The Third Wheel

Dan had one of those faces that melted into the background of every party—a vaguely pleasant blur of features that never quite sparked desire, just a polite nod of recognition. His smile was forgettable, his laugh unremarkable, and yet somehow, he always ended up tangled in the orbit of women who burned far brighter than he ever could. Maybe it was the way he listened, or the way his hands always found the small of Bailey's back at the right moment—quietly possessive without ever tipping into arrogance.

But tonight, under the thrum of bass and the haze of vodka sodas, Dan wasn’t blending into the wallpaper. Not when Michelle’s fingers—long, deliberate, painted a venomous shade of plum—traced the rim of her glass while her eyes locked onto him. Bailey felt the shift before she saw it: the way Dan’s shoulders straightened, the way his throat bobbed when Michelle leaned just a little too close to laugh at something he murmured.

"You’re staring," Anna said, nudging Bailey’s hip with her own. The music swallowed half her words, but the smirk was clear.

Bailey didn’t blink. "She’s doing it on purpose."

Anna rolled her eyes, swirling her drink. "Oh, come on. Michelle’s always like this. It’s not about Dan. It’s about you."

Bailey scoffed, her nails digging into her palm. Michelle *was* doing it on purpose—those slow, deliberate blinks, the way she kept licking her lips like Dan’s words were something to savor. And sure, Michelle had a boyfriend—some guy named Jareth or Jarrod or whatever—but he’d already face-planted into Anna’s guest room pillows, dead to the world. Meanwhile, Dan didn’t drink, which meant his hands were steady, his gaze sharp, and his resolve… well, Bailey wasn’t sure about that last part.

She knew what Michelle didn’t—that Dan’s greatest secret wasn’t some hidden charm or wit, but the thick cock of his that strained against his jeans when he got worked up. The only thing about him that *wasn’t* painfully average. Bailey had felt it pressed against her thigh enough times to know Michelle’s flirting wasn’t just annoying—it was dangerous. Because Dan might be forgettable, but his cock? That was unforgettable.

So when Michelle leaned in, whispering something that made Dan’s ears turn pink, Bailey moved. She didn’t ask—just hooked two fingers into his belt loop and tugged. "Hot tub. Now." Dan blinked, half-protesting, but she cut him off with a glare. Behind them, Michelle’s laugh curled like smoke.

The water was lukewarm by now, the jets coughing weakly as Bailey shoved Dan onto the submerged bench. Steam clung to her bare shoulders where her tank strap had slipped—she hadn’t bothered with a swimsuit—and Dan’s gaze dropped instantly to the dark shadow of her nipples beneath the wet fabric. "You’re pissed," he observed, voice low.

"No shit," Bailey snapped, straddling his lap before he could protest. The water sloshed around them, her knees scraping the rough texture of the tub’s interior. Behind her, through the sliding glass doors, Michelle’s silhouette paused by the liquor cart, watching. Bailey didn’t care if the entire party saw. Let them.

She kissed him hard—not the way she usually did, soft and teasing, but with teeth. Dan groaned into her mouth, hands flying to her hips like he’d been waiting for permission. His cock was already half-hard beneath the water, trapped against his thigh. She remembered how it felt last summer—how the jets had pulsed against her back while Dan fucked her slow, deep, his fingers bruising her thighs as she came.

This was the fourth graduation party this week they’d been to. Six days since they tossed their caps, six nights of sweat-sticky skin and stolen moments in strangers’ bathrooms, garages, and now, inevitably, hot tubs. Somewhere between the third tequila shot and Anna’s boyfriend puking in the hydrangeas, the novelty had worn thin—but not this. Not Dan’s breath hitching when she ground down on him, not the way his hands slid up her sides like he was mapping her ribs.

Bailey barely registered the slap of bare feet on concrete before Michelle’s voice cut through the steam. “God, you two are *obnoxious*.” The words slurred, half-laugh, half-challenge. She stood at the edge of the tub, one hip cocked, the strings of her bikini top dangling loose. The cups sagged dangerously—Bailey caught a flash of dusky pink nipple before she instinctively threw a hand over Dan’s eyes.

He sputtered, batting her away. “The hell—?”

But Michelle had already slid into the opposite corner of the tub, her smirk sharp as she tipped a bottle of water to her lips. Bailey felt Dans cock beneath her. His hands twitched at her waist, caught between pushing her off or pulling her closer. Michelle’s toes skimmed Dan’s calf underwater, a casual cruelty. “Relax,” she drawled, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m just hydrating.”

Bailey slid off Dan to sit beside him, her thigh pressing against his, possessive. The water rippled between them.

Michelle leaned back against the tub’s edge, fingers hooking under the strings of her bikini top. Bailey tensed—then watched, stunned, as Michelle tugged it off and tossed it onto the deck with a wet slap. The steam curled around Michelle’s bare breasts, her nipples peaked from the heat. Without thinking, Bailey slapped a hand playfully over Dan’s eyes. “Eyes up here, Romeo” she muttered, but her voice lacked its usual bite.

Dan chuckled, catching her wrist and prying her fingers away. “What? I’m appreciating art.” His gaze raked over Michelle—slow—and Bailey’s stomach twisted. Bailey should’ve been furious. Instead, something hot and thick coiled low in her soul. The way Michelle smirked—should’ve made her lunge across the tub. But then Dan’s hand slid up Bailey’s thigh, squeezing possessively.

