When they arrived again at Gianni's, Thalia was beginning to doubt her prophetic dream theory. Without so much as touching the tea, she had found herself just as helpless to Penny's whims; she had changed into the girlish outfit wordlessly, she had listened intently to her instructions, and she had clung to her arm the entire walk over. Her vision still wavered and faded to black at its edges—and it got worse the further she drifted from Penny. The only difference was that this time, Thalia was cognizant of every detail. Her subconscious screamed as her body was puppeteered through the evening—as she scooted her chair closer to Penny's—as she pouted when Penny pulled her arm out of her grasp to open up the menu—as she hung her head low while the waiter introduced himself (his name was James), and kept her hands folded in her lap.

It was in this position that she heard Christina approach and greet Penny excitedly, and she continued to stare at her own shoes while she shook Christina's hand. (She didn't know why she was so nervous to look at Christina. Even just thinking about it made Thalia's brain start to seep into her mouth, staining her tongue with iron. If she actually looked at the woman in front of her, she feared something else would fill in that space.)

"Anything else to drink, ladies?"

"Oh yeah—should we try that Barbaresco we were looking at last time?"

"For sure. I have gotta find out how drunk I can get you."

Penny laughed. "It'll be fun to see you try," she said, and ordered their bottle of wine.

"Not very talkative, is she?" Christina asked, once James had folded back into the bustle of wait staff shuffling by.

"She's been real shy so far, yeah. But, I mean," Penny patted Thalia gently on the head, "we can work on that. I was thinkin' this time we'd just let her enjoy the show."

"Hey, whatever gets me in that dress again."

Thalia couldn't believe what she was hearing. When they went quiet, she dared a glance up to find both of them hidden behind the gigantic menu, whispering over the different dishes in excitement. Her nerves fried and her vision frayed at every glimpse of Penny's face: her eyes were bright and wide, and everything Christina said made her grin a goofy, toothy smile.

Thalia deftly dropped her stare when James returned, holding a large bottle of ruby-colored wine with a parchment label covered in delicately painted, shimmering rose petals. He poured a sample into Penny's glass—of which she eagerly took a whiff and sipped, nodding faux-sophisticatedly and getting a chuckle from Christina—suggested meal pairings, and finally began taking orders. She tapped her finger twice next to the spaghetti and meatballs on her menu when he asked what "the young lady" would like.

"So Thalia," Christina said, "how long have you lived in Seattle?"

"Um," Thalia started and stopped. She had to think bizarrely long to recall her history. "Five years?" Her eyes were still locked on the table.

"Speak up, kid, I can barely hear you! Didn't Penny tell you it's rude not to make eye contact?"

The way she spoke plunged a marionette string right through Thalia's skull; it took hold of her posture and corrected it without her input. Her head tilted slowly upward to meet Christina's gaze, and her spine clicked into place upright. Once she was there, her eyes locked in place, held by another taut, invisible string stretching out across the table extruding from Christina's eyes.

She recognized the face of the woman sitting across from her instantly—she was, in fact, the very same Christina Morris she had met earlier that day. She had the same auburn hair, pulled into a tight, high bun that showed off the metallic stud earrings she was wearing; the same sharp, angular eyebrows framing the same bright green eyes; the same round head and slightly tilted nose. But if not for her face, Thalia would have thought this was an entirely different person. Instead of the schoolteacher dress from earlier, now she was wearing a burgundy button-up with its top two buttons undone, tucked loosely into a pair of baggy forest green slacks, complete with matching suspenders—and in contrast to Thalia's corrected, upright posture, she was slouched, an arm slung over the back of her chair and the other holding her wine glass aloft.

"Now, tell me again," she said languidly, taking a sip, "how long have you lived here?"

"F-five years," Thalia replied, and then added hastily, "Ms. Morris."

"Good. That's lovely." She smiled. "Now remember to keep your head up, got it?"

The smile, the tiny bit of praise, the command—each one pulsed into Thalia's forehead along that invisible string and gummed up her thoughts. Christina was speaking to her completely differently than Penny had: instead of slow, saccharine condescension and stern instruction, Christina's tone was relaxed, natural, conversational; it draped around Thalia's skull firmly, but comfortably.

