Get her inside

Your hands roam Brittney’s bare skin like you’re memorizing every inch (palms gliding over the swell of her ass, fingers pinching her nipples until they pebble hard, tracing the slick trail already dripping down her inner thighs). The garage smells of sex now, sharp and heady, her juices pooling in glossy streaks on the concrete beneath her feet. She’s trembling, hips canting into your touch, soft, broken moans spilling into your mouth as you devour her with another bruising kiss. Her tongue chases yours, ****, needy, the taste of her own arousal still lingering from your fingers.

You pull back with a wet *pop*, her lips chasing yours for a second before she catches herself. Her chest heaves, breasts flushed pink, eyes glassy with lust and fear. You step back, letting the cool air hit her overheated skin, and rake your gaze over her one last time (goosebumps prickling, cum-crusted hair, the faint red marks blooming where you gripped too hard). Perfect.

You grab her wrist, firm but not cruel, and lead her through the side door into the house. The interior opens wide: soaring ceilings, sunlight pouring through floor-to-ceiling windows, the faint scent of eucalyptus and leather. Your heels click across polished hardwood as you pull her into the living room.

Stephanie’s sprawled on the cream sectional, one leg draped over the armrest, phone glowing in her hand. She’s straight from the office (black pencil skirt hugging her hips, stockings sheer enough to show the lace tops, cream silk blouse unbuttoned just enough to tease the swell of her breasts). Her stilettos dangle from her toes, swinging lazily.

“Hey, girl!” she calls, hopping up to wrap you in a hug, her perfume (something expensive and spicy) curling around you. She pulls back, eyes flicking to Brittney, naked and shivering behind you. “And who’s this? The Disney princess you promised?”

Brittney shifts, arms twitching like she wants to cover herself, mouth opening to speak. You cut her off with a sharp *shhh*, your stare pinning her in place. “You speak when I tell you to. Until then, you stand there and look pretty. Understood?”

She swallows, nods, lips pressed tight.

You turn back to Stephanie, all smiles. “Steph, meet Brittney...Ricky’s new lead. Brittney, this is Stephanie, my best friend and Ricky’s lawyer.”

“You may speak now,” you add, almost as an afterthought.

“Nice to meet you,” Brittney mumbles, voice small, eyes darting between you and the floor.

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” Stephanie purrs, her smile sharp enough to cut glass. “We’re gonna take *such* good care of you.”

You gesture toward the couch. Brittney starts for it, but you tsk, loud and deliberate. “Uh-uh. Sluts kneel.” You point to the rug in front of the coffee table. “There. Now.”

Her jaw tightens, a flash of defiance, but it crumbles under your stare. She sinks to her knees, the plush rug soft against her skin, thighs spreading just enough to show the slick shine between them. You turn away like she’s furniture and head to the bar cart (crystal decanters glinting, the faint clink of glass as you pour two generous glasses of Pinot). The wine’s deep red catches the light as you carry it back, handing one to Stephanie before settling beside her, thigh to thigh.

You sip, chat about nothing (traffic, some producer’s midlife crisis, the new sushi place in WeHo), your voices light, casual, like Brittney’s not kneeling naked three feet away, her breath hitching every time one of you glances her way. The tension coils tighter with every ignored second, her skin flushing deeper, nipples tight, the faint drip of her arousal darkening the rug beneath her.

Stephanie sets her glass down with a soft *clink* and reaches for the black velvet bag on the table. She upends it; toys spill out in a decadent clatter (thick silicone dildos veined and gleaming, a harness with a monstrous attachment, bottles of lube, a string of steel anal beads, a sleek violet wand crackling faintly as it brushes the table). The air shifts, heavy with promise.

Stephanie leans back, crossing her legs, the lace of her stockings whispering. “So,” she says, eyes glinting as they slide from the toys to Brittney’s trembling form, “what do you want to do with her first?”