Anna appeared suddenly, sliding the glass door open with a groan. “Oh my god, don’t *fight*,” she slurred, pointing a half-empty vodka bottle between them. “I’m too drunk to referee.” She blinked blearily at Michelle’s bare chest, then shrugged. “Whatever. Just—don’t kill each other. I’m going to bed.” The door thudded shut behind her, leaving silence in its wake—except for the hum of the jets and Michelle’s quiet laugh.

Bailey exhaled sharply. The party had evaporated—no voices, no footsteps, just the three of them suspended in the water’s embrace. Michelle stretched lazily, arching her back so her breasts broke the surface. Dan’s looked briefly then away.

Bailey felt heat crawl up her body. She should stop this flirting. Should take Michelle’s bikini top and throw it at her head. Should drag Dan inside by his shorts and remind him exactly whose mouth he loves wrapped around his cock.

But she didn’t move.

Bailey’s pulse hammered in her, hard and fast—not from anger, but from something strange. The way Dan’s fingers felt against her thigh, the way his breath hitched when Michelle arched her back—it shouldn’t have twisted her feelings into knots of lust. But it did. The realization crashed over her like the hot tub’s lazy waves: she liked it. Liked the way Michelle’s gaze flicked between. Liked the way Dan’s cock twitched against her hand, caught between loyalty and lust.

Dan exhaled sharply, fingers tightening on Bailey’s thigh—half apology, half plea. He was waiting for the slap. Waiting for her to snatch him back like a leash. But Bailey didn’t move. She just smirked, sliding her hand up and down his cock beneath the water.

Then she leaned in, pressing her lips to the pulse point beneath Dan’s ear—the spot that always made him groan when she sucked it before he fucked her. She pulled away before he could react, leaving his skin damp with her breath, not her teeth.

Bailey slid oot of the hot tub. "I'll get us some waters," she murmured, fingertips dragging along him before she pulled away. Dan blinked, his lips parting like he wanted to say something, but the words died in his mouth when Michelle stretched her arms overhead, making her breasts bounce faintly in the water.

Bailey didn’t look back—just padded across the deck, her own nipples pebbled against the thin fabric of her tank. The sliding door closed behind her.

The house was silent except for the hum of the fridge. She grabbed three water bottles, her hands shaking slightly. She stalled, pressing her against the fridge door.

What the hell am I doing?

Bailey pressed her forehead against the cool fridge door. The party had ended 20 minutes ago. She should’ve been dragging Dan out of that tub by his hair. Should’ve been hissing in his ear about respect and boundaries and how fucking dare he let Michelle into their personal space like that.

But when she pushed off the fridge and turned—water bottles clutched in one hand—her reflection in the sliding glass door stopped her cold. The wet fabric clung to her breasts, her nipples still peaked, her lips swollen from biting them. She wasn’t the furious girlfriend. She was the girl who’d made Dan hard under the water while Michelle watched.

Bailey paused. Through the haze of steam, Dan and Michelle weren’t touching—weren’t even speaking. Michelle had her arms stretched along the tub’s edge, her head tipped back, breasts exposed. Dan’s gaze flicked between her tits and the door where Bailey had now opened.

Bailey’s fingers tightened around the water bottles. She exhaled sharply, then slid the door open with her hip.

The humid air clung to her skin as she stepped back onto the deck. Michelle’s eyes flicked open lazily, tracking her approach with a smirk. Dan sat frozen, his hands gripping the edge of the tub, knuckles white. His cock was still hard—Bailey could see his eyes betraying him.

She set the waters down with slowness, by the edge of the hot tub.

Michelle reached and grabbed her bikini top and placed it back on—but not before Bailey caught the way she were debating whether to keep it off a little longer.

Bailey tossed Dan his towel first—draped it over his head with deliberate roughness—before grabbing her own. "Come on," she said, voice dripping with **** nonchalance. "Movie. Inside." She didn’t wait to see if they followed, just strode toward the sliding door, her bare feet slapping against the wet deck. The towel hung loose around her shoulders, barely covering the way her soaked tank top clung to her curves.

Behind her, the water sloshed as Dan climbed out, his shorts clinging obscenely to his half hard cock. Water cascaded down Michelle's body, glistening under the patio lights as she wrung out her hair. Bailey didn’t turn around. She didn’t need to. She could feel Dan’s gaze flickering between them like a live wire.

“You’re coming,” Bailey said—not a question, just a statement tossed over her shoulder. Michelle’s laugh was low. “Am I?” Michelle murmured, but her bare feet were already following Bailey’s across the deck.

The cellar was Anna’s dad’s pride and joy—two sectional couches, 84" tv, a bar stocked with top-shelf liquor. The air smelled like cedar and spilled beer, a place where secrets stuck to the walls. Bailey flicked on the dim sconce lighting, casting the room in amber shadows.

Dan hovered near the doorway, dripping onto the rug, his wet shirt plastered to his chest. "Bailey—" he started, but she cut him off with a sharp glance as she locked the door behind Michelle. The click of the lock was quiet.

Bailey tossed the blankets onto the sectional—one for each of them—and Michelle caught hers with a smirk, draping it over her shoulders like a cape. "Cozy," she murmured, stretching out along the length of the couch. The bikini top was still loose, the ties undone, but she made no move to adjust it. Dan hesitated, glancing between them before sitting on the opposite couch. His shorts were still damp, the outline of his cock hidden under the blanket.