Christina flashed another cheeky grin and turned back to Penny. "She learns quick, at least. How long did you say you'd lived here?"

The two of them continued to make idle small talk until the food arrived; it all appeared remarkably innocent. But Thalia could see past the veneer of polite conversation. She could see the total admiration in Penny's eyes while Christina told an exceptionally dirty story about a conference she had attended in Denver—where she flirted with (and, in her words, "bedded") a fresh-faced intern just out of college—and she could see the way Penny clung onto Christina's shoulder as the two of them laughed uproariously about it. She could see the pointed looks that Christina shot her way, ensuring that she was watching. And of course she was. She couldn't take her eyes away. She watched with immovable horror as this absurdly hot dyke flirted with her girlfriend. It froze over her insides and thawed them out, stale and crumbly like bread in the microwave. And even once dinner did arrive, it couldn't soak up the dread that was pooling in her lungs and drowning her. The two women tried bites of each others' food while Thalia picked unenthusiastically at her pathetic little plate of pasta. 

"You need some help with that?" Christina asked after a while, dripping with mock-sweetness. 

Thalia emphatically shook her head and got back to work. Christina shrugged and dumped the remaining wine into Penny's glass while she was busy chatting with James about the check. She was more than a little drunk—Christina had stealthily made sure that her glass was never empty. In fact, Thalia had never seen her this toasted before. She had always been careful to mention when they went out that her estrogen shots completely tanked her tolerance, typically limiting herself to only one or two drinks at most. But now she was talking loudly, slurring her words together and practically falling over herself to maintain physical contact with Christina. What kind of havoc had this woman wrought on that last day of the conference?

Thalia shoveled in the final bites of her spaghetti and quietly excused herself to the restroom.

"Oh, I'll come with you," Christina said, standing up and patting Penny's head when she pouted about it. "Don't worry, we'll be quick." She dug her credit card out of her wallet and flicked it onto the table like it was a playing card. "Here, in case he comes back while we're gone."

Thalia tried to slip ahead of Christina while she was busy assuring Penny, but she caught up quickly and placed a hand on her shoulder to guide her through the maze of tables.

"Wouldn't want you getting lost," she said with a grin.

Thalia jerked her shoulder away and scowled, pushing open the door to the women's room.

Christina laughed. "We should work on that attitude of yours. Something the matter, kid?"

"You know what's the matter."

"I'd still love to hear you say it."

Thankfully, the stalls were all vacated. Thalia wheeled around on her heel and pointed a finger accusingly at Christina's chest.

"I can see what you're doing. I'm not stupid. That's my girlfriend you're getting drunk and flirting with!" Her voice bounced off the tile and reverberated back into her skull until her forehead felt like it might shatter. "I see how she looks at you! It makes me sick! She doesn't know that you—that—and I don't know why…" She searched for her long-departed train of thought, staring down at the ground to gather more courage, before snapping her head back up and starting over. "I d-don't know what you made her do to me, but it—it's not gonna work. Penny loves me! She loves me! She wouldn't just—she wouldn't throw it all away on a crush!"

Christina looked Thalia up and down for a moment before she suddenly burst out laughing. "Oh, kid," she wheezed, in between heaving breaths, "you're adorable. You're just clueless, huh? Was it the drink or are you just that stupid?"

"I—but… I d-don't—"

The door opened and a tall woman in a long black overcoat swept into a stall, leering at the two of them the whole time.

"C'mon." Christina whispered, as she lightly patted Thalia's cheek. "We should get going soon."

After arriving home, Penny trotted off to the bedroom to get changed, while Christina sat beside Thalia on the couch without leaving an inch of space between them.

"Alright," she said gruffly, placing an arm next to Thalia and boxing her in as she folded into herself, knees up to her chin, "I still want an answer. Was it the drink or are you just clueless? Do you have any idea what's happening to you?"

