Sharon's, feeling warmth of shared heat, breasts pushing into her back, wetness on her bottom from Sharon's pussy.
Sharon starts again by attending to Chelsea's bare head, her hands running over the smooth, sensitive skin, kneading deeply, nibbling at Chelsea's shoulder in a way that made it hard for her to catch her breath. This is the first time she's had any sort of sexual encounter since she shaved, and she's loving the way Sharon's fingers make her feel.
Those fingers drift down over the sides of her face, and she takes the opportunity to reach up and grab hold of Sharon's right hand, pulling it to her mouth to kiss each individual finger, listening to Sharon chuckle behind her. The hands are on her shoulders, now, rubbing away tensions, loosening stiff muscles, and then they're slipping under her arms and around her body, cupping her breasts, playing with her nipples, all while Sharon's lips kiss and nip at her head, neck, and shoulders.
Her own hand is between her legs. She isn't sure when it got there, and it doesn't matter. With every touch, with every caress and every kiss, every encouraging word, she's pushing herself a little more into the body of the woman behind her. Everything has a warm glow, a beautiful sunset haze around it. Sterling is watching, has been for some time, she realizes, and she's unembarrassed; in fact, his presence, his eyes on her body, only makes those celebratory feelings stronger.
My celebration, the thought echoes, reverberates, in the orange glow of her mind. Sharon is moving like a woman possessed now, acting with single-minded intention focused on Chelsea's sexual pleasure. She can feel those powerful legs at her sides, under her hands, and only then realizes that Sterling's mouth and tongue are now doing the job that her hand had been a moment or an eternity before. Time is dissolving into the most beautiful purples and reds as she struggles to make any sense of anything, and finally gives in, letting everything—almost everything—go for the third time that night.
Sharon again provides a frame of support as Chelsea's body arcs backwards into her, a frame for her to press into as Sterling tends to her need.
And then Sterling is kneeling in front of her, looking her in the eye as she gulps in air, nerves singing, muscles trembling. "Fuck," she breathes. "Holy fuck."
"Feels good, Chels?" It takes a moment to recognize Sharon's soft voice in her ear.
"Better than I've ever felt, I think," she replies, to which Sterling's smile broadens.
"Want to go one more round in a few minutes?" he asks. There's no demand in his voice, no pleading, just a request for information.
Chelsea takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Maybe," she says genuinely. "Let's have a breath and see." She snuggles back into Sharon, slouching down, lounging with her head on Sharon's bosom.
Sterling settles next to the pair, running his fingers over Chelsea's arm, using more force than he had when he had so powerfully demonstrated his touch at the start of the evening. It was comforting. Relaxing, not ennervating. She hears the deep blue evening whorling into the red-and-orange sunset again and realizes that Sterling is speaking. Sharon shifts behind her, seeming to settle into the pillows. Sterling is adjusting things on the bed, but that feels so very distant as the colors rise up.
She realizes that she's falling asleep. She can't seem to find the energy to be concerned about it.