Bailey grabbed the remote, flipping through streaming options without seeing them. The silence between them was thick—charged—like the air before a storm. Michelle exhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders. "You gonna pick something or just stare at the screen all night?" she teased.

Dan shifted uncomfortably, rubbing his damp palms on his thighs. His gaze flicked to Bailey—then Michelle—then back to Bailey, a silent plea for guidance. Bailey ignored him, tossing the remote onto the coffee table with a clatter. It skidded toward Michelle, who caught it effortlessly, her smirk widening. "Guess I'm choosing," she purred, scrolling through titles.

Bailey exhaled frustrated. The room smelled like chlorine and the lingering heat between them. She grabbed Dan’s wrist, tugging him toward the sectional where Michelle lounged. "Sit," she ordered, shoving him down between them.

Michelle didn’t miss a beat. Her hand brushed Dan’s thigh as she curled toward him, lips brushing his ear. "You always this obedient?" she whispered—just loud enough for Bailey to hear. Dan stiffened, fingers digging into the couch cushion. Bailey watched him. She should’ve been furious. Instead, she reached past Dan, snagging Michelle’s wrist and pinning it to the back of the couch. "Try again," Bailey's voice low.

Then the screen flickered to life—and the room filled with the unmistakable sound of sex, followed by a breathy moan. Michelle had flipped to Anna’s playlist, landing on the last thing she’d watched: some porn, half-dressed actors fumbling through terrible dialogue.

"Oh god, yes—right there—"

The woman on screen moaned, her back arching as the guy behind her gripped her hips, his thrusts relentless. The camera zoomed in capturing her expressions.

Bailey knew this scene—had watched it sprawled on Anna’s bed last summer, giggling into her palm while Anna critiqued the actress’s fake orgasm face. But what had stuck with Bailey wasn’t the over-the-top moans or the awkward camera angles.

It was the guy’s cock.

Bailey had never seen one like it before. Not in real life, at least. The way it stretched the woman’s lips as he pushed in, the way her moans twisted into something genuine when he bottomed out—Bailey suddenly aware of the heat between her legs. Anna had noticed, elbowing her with a smirk. "That’s the reaction they’re paying her for," she’d said.

But now, with Dan pressed between her and Michelle, that same cock filled the screen, and Bailey felt the memory pulse. Michelle made a soft noise—not mocking, but intrigued—as she tilted her head. "Anna’s taste is… specific," she murmured, her knee brushing Dan’s thigh.

Bailey had spent years swallowing Anna’s secret—how she’d sigh over thick cocks in porn, whispering "God, imagine the fullness" when she thought no one heard. But Bailey never breathed a word, not even when Anna drunkenly confessed she’d never had one. Because Dan was Bailey’s, and Dan’s cock was the type some women desired. "I don’t want to be a trophy," he’d muttered once, forehead pressed to Bailey’s in the dark. "I want to be yours."

Now, with Michelle moving closer to Dan and the porn still playing, Bailey let out a laugh—sharp, unhinged. "Is that good taste or bad taste?" she asked, jerking her chin toward the screen. The actress arched again, fingers clawing at the sheets as the guy’s hips snapped forward.

Michelle’s smirk deepened. "I mean, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed." Her fingers rubbing against Dan’s thigh—casual, testing. Bailey watched the way his grip tightened on the blanket bunched in his lap. Bailey knew exactly how Dan measured up to the guy on screen.

Michelle stretched, arching her back in a way that made her bikini top slip—just enough to free one breast. Dan’s gaze flickered downward for half a second before snapping back to Bailey’s face, guilty.

Bailey sipped her water, unfazed.

Michelle moved—fluid and deliberate—as she swung a leg over Dan’s lap. The blanket pooled around her waist, her bikini top now hanging loose around her neck. The right cup slid lower, revealing her tit, her nipple stiffening in the cool cellar air. Dan’s hands hovered above her thighs, like he couldn’t decide whether to push her off or pull her closer.

"What would you do," Michelle said low, pressing her palms against Dan’s chest, her hips rolling forward, "if I kissed Dan?" Her gaze flicked to Bailey, who was now lounging back into the sectional. There was a challenge in Michelle’s smile—a silent bet that Bailey would snap.

Bailey took another sip of water. Then, with deliberate calm, she shrugged. "Go for it." She slid back further, stretching her legs out on the couch.

Michelle froze—just for a second—her smirk dissappeared. She’d expected resistance. A slap or scream. Not this—Bailey watching like a queen. Dan’s breath stopped beneath her, his hands still hovering uselessly in the air. "Bailey—" he started, but Michelle didn’t let him finish.

Her fingers tangled in Dan’s damp hair, pulling his head back as she leaned down. The kiss was teeth and tongue and the taste of chlorine on their lips. Dan made a choked sound, his hands finally gripping Michelle’s waist—not pushing, not pulling—just holding. Bailey watched, fingers tightening around her water bottle.

Michelle pulled back first, breath uneven. She glanced at Bailey—searching her anger—but found none. Bailey smirked.

Dan’s hands on Michelle’s waist. His gaze flicked to Bailey, pleading for direction, but she just arched a brow, took another sip of water. "Problem?" she asked.

Dan swallowed hard. Michelle shifted in his lap, grinding down—not subtle or gentle. Dan groaned.