Thalia looked away, petulantly. "I th-thought it was just a nightmare that came true, but…"

Christina snapped her fingers and the sound yanked Thalia's eyes back into their place: strung up, meeting hers. She grabbed her chin and held it firmly in place.

"Eye contact, darling. I thought we went over this."

"S-sorry." Thalia fought the urge to break her gaze again. Not that she could anyway, with Christina's hand holding her jaw in a vice grip.

"I shoulda guessed a stupid thing like you would assume it was a dream or some bullshit," she sighed. "It's really much simpler than all that. It was her idea at first—it started out as a joke; making you watch the moment I steal her from you over and over—but gosh," she said, leaning back now, a smirk treading across her face like a parade of ants, "you should've seen the way she lit up when I told her I actually could maintain a half-decent time-loop. In all honesty, it's so simple that even you could do it. One measly little potion every day, and you don't even need anything nasty like frog toes or fetal rabbits or whatever. I always hate that shit."

While Christina continued rambling about ingredients, everything finally snapped into place for Thalia. The string quivered, her daze temporarily shattered by the revelation. It seemed so obvious in hindsight. She was so stupid—and that self-chiding thought dislodged the words that Penny had planted in her brain the first time through this nightmare. Helplessly immature. Pathetic. Can't be trusted. 

Just as Thalia's eyes refocused on Christina to see that her smirk had become a full-blown grin, Penny emerged from the bedroom in gym shorts and an oversized t-shirt, with her hair tied back in a bouncy ponytail. Thalia shriveled at the sight of her girlfriend dressed so comfortably in the company of this near stranger. Her head rocketed from one to the other as Christina drank in Penny's outfit (which somehow left even less to the imagination than her dress). Penny giggled and did a girlish twirl for her, nearly toppling over in the process. 

"How's she doin'?" Penny asked as she stumbled toward Christina, who was already wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her.

"Good. I explained a few things to her since she was a bit slow on the uptake, poor thing."

"H-hey—"

"Awwww." Penny steamrolled right through Thalia's protest. "I think she's due for another dose, too. She didn't have it earlier."

"Shit, really?" Christina's tone changed suddenly. "I told you, she needs it every time," she snapped, "or else—"

"I know, I know, sorry," Penny said quickly and vanished, reappearing with the mug of tea (which somehow still had steam curling upward from inside it). Christina took it and leaned back towards Thalia, filling her periphery. She was vaguely aware of Penny moving behind her and placing hands firmly on her shoulders. Christina's eyes, as ever, locked hers in place.

"Open up," she said, a slight growl hovering in the low end of her voice.

"But um—" Thalia was interrupted again, this time by Christina shoving the mug between her lips. She swallowed a gulp despite herself, and almost immediately could feel the familiar warmth seeping into her bloodstream and dulling her.

"There you go. Doesn't that feel better?"

Thalia nodded, absently. The resistance, the embarrassment and shame that she had felt not moments ago were quickly becoming faint memories. This did feel better; it was right for her to be so dumb and helpless and malleable for… for… Christina? That didn't make any sense. Where was Penny? She struggled feebly against the hands on her shoulders, searching for her girlfriend.

"You looking for her?" Christina mocked, stifling a giggle. With her free hand, she pushed Thalia's chin straight up—far enough to see Penny, upside-down, standing behind the arm of the couch, hands locking her in place. "It's like I told you, it was her idea. Making you watch a better woman steal her from you. Teach you what your real place is." At this, Penny's face went bright pink and she looked away. 

"But me," Christina continued, "I have bigger plans."

Thalia was steadily losing the clarity and comprehension that she had been chasing all evening. "B-bigger… plans…?"

"That's right," Christina said condescendingly, tilting Thalia's head back down. "Much bigger." She was leaning down to Thalia's eye level, and her partially-unbuttoned shirt hung loose around her upper body. Thalia's stare drifted downwards for a half-second, catching on Christina's not-unimpressive breasts, bound tightly in a black sports bra. 

She immediately noticed Thalia's wandering eyes, and snorted amusedly. "Fucking creep."

"W-wh—no, I just… I wasn't… I didn't m-mean to—"

She was interrupted by Christina's fingers tangling into her hair and tearing her head back upward. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. 

"Thalia," she said sternly, "it's rude to stare like that. And honestly, do you ever stop babbling? How old do you think you are, anyway?"

"I—" Thalia sputtered, "I'm twenty-seven!" She could hear Penny behind her, laughing.

Christina surveyed the puny, sputtering little girl in front of her. "I don't think that's true. Close your eyes and open your mouth." 

"But—"

"Close your eyes,"she repeated, her voice suddenly dropping the nonchalance it had been wearing and replacing it with a cracked, gravel edge. "And open your mouth." 

Thalia obeyed. Christina relaxed her grip on her hair, slid her hand to the base of her neck, and placed the mug back at her lips. As she began taking in warm, suffocating sips, Thalia opened her eyes for just long enough to focus on Christina's. They bored through her, green lasers that only assisted the drink being force-fed to her in emptying her head. She closed her eyes as quickly as she had opened them and kept swallowing. The liquid drained into her throat and took hold of her heart—it filled her veins with a bubbling, frothy, roiling heat. Before she knew it, the mug was empty.

"Good girl."

Despite her anger and confusion, the praise still hummed in her skin. Christina set the mug down and began gently tracing her finger along Thalia's nose, beginning between her eyebrows and moving steadily down to the tip, speaking in slow, dulcet tones that melted into her ears.

"Breathe evenly, listen to my voice, and focus on my finger. Each time I trace, I want you to count down by one. Got it?"

Thalia nodded. She could already feel her consciousness slipping—it was getting dragged out of her with each trace of Christina's finger and each word that she spoke. Her soul was emptying out of her body piece-by-piece and swirling into the room around her.

"Good. Starting with twenty-seven." She slid her finger down Thalia's nose.

"Twenty-seven," she said, faintly.

Again, eyebrows to tip.

"Twenty-six."

"Good. See, isn't it easier to just listen to me and Penny?"

Again, over the tiniest bump below her eyes.

"Twenty-five."

Penny giggled. "It only makes sense!"

Again.

"Twenty-four."

"She's right. We're so much bigger than you, kid."

Again. Thalia twitched and let out a whimper.

"Twenty… three…"

"Poor thing. There's no need to be upset about it."

Again.

"Twenty-two…"

"Yeah, we'll take good care of you, won't we, Penny?"

Again. Again. Again.

"Twenty-one. Twenty. Nineteen."

"This is good. This is natural. This is correct."

Again and again and again and again, and Thalia's voice changed each time, in a way completely outside her control. It raised subtly in pitch and lowered in articulation. Penny and Christina repeated it as she continued counting down: Good. Natural. Correct. The words pierced into her heart and flooded her with syrupy warmth. Her already sluggish thoughts slowed to a molasses-stream as she overheated. Her eyes were closed but she could see herself, sitting perfectly still on the couch as her brain liquified, seeped through the roof of her mouth, and fell in droplets onto her knees. 

"Twelve… eleven… ten…"

"Stop." Christina pressed her finger firmly into the bridge of Thalia's nose. "There we go; ten years old. You're ten years old. That's much better. Open your eyes."

Thalia's eyelids flitted, blinking out dryness and struggling to adjust to the light. Her brain worked hard to re-solidify, but couldn't quite fill in the gaps. Ten years old—she was ten years old, and that was good. It was natural. It was correct. Christina's finger was still pressed firm between her eyebrows, concentrating the extant warmth in her body at that minuscule point. Her vision finally focused on the familiar grin that was stretching from ear to ear across Christina's face as she admired her handiwork.

"This is all you are now," she continued. "A stupid little kid." She gently lolled Thalia's head around, dislodging a piece of spittle from her lips. She laughed. "A dumb, drooling loser."

"I'm… I'm not a loser…"

Christina pressed her finger down harder. "You're a dumb, drooling loser. You agree."

Thalia's vision rippled. Her liquified brain matter molded around the new shape that Christina was providing for her: she was a dumb, drooling loser. 