Bailey smirked, drinking the water in her bottle. "You look like you're about to pass out," she laughed at Dan.

Dan's cock throbbed beneath Michelle's weight, aching and ignored. He'd braced for Bailey's fury—expected her to rip Michelle off his lap, maybe slap him across the face for good measure. But Bailey just lounged back, her legs spread slightly under the blanket, her fingers tapping against her water bottle. Her gaze flicked between Michelle's lips—still glistening from their kiss—and the big cock tenting Dan's shorts. No jealousy.

Michelle smirked, as she tugged the loose bikini strings completely undone. The fabric slipped down her arms, pooling between her and Dan's chests. Her tits pressed against his chest her nipples hard from the cellar's cool air.

Dan grunted as Michelle yanked the blanket off his lap, exposing the big thick cock of his against his shorts. Bailey was the opposite of outrage. The sight of Dan's cock under Michelle's teasing, sent lustful feeling straight to her pussy.

Michelle's fingers hovered over the waistband of Dan's shorts—hesitating, just for a second—before glancing at Bailey. Her smirk faltered. She'd expected fury. Expected to be dragged off by her hair. But Bailey was just watching with the curiosity of a scientist observing an experiment. "Go on," Bailey murmured. "You looked like you were enjoying yourself."

Dan stilled as Bailey leaned forward—slow, deliberate—and pressed her lips against his ear. "Stand up," she ordered. Not a request. Not a suggestion. A command.

Dan obeyed, shakily rising from the couch while Michelle slid off his lap with a soft laugh. The air prickled against Bailey's skin as she gripped the hem of her soaked tank top and peeled it off in one fluid motion. The fabric dropping to the floor with a wet slap. Michelle's gaze met Baileys. Baileys pulse hammering in her body.

Michelle knelt before Dan, her fingers hooking into the waistband of his shorts. She glanced up at Bailey. "Can I?" Michelle breathed, the words barely audible over the porn still playing behind them. Her tongue darted across her lower lip. "I want to suck his cock." The request was not full of its usual venom. For once, Michelle was painfully honest.

Bailey tilted her head. "Yes," she said, softer than Michelle anticipated. No hesitation—that was the thing that unraveled Michelle’s smirk entirely. She’d expected Bailey to say NO in capital letters, underlined twice with furious ink. Expected nails in her hair. Not this—Bailey’s bare shoulders glistening under the cellar’s amber lights, her chest rising and falling with steady breaths.

Dan watched as Michelle’s fingers pulled his shorts down. His cock fully erect, from the weight of Michelle straddling him, from Bailey’s telling him to stand up like he was hers to command.

Michelle let out a soft exhale—not mocking, not triumphant—just appreciation. “Fuck,” she breathed, her fingertips skimming the underside of his shaft. “You’ve been hiding this?” Her gaze met Baileys, who smirked.

Bailey lounged back on the sectional, as she watched Michelle kneel before Dan. The sight of Michelle—always so sharp-tongued—reduced to trembling fingers and parted lips sent a thrill through Bailey’s veins. Bailey's voice sounded triumphant. "Look at you," she purred. "Jareth’s passed out upstairs, and here you are, going to suck my boyfriend’s cock like a cheating slut."

Michelle’s nostrils flared at the insult, but she didn’t pull away—just wrapped her fingers around the base of Dan’s cock. Bailey smirked, stretching her arms overhead. "But here’s the deal, Michelle," Bailey continued, her tone dropping to a playful whisper. "If you do a great job sucking his cock—and I mean great—you get to ride him after."

The idea of Michelle bouncing on him—her tits swaying, her nails digging into his chest—made his cock pulse hard. His brain stopped as Michelle’s tongue flicked out. "Oh fuck," he growled.

Bailey leaned forward, elbows on her knees, chin resting on her fists. "Go on," she murmured. "Show me what you can do."

Michelle's lips parted, breath warm against Dan's cock—hesitating just long enough to make Bailey smirk. Even if it was the worst blowjob she'd ever seen, Bailey knew she was going to let Michelle fuck Dan. Bailey would say words of encouragement—sweet, mocking ones—while Michelle struggled to take him deep, while her gag reflex betrayed her. She'd watch Michelle's mascara run, watch her blink up at Dan with watery eyes, and then, when Michelle finally got a rhythm, Bailey would lean in close and whisper, "Now ride him like you mean it."

Dan's fingers tangled in Michelle's hair just anchoring himself. Bailey watched Dan when Michelle's tongue swirled just right. The porn still played in the background, the actress’s moans mingling with Michelle’s wet, sloppy noises. Bailey should’ve felt something—anger, jealousy, anything—but all she felt was heat pooling in every part of her body

Michelle gagged suddenly, pulling back with spit-slick lips, her mascara smudged. Bailey leaned forward, gripping her chin with mock sympathy. "Aw, poor thing—never had anything bigger than a finger before?" Her thumb swiped the drool from Michelle’s lower lip, then tapped her cheek like she was patting a dog. "Try using your hands more, sweetheart. You’ll last longer."

Michelle’s fingers trembled around Dan’s cock—not from hesitation, but from the sickening realization in her mind: Bailey’s playing me. The way Bailey lounged there, smirking like she’d already won, made Michelle’s stomach twist. If their roles were reversed—if Michelle was Dan’s girlfriend —she’d have clawed Bailey’s eyes out by now for even looking at his cock. But Bailey just… watched. Like this was some elaborate joke where Michelle was the punchline.