"I… a…gree…"

Christina still wasn't finished. "You love being like this," she announced. "Being small. Being lesser. Being stupid and useless and nothing more than an observer. It makes you feel good."

"F-feel… good…" Thalia mumbled. "ob… ob-ser…"

"Observer. Spectator. A member of the audience. You are only a little kid, after all. It wouldn't make any sense for you to be up there, onstage. You only get to watch, if you're lucky. You agree."

Thalia nodded. She agreed. Christina was right—it made her feel good. Unimaginably so; her skin glowed and her head buzzed and her limbs stiffened as it all sunk in. This was all she would be from now on: a chunk of clay waiting to be molded into whatever shape Christina saw fit. But not onstage. Never. Not her.

"I think she needs a nickname," Penny chimed in from behind her, as she gently stroked her head. "Thalia is way too… mature for someone like her."

"You're right," Christina said, considering the brainless, drooling girl sitting in front of her. "How about Lia?"

Lia sighed as Penny dug her nails into her scalp. The room around her melted into splotches of warm colors, dotted with specks of emptiness that threatened to swallow her vision entirely. It was true bliss; she had been shown her place, and it was perfect! A dumb, drooling loser. A member of the audience. A stupid little kid. Little Lia.

Lia shuddered awake hours later, alone and still curled into a ball on the couch, half-covered by a throw blanket. Her neck ached. The TV spilled color onto the floor, playing some sitcom she didn't recognize, with the volume turned to a dull chatter. She unfurled herself, struggling to recall when she had fallen asleep. The evening was rapidly becoming indistinct—already she could scarcely remember the specifics of what Christina had done to her consciousness—and though her mind was re-solidifying, that only made the gaps come into sharper focus.

She stood up and wandered into the kitchen, still half-asleep, and was pouring herself a glass of water when she heard Penny laughing. She crept toward the hallway, trying to ignore the ache that was gnawing through her ribcage. Surely Christina had gone home by now, right? The clock on the oven showed one fifty-five A.M. When had they left the restaurant? Thinking about it made her head hurt.

When she reached the hall to the bedroom, though, something strange happened: she could feel her brain liquefying again, sloshing into an ice-cold slurry that made her head pound. The hallway stretched longer and longer, the door further from her grasp—she reached out a hand and stumbled, dropping to the floor so swiftly that her vision wobbled trying to play catch-up. She struggled to stand back up as the apartment warbled and pulsated. The walls rippled. The noise from the TV thundered and mixed with Penny and Christina's voices, streaming indistinctly from behind the door, becoming a soupy ooze that spilled in Lia's ears.

She sat there on the floor outside the bedroom, legs folded to her side and an ear pressed to the door, desperate to catch any bits of conversation she could. But all she could hear for certain was an occasional laugh and, a few times, her own name—her new name.

Hearing it spoken sent a rippling warmth through her body, pulsing out from between her legs and bathing her thoughts in molten caramel. Lia. Each time she heard it the heat intensified, growing sweeter and thicker and sticking pinpricks in her limbs, numbing her to everything except what was happening just inside Penny's bedroom, and the gnawing that was threatening to burst out of her sternum. The world grew blurrier and blurrier with each passing minute—textures bleeding into each other and bizarre, half-formed shapes floating past her pupils like white blood cells—until finally, her eyes drooped closed and darkness enveloped her.

Lia fell into her new routine faster than a raindrop. The next two days blurred together, and not only because they were nearly identical. Twice, she woke in her bed next to Penny, stumbled her way through work, returned home, and was fed her tea. She drowned in double confusion during dinner at Gianni's, and fell asleep huddled in the corner of the couch while Penny lay her head in Christina's lap. On the first night, she woke up again in the dead of night and tried to follow the pair to the bedroom, only to reencounter that invisible barrier, leaving her dizzy and drooling passed out in front of the door.

The second night, at dinner, she had managed to sneak away to the bathroom and had flagged down James to try and explain what was going on. After listening to Lia's rambling, passionately delivered but rather aimless story about magic drinks and hot butch witches and time loops, he replied, rather bluntly, "Aren't you a little old to have such an active imagination, kid? Where's your mom?"