So Michelle tightened her grip, twisting her wrist the way Bailey had suggested, Michelle couldn't take Dan’s cock any deeper. His groan vibrated against her lips, his hips jerked forward—just enough to make her gag again. Spit dripped down her chin, and Michelle wiped it away.

Bailey remembered her first time—the way she'd choked, how Dan had gently pushed her hair back and whispered, "Slow down." He hadn't laughed at her like other guys would have. Just kissed her forehead while she caught her breath. The memory flashed through her mind now as Michelle coughed, her eyes watering.

She made sure Michelle didn't notice the way she was looking at her. Like, she didn't let Michelle see how impressed she was by how Michelle's hands—more sure of themselves than Bailey's—just knew exactly how to grip it, twisting like she'd been doing it forever. Bailey had taken, like, months to get that good. Okay yeah, Michelle's gag reflex kinda sucked, but the way she made that noise she made against Dan's dick? Damn.

Bailey rolled her eyes, stretching her legs out on the couch. "Ugh, seriously?" she groaned, flicking her fingers at Michelle's hunched shoulders. "You can't even take half of it? Guess I shouldn't be surprised—Jareth's what, like, five inches?" Bailey knew exactly how big Jareth was. Anna had sucked Jareth's cock before dated Michelle. But Michelle didn't need to know that.

Dan made this rough, kinda broken sound, his hands grabbing Michelle's hair just holding tight. Bailey could tell exactly when Michelle fought her gag reflex, how she tried to push herself further down. Bailey chewed her lip. Michelle's hands were gripping Dan's thighs so hard her whole body shaking. Bailey had never seen Michelle this **** before.

Bailey stretched and let her blanket slide down just enough to show some skin near her hip. "God, that's sad," she said, rolling her eyes. "And I was totally gonna let you fuck him."

Michelle pulled off Dan's cock with a wet pop, her lips swollen and shining. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, glaring up at Bailey—but her chest was heaving.

"Fuck you," Michelle gasped, but it lacked anger. She glanced at his cock—still hard, glistening with her spit—then back at Bailey. "You're enjoying this."

Bailey arched a brow, stretching lazily against the sectional. She knew exactly how she looked, fingers trailing idly over her stomach, the perfect picture of bored indifference. But Dan saw it—the flicker in her eyes, the way her breath slowed when Michelle's fingers brushed his shaft again. That sparkle. Something wild and possessive that made his pulse stutter.

"You're doing fine," Bailey drawled, waving a hand toward Michelle's hunched form. "For a beginner." The lie tasted sweet on her tongue. Michelle wasn't fine. She was great. But Bailey would **** on her own spit before admitting it.

Bailey stood abruptly, the blanket pooling at her feet as she crossed the short distance between them. She paused inches from Michelle's kneeling form. Bailey inhaled sharply—chlorine and sex. "Maybe you should—" Bailey began, voice deliberately flat as she gestured vaguely toward the door. The suggestion hung unfinished.

Michelle tensed.

She thought she knew Bailey wasn’t going to let her fuck Dan—not really, not beyond teasing. This whole thing had been some elaborate power play, right? Bailey would watch her struggle, laugh at her gagging, then yank Dan away at the last second with some smug remark about knowing her place. That was the script Michelle had braced for.

But then Bailey reached down, fingers threading through Michelle’s hair—not to pull her off, but to tilt her head back. Michelle blinked up, mascara smudged, lips parted around ragged breaths. Bailey’s expression wasn’t smug.

It was filled with praise and approval.

Bailey's fingers tightened in Michelle's hair—just enough to make her gasp—and suddenly, without thinking, she murmured, "Good girl." The words slipped out unfiltered, and Bailey paused. Where the hell had that come from? She'd never watched Dom/sub porn, never fantasized about control like this. But the way Michelle shuddered beneath her touch, the way her lips parted like she wanted to protest but couldn't—it sent excitement through Bailey.

Dan noticed—of course he did. He'd seen Bailey pissed off, seen her competitive, seen her drunk and sloppy. But this? The way she gripped Michelle's hair like she owned her, the way her smirk wasn't mocking but approving—Dan's thoughts short-circuited. Fuck. He'd never been this hard in his life.

Bailey leaned down, her lips brushing Michelle's ear. "You look so pretty like this," she murmured, voice dripping with dominance. "On your knees, drooling on his cock like a cheating little slut." She tugged Michelle's hair just enough to make her gasp. "But here's the thing—you're my cheating slut now. And I decide if you fuck him." Bailey's laugh was low, triumphant. "Oh, you like that, don't you? Being put in your place?"

Michelle had spent years hiding behind bitchy comments and stolen hookups. She wanted Bailey's approval. And now Bailey's fingers were tangled in her hair, grip way too tight, way too possessive. Michelle should be shoving her off. Should be throwing punches. But instead she just stared up, mouth hanging open, as Bailey's thumb dragged across her bottom lip, wiping away spit she didn't even know had dribbled down her chin.

Dan finally really looked at Bailey—first time all night. Watched how her hand cupped Michelle's face, how Michelle's tongue darted out to lick Bailey's thumb clean without blinking. His dick still painfully hard.

"Sit Dan." Not a question. No polite bullshit. Just sit. Bailey's voice didn't leave room for arguing.

Dan dropped onto the sectional—hard—his cock bobbing between his thighs, flushed and wet from Michelle's mouth. Bailey barely glanced at him. Her attention was laser-focused on Michelle, still kneeling between Dan's legs with her lipstick smeared.

Bailey crouched, gripping Michelle's hair even tighter with her fingers. "Listen close," she whispered. "Good girls who suck cock this well—" She **** Michelle's head toward Dan's erect cock. "—get rewarded."

Michelle froze, Bailey's words echoing in her skull like a broken record. Her lungs burned—she hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath. Bailey's grip loosened slightly, fingers now stroking through Michelle's tangled strands gently.

Bailey's voice was barely audible over the porn still playing—just a whisper of dominance wrapped in silk. "Now ride him like you mean it." Not a suggestion or permission. A command from a queen to her subject.

Dan's fingers dug into the couch cushions as Michelle climbed into his lap, her knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips. She hesitated—just for a second—before sinking down onto his cock with moan that wasn't fake. Bailey watched, biting her lip to keep from grinning. Because here was the thing: Dan had spent years practicing—the ability to hold back his orgasm no matter how tight, how wet, how relentless the friction. Bailey knew. Oh, she knew. He'd made her come apart over and over before finally letting himself go, leaving her boneless and begging. Michelle didn't have a clue.

Just then Michelle realized—but wasn't going to complain—about Dan not wearing a condom. Michelle made Jareth wear one every time. The difference between them—between Jareth's thin latex-covered dick and Dan's bare cock filling her up—made Michelle whimper. The heat of his cock. The way his cock throbbed inside her made her thighs shake.

Bailey watched Dan's jaw clench. He was holding back—pretending he wasn't enjoying this. Bailey reached over, grabbed his chin, and wrenched his face toward hers. Their lips and tongues met—before she said. "Don't you fucking dare hold back on her," Bailey commanded against his mouth.

Michelle whimpered with an erotic groan, her hands gripping Dan's shoulders as she rocked on his cock.

Bailey leaned in close, fingers tracing Michelle's jawline before gripping her chin—hard. "Rules," Bailey murmured. "First—no kissing. His mouth belongs to me." She tightened her grip, forcing Michelle's gaze up to meet hers. "Second—he doesn't come inside you. Understood?"

Michelle exhaled sharply, her thighs trembling around Dan's hips. Bailey wasn't sure what reaction she'd get. But Michelle's lips parted, her voice barely audible: "Yes, Mistress."

Bailey blinked—then smirked. Because she knew Michelle had never watched that stupid Dom/sub porn either. Thanks to Anna blabbing. And yet here Michelle was, responding with total obedience, her body arching into Dan's thrusts while her gaze stayed locked on Bailey's like she was the only goddamn thing that mattered in the room.

It hit Bailey then—the realization humming under her skin—that she liked this. Liked the way Michelle shuddered when she called her "good girl," liked the possessive thrill of watching Dan's cock disappear inside someone else. The jealousy she'd braced for never came. Instead, pride, power, the dizzying high of being in control.

Dan loved this but kept it to himself. His fingers dug into Michelle's hips, holding back the urge to slam her down harder, to chase his own pleasure like a starving man. Because Bailey had given him rules, and rules were sacred. No kissing. No coming inside. The restraint made every thrust sharper, every gasp and moan from Michelle sweeter. He could feel Bailey watching—her gaze like a brand—and that was the real thrill.

Bailey stood abruptly, the movement fluid and deliberate. Michelle barely had time to register the shift before Bailey's fingers tangled in her hair again, wrenching her head back. Bailey kiss was claiming, dominating, tongue sliding against Michelle's with a confidence that left no room for doubt. Michelle whimpered into the kiss, her body still rocking slowly on Dan's cock, her thighs trembling. Bailey pulled back just enough to whisper against Michelle's lips: "His mouth is mine. But this?" She lightly bit Michelle's lower lip, sucking it into her mouth before releasing it. "This is mine too."

Dan groaned, his hands tightening on Michelle's hips as he watched them—Bailey's thumb tracing Michelle's jawline, Michelle's lashes fluttering shut when Bailey deepened the kiss again. The porn still played in the background, the actress’s moans drowned out by the wet sounds of their mouths, the sounds of Michelle taking Dan's cock. Bailey broke the kiss, her breath ragged, and pressed her forehead against Michelle's. "You don't get to decide when this ends," Bailey murmured roughly. "I do."

Michelle came with a sharp cry, her body clamping around Dan so tight he swore his vision whited out for a second. She trembled, her fingers digging into his shoulders—but her gaze met Bailey's again, pleading and grateful. "Y-yes, Mistress," she gasped, her voice wrecked.

Bailey shocked herself—and Dan. She'd never said stuff like this before, never felt this rush of dominance in her mind. The words unfiltered and real, like some hidden part of her had been waiting for this. Dan's eyes mirrored her own filled with disbelief, but the way his cock throbbed inside Michelle? Oh, he was into it.

Michelle collapsed forward, her forehead pressing against Bailey, her breath hot and uneven against her skin. "Holy shit," Michelle gasped. "I—" Her fingers curled into Bailey’s waist, nails biting lightly. Bailey moaned sharply, surprised by the contact, by how much she liked Michelle clinging to her like this.