That was another thing: Penny was now unquestionably introduced as her mom to everyone, a fact that, while embarrassing at first, made perfect sense to her the more she turned it over in her mind. Every word that Christina spoke about Lia—whether intentionally and specifically drilled into her skull or delivered in passing to strangers—was etched into her like this. Discordant notes repeated enough times and with enough conviction to transform into salient, inevitable harmony.

On her third time through the loop since turning ten years old, Lia tried something really stupid: after Christina had introduced herself at work (giving her a knowing smile while gripping her hand uncomfortably tight), she decided to follow her and Carla as they continued touring the building. She waited for the pair to walk around the corner, then crept behind them at a distance. She watched Carla lead Christina up the employee-only stairs to the projection floor, darting quickly to catch the door just before it closed. She wedged her foot inside, and waited for their voices to fade before slipping into the stairwell after them. The entire projection area was almost pitch-black, including the stairwell. Lia grasped tightly onto the railing as she slowly tiptoed up the stairs, listening as intently as she could from so far away.

"…Renovations up here have been steady," Carla was saying, her voice just above a whisper, "we've got all the projectors replaced by now, but it's slow. There are still a few that don't have the new speakers yet."

So they really were just talking shop, huh? Carla hadn't sold her out just yet? They were walking slower now, and Lia had to be careful not to step into the tiny slivers of light that streamed in from the windows to the theaters. Finally, they stopped at the far end of the room, looking out over an empty theater that was just starting its pre-show ads. Lia ducked behind a large air duct. 

"So, what'll we have to do to get some more help with the new equipment?" Carla asked.

"Well, budget's tight everywhere. Unless you can cut a lot more labor hours, we can only spare another…two or three thousand?"

"I mean, I know of at least one person who could go."

Fuck.

Christina nodded. "The one you were telling me about earlier? Thalia, right?"

She was such an obviously bad actor that Lia had to try hard to stifle a laugh. So they had been talking about canning her. Christina had said that she had bigger plans; did those include stealing her job away from her? Making her completely dependent on Penny forever? She was starting to hyperventilate. She inched backwards toward the stairs, staying crouched, moving as slow as she could. But in her panic she didn't think to check behind her, and backed ass-first into a large toolbox sitting next to one of the projectors, which dramatically toppled over with a loud CLANG. Christina and Carla stopped talking and looked her way as she scrambled up and sprinted down the stairs, not stopping until she shut herself into a stall in the nearest restroom.

"Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, what if—"

"Yeah, I'm fucking sure. There should be consequences for pushing her boundaries."

"I'm just worried we're rushing this part. You told me this was delicate!"

"It is. But if we wait any longer it won't… sink in properly."

Lia sat cross-legged on the floor of her and Penny's bedroom, looking up at her girlfriend and Christina sitting on the edge of the bed. She watched an argument pass between them in whispers and shifting expressions, her head tilted and slack-jawed. As was usual by this time of the night, she was barely present. She blinked slowly and heavily, watching diplopic images of Penny and Christina spiral in and out. 

"Alright kid, here's the deal," Christina finally said, leaning forward to catch Lia's attention. "You're gonna watch me fuck your mom."

The calm, detached way that she announced it made Lia's stomach churn, once she grasped the meaning of the statement.

"Now, I want you to remember every single second of this, so I'm surfacing you for a little while. But," she growled, grabbing a fistful of Lia's hair and holding her firmly, "if you so much as blink, the next few days will be very unpleasant for you. Got it?"

Lia winced against the tug at her scalp and nodded as gently as she could.

"Good." Christina let go and snapped her fingers. 

The noise sliced through her consciousness and erased the static numbing her senses. A fresh wave of dread collapsed on top of her when she realized what was about to happen. But there was something else there, too; fledgling wings beating erratically inside her ribcage.

As it started, the wings grew wider and wider, stifling the air in her chest with molted feathers of disgust. She watched Christina unzip Penny's dress and peel it away from her. She watched Penny blush and look away after Christina had grabbed her waist and turned her back around. She watched Christina shake off her own clothes—first unclipping the suspenders from their buttons; then the shirt and sports bra, which she removed and tossed to the floor in front of Lia in one sharp motion; then her slacks, revealing a sleek pair of black boxer-briefs—and she watched her grab the strap, Lia's strap, from the drawer of the nightstand. She watched Christina lick her lips in response to Penny slipping off her bra and panties, which were also tossed off the bed, landing in Lia's lap. The panties had a stain on the front from Penny's already-leaking cock. Without looking away, Lia snatched them up and inhaled a longing whiff, which Christina noticed and scoffed at, but thankfully didn't protest.

Christina scooped Penny up like a kitten and guided her onto her back; bent her legs up to rest on her shoulders. Lia watched, obediently unblinking, as the handsome dyke wet her fingers with lube and slipped one slowly into Penny's hole. She watched Penny's mouth gasp open and her eyes flutter shut. She listened to her moans, soft at first with only one finger inside her, but growing louder when the second and then third were added to stretch her. She watched Penny nod eagerly when Christina made eye contact to confirm she was ready for the strap.

And then she watched Christina fuck her mom.

The first gasp that came out of Penny's mouth was the worst. It wasn't the loudest or most passionate noise she made, but it stabbed right in between Lia's ribs, choking out the fluttering and drawing out hot liquid that erupted and oozed from her chest. Disgust and pleasure pooled in her lap, thick and viscous, indistinguishable from each other. 

She didn't blink—she couldn't, she wouldn't think of it—but her eyes blurred and unfocused, distorted by the heat in the room like the air above a charcoal grill. Their angle and position on the bed meant that all Lia could see was Christina's back, hunched and glistening with sweat, rippling and clenching with the effort of each thrust. She picked out a bead of perspiration and watched it stream over a birthmark near her shoulder-blade. Penny's feet peeked over her shoulders and twitched in time to the rhythm Christina set. For one brief moment, as Christina paused to adjust the harness, she could see the strap plunging into Penny's hole. It made her shiver. If she shifted to the right a little, she could catch sight of one of Penny's eyes; it was wide open, its pupil a black hole.

Lia whimpered and was roundly ignored. There was an awful ache growing between her legs, combining with every other feeling that was congealing in her gut. She was so desperate to be touched. It had been building inside her for days at this point, but the animalistic way that Christina lunged into Penny's ass—how she growled and snarled while bending Penny's legs so far back Lia wondered if they might get stuck that way—catapulted her neediness higher than she had ever felt. It wasn't that she wanted to take either's place on the bed. She didn't even want to join them as a third. She knew better than that; she was only an audience member, just a dumb drooling loser! But she was still desperate for release. She whined again, louder.

"I think she's trying to say something," Christina said, in between arrhythmic gulps of air and increasingly pornographic sounds from Penny. "Use your words, dumbass."

"Um, c-can I please," she swallowed hard, but didn't blink, and started over. "Can I please t-touch myself?"

Christina waited so long to respond that Lia wasn't sure if she should repeat herself. She just kept thrusting into Penny, looking directly into her eyes and breathing heavily.

"No," she said, finally. "Maybe next time."

This only made the desperation triple in intensity. Lia choked and nearly started sobbing on the spot, but she still couldn't stop watching. She shifted further to the right to get a better view. The sight was magnetic; Penny had never looked so lost in pleasure, even on the rare occasions that Lia had used the strap on her. She was completely locked into Christina's eyes, her back arched and her face flushed pink. She was breathing like she was in the midst of running a marathon—heaving gasps that shuddered her chest and hitched in her throat when Christina lunged in deeper. Neither of them paid any more attention to Lia's mewling.

When they were finally finished—collapsing with a shared lilting sigh into a tangled, heaving heap—Christina snapped her fingers again, and Lia was unceremoniously dropped back into her familiar prison of half-consciousness. It was different now, though: when she blinked, all she could see was the imprint of Christina fucking her mom. The image boxed her in on all sides of her psyche, distorted and blown up like a dying projector, all while Penny's fever-pitched breathing echoed around her hollowed-out head.