Dan exhaled through his nose—slow, controlled. He wasn’t the pleading type. Never had been. Even when Bailey had him pinned beneath her, even when she rode him hard, he never begged. He didn’t whimper, didn’t grovel. Tonight was different. Tonight, Bailey’s dominance wasn’t just directed at Michelle—it was directed at him. And fuck if he didn’t love it.

Bailey watched Michelle shuddering against her, still impaled on Dan’s cock, her body trembling with aftershocks. “You’re not done,” Bailey murmured, thumb tracing Michelle’s swollen lips. “He hasn’t come yet.”

Michelle blinked up at her, dazed. The realization flickered across her face—Bailey wasn’t stopping this. Not now. Not when Dan was still achingly hard inside her.

"On your back slut," Bailey ordered, voice commanding with something Michelle had never heard before. Not anger. Not jealousy. Desire.

Michelle scrambled onto her back legs spread, hair fanned against the leather—before Dan even moved. She wasn't thinking, just reacting, her body obeying Bailey. Dan positioned himself between Michelle's thighs, his cock penetrating with a groan that made Bailey's toes curl.

Bailey settled on the floor beside them, her fingers immediately in Michelle's hair. She pulled just enough to tilt Michelle's head toward her, capturing her lips in an erotic kiss while Dan's hips thrust forward. The sound Michelle made—half-moan, half-whimper—vibrated against Bailey's tongue.

Dan started slow, agonizingly slow, savoring the way Michelle felt around him as he withdrew almost completely before slamming back in with some restraint. Bailey broke the kiss just to watch Michelle's face—her lips parted, her eyelashes fluttering—as Dan set a torturous pace.

"Faster," Bailey commanded Dan, her fingers tightening in Michelle's hair.

Dan obeyed instantly, his hips moving forward with a rough thrust that made Michelle cry out. Her nails scraped against his back, drawing blood and leaving marks as she arched beneath him.

Bailey’s fingers tightened in Michelle’s hair, forcing her head back to expose the pale skin of her throat. "Look at you," Bailey murmured, her free hand slid down to Michelle’s chest, fingertips brushing over her nipples. She pinched one hard—just to hear Michelle gasp—then leaned in, her lips brushing Michelle’s ear. "You love being fucked by him while I watch?"

Michelle’s response was a shuddering moan. "Yes, Mistress."

Dan’s lips curled into a devious grin. He leaned down, his breath hot against Michelle’s ear. “Do you want to be our slut?”

Bailey’s fingers tightened in Michelle’s hair, forcing her to meet Dan’s gaze. “Answer him,” she murmured. “Honestly.”

Michelle’s breath hitched—her thighs trembling around Dan—before she whimpered breathlessly, “Y-yes. God Yes!”

Bailey’s smirk was deliberate, as she tightened her grip in Michelle’s hair. “Good,” she purred. “Because you’re ours now.” The words sent a shudder through Michelle’s body—one she couldn’t restrain, not with Dan's cock buried inside her.

Michelle orgasmed again with a ragged cry, her back arching off the couch as Dan’s cock pushed against her pussy in just the right way. The pleasure was overwhelming, electric—better than anything she’d felt since she’d splurged on that ridiculously expensive Bad Dragon dildo last year. That thing had made her scream into her pillows, but Dan's cock? This was better.

Dan moaned through clenched teeth, his hips stuttering against hers. He wanted to cum—badly. Wanted to bury himself deep inside Michelle and cum in her up until she was dripping with him. His vision blurred at the edges, his fingers digging bruises into her thighs. But he held back. Because Bailey had said no.

Bailey watched Michelle shuddering beneath Dan’s thrusts, her nails digging at the leather cushions. She reached down, gripping Michelle’s chin and forcing her to meet her gaze. “You’re doing so well,” Bailey murmured, voice low and rough. “Such a good little slut for us.” Michelle whimpered, her lashes fluttering as Bailey’s thumb traced her swollen bottom lip.

Then Bailey kissed her—again deeply, possessively —tongue sliding against Michelle’s with desire that made Dan groan uncontrollably. When she pulled back, Michelle’s lips were parted, her breaths ragged. “Up,” Bailey commanded giving Michelle’s hair a sharp tug.

Michelle scrambled to obey, her body still thrumming with pleasure, her knees sinking into the cushions as she bent assumed the doggystyle position. Bailey didn’t touch her—just watched, arms crossed, as Dan positioned his cock behind Michelle. His fingers gripped her hips hard, thumbs pressing into the dimples of her lower back.

The angle was so much deeper—and Michelle gasped as he slid into her again, the fullness was perfect. His cock inside her made stars burst behind her eyelids, his pelvis against her ass, leaving no space between them. She could feel every ridge, every pulse of him inside her, in a way that bordered on pain—but she didn’t want it to stop.

"Oh fuck, Dan—" Michelle moaned, her fingers clawing at the armrest, the leather squeaking under her nails. His thrusts were relentless, his grip bruising, but then—suddenly—Bailey was there.

Bailey slid in beside her, one hand tangling in Michelle’s hair while the other gripped her chin, forcing their mouths again into a kiss that was all teeth and tongue. Michelle gasped into it, the dual sensations overwhelming—Dan pounding into her from behind, Bailey’s fingers tightening possessively in her hair. The taste of Bailey’s lip gloss mingled with the salt of her own sweat, the heat between them overwhelming.

Michelle whimpered—a high, broken sound—as her third orgasm crashed over her with terrifying intensity. Her thighs shook violently, her nails digging into Bailey’s forearm hard enough to leave crescent marks. Dan groaned, his forehead pressing between Michelle’s shoulder blades as he fought to hold back, his cock throbbing inside her. Bailey smirked against Michelle’s lips, murmuring, “That’s it, good girl,” before biting down on her bottom lip. Michelle came again—just from those words—her fourth orgasm rolling through her like wildfire, her pussy clamping around Dan’s cock so tightly he cursed.

Bailey pulled back, watching Michelle’s eyelashes flutter, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “Jesus,” Michelle slurred, her limbs liquid, her voice wrecked. “Fuck. Fuck.” She barely registered Dan’s fingers tracing the curve of her hip, his touch featherlight compared to the brutal pace he’d set moments ago. Bailey’s thumb brushed Michelle’s lower lip, smearing what was left of her lipstick. “You’re a mess,” Bailey observed, her voice low with approval.

Then she stood—graceful, deliberate—and leaned down to Dan’s ear. Her breath was hot against his skin, her lips brushing his ear as she murmured, “Cum for me.” Two words, a command. “But not in her. Pull out. Cover her back.”

Dan’s rhythm faltered for just a second—just long enough for Michelle to whimper at the loss—before he gripped her hips tighter and fucked into her with a brutal, punishing pace. Michelle gasped, her nails scraping against the couch cushions, her thighs trembling violently. She couldn’t hear Bailey’s words—couldn’t hear anything over the roar of blood in her ears, the wet slap of skin, the choked moan building in her own throat—but she felt it when Dan’s fingers dug into her flesh hard enough to bruise. He was close and she could feel it.

Michelle had spent her whole life being the one who broke rules—who stole kisses from boyfriends who weren’t hers, who flirted with professors, who pushed limits just to see how far she could go. So when Bailey had laid down the law—no kissing, no cumming inside—some rebellious, reckless part of Michelle had hoped Dan would ignore her. Hoped he’d pin her down and when he fucked her bareback she hoped he’d come deep inside to claim her. Because then she wouldn’t just be Bailey’s plaything—she’d be Dan’s too. And that thought, twisted as it was, sent electricity through her that had nothing to do with the pleasure currently ripping through her body.

But Dan didn’t.

His hips stuttered—once, twice—before he yanked himself free with a groan so raw it scraped Michelle’s nerves. Hot cum splashed across her lower back, the sudden heat making her jerk forward with a gasp. Bailey’s fingers tightened in her hair, holding her in place as Dan’s cum painted her skin.

Bailey didn’t hesitate. She dropped to her knees beside the couch, her tongue dragging up Michelle’s back in one slow, deliberate lick. The taste of the cum was sex and musk and something Dan—familiar yet foreign on another girl’s skin. Michelle shuddered violently, her fingers clutching the armrest as Bailey’s lips traced the curve of her hip. "Fuck," Michelle breathed, her voice broken.

Then Bailey’s fingers gripped Michelle’s chin. Before Michelle could process it, Bailey’s mouth met hers—Bailey's tongue pushing cum past Michelle's lips. The flavor exploded across Michelle’s mouth: bitter. Bailey had taken his cum into her own mouth just to **** it into Michelle’s, their tongues tangling as Bailey commanded, "Swallow." The command between their lips.

Michelle gasped—not pulling away—her throat working instinctively as she obeyed. When Bailey finally broke the kiss, Michelle’s lips stayed parted, breath ragged, her eyelashes fluttering. "Jesus Christ," she slurred, dazed. Her hips jerked involuntarily—still wet, still aching—against the couch cushions.

Bailey leaned back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes locked on Michelle’s wrecked expression. The silence stretched, broken only by Dan’s rough breathing and the distant hum of the still-playing porn. Then—Bailey laughed. Low, throaty, triumphant.

Michelle blinked up at her, chest heaving. "What?" she croaked.

Bailey wiped her thumb under Michelle's swollen bottom lip, smearing leftover spit and cum. "Nothing," she murmured. "Just thinking how much sexier you are when you're not being a bitch."

Michelle's breath hitched—half laugh, half sob—as she slumped forward onto the couch, her body still trembling. Dan collapsed beside her, his fingers tracing idle circles on her hipbone. His gaze flicked to Bailey, dark with something unreadable.

Bailey stretched like a cat, her bare skin glowing in the dim light. She plucked Dan's discarded t-shirt from the floor and tossed it at Michelle's face. "Clean yourself up," she ordered, but her voice lacked its earlier bite.

Michelle caught the fabric with shaky fingers. The scent—Dan's cologne mixed with sweat—hit her like a freight train. She pressed the shirt to her nose for half a second before catching herself. Bailey's smirk told her she'd noticed.

Fuck. She just wanted—just once—to feel him lose control. To have him bury himself inside her with that reckless abandon Bailey got whenever she pleased. No rules. No fucking Mistress watching. Just Dan, wrecking her because he couldn't help himself.

The ghost of his thrusts lingered in Michelle's muscles. She swallowed hard, tasting salt and bitterness on her tongue—Bailey’s sick little power play. But the fantasy coiled hot in her anyway: Dan pinning her down when Bailey wasn’t looking, his hips slamming into hers with none of that careful restraint. Filling her up because he wanted to, not because Bailey allowed it.