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“Feel how wet I am?” she breathed. “He finished inside me.” She rocked her hips, sliding her pussy along his length without letting him in, the friction drawing a gasp from both of them. On screen, she was riding Trent hard, her breasts bouncing, her moans filling the room in stereo — from the speakers and from her own lips as she ground against her husband.

Alice stood by the fireplace, watching. She’d seen these two together in the abstract, in her imagination, in the jokes she made, in the idle fantasies she’d never admitted to anyone. But watching them now, Vanessa straddling Alan with her skirt bunched around her waist, his hands gripping her hips, their bodies moving together with the practiced fluency of two people who knew each other’s rhythms by heart — it was something else entirely. Her mouth went dry. Her pussy, which she’d thought had finally been satisfied after Brock, throbbed back to life.

She moved closer, settling onto the couch beside them. She didn’t ask permission. She simply placed her hand on Vanessa’s bare back, her fingers trailing down her spine, and felt her friend shiver at the touch.

“God, you two are beautiful together,” Alice said, her voice low and genuine, stripped of its usual playfulness. Her hand continued down Vanessa’s back to the curve of her ass, then slid between their bodies to where Vanessa’s pussy was grinding along Alan’s shaft. Her fingers found Vanessa’s clit — swollen and exposed — and began to rub in slow circles.

Vanessa moaned, her rhythm faltering. “Alice…”

“Don’t stop,” Alice whispered. “Keep riding him. I just want to help.”

On screen, Vanessa was crying out, “Oh, yes … I wish my husband could fuck me like this!” When the real Alan heard it, his cock twitched hard against his wife’s soaking folds, and Alice noticed. She leaned in close to his ear, her breath hot, her breasts pressing against his arm through the thin fabric of her dress. “Don’t worry about that finance bro,” she murmured. “Yeah, he had a big cock. But trust me, I had my hand on both of you tonight.” Her fingers curled around his shaft, giving him a slow, appraising squeeze. A small, genuine smile crossed her lips. “You have nothing to worry about, Alan. This is a really nice cock.” She felt him pulse against her fingers, felt the groan building in his chest. She leaned close to his ear, and whispered so only he could hear, “I can’t wait to feel this inside me.”

Vanessa sank down onto Alan’s cock at last, taking him inside her in one long, fluid motion. The sound she made was different from the performance on screen — quieter, more intimate, the sound of a woman coming home after hours in foreign territory. Alan’s hands pulled her hips down, burying himself as deep as he could go, and for a moment they were still, foreheads touching, breathing each other’s air.

Alice’s fingers continued their work on Vanessa’s clit, and her other hand drifted to Alan’s balls, cupping them gently, feeling them tighten as Vanessa began to move. She leaned forward and kissed the junction of Vanessa’s neck and shoulder, tasting the salt of her skin and the faint traces of a stranger’s cologne. Then she kissed Alan’s neck, just below his ear and felt the vibration of his groan against her lips.

On screen, Trent was fucking Vanessa from behind, his hands gripping her hips, her moans escalating. In the living room, Vanessa rode her husband with increasing urgency, Alice’s fingers working her clit in tight circles, Alice’s commentary a stream of whispered filth in their ears: “That’s it, baby, fuck him… you’re so wet, I can feel his cock sliding in and out of you… god, your pussy is incredible…”

Alan’s hands moved from Vanessa’s hips to her breasts, squeezing them through her top, then pulling the fabric down to free them. Alice leaned in and took one of Vanessa’s exposed nipples into her mouth, sucking firmly while her hand continued below. Vanessa cried out, the triple stimulation of Alan’s cock inside her, Alice’s mouth on her breast, and Alice’s fingers on her clit was pushing her toward the edge far faster than she expected.

“I’m going to cum,” she gasped, her voice cracking. “Oh fuck … I’m going to cum …”

Alice released her nipple and whispered fiercely: “Cum on his cock, baby. Show him what Trent did to you. Show him how that dick made you feel.”

Vanessa came hard, her pussy clenching around Alan in rhythmic spasms, her body shuddered, her nails dug into his shoulders. She ground against him through it. Alice’s fingers never let up, extending the orgasm until Vanessa had to grab her wrist and pull her hand away, gasping, oversensitive.

Alan was close, he could feel it. the tightening in his balls, the pressure building at the base of his cock. Vanessa’s pussy was still fluttering around him. On screen, Trent was cumming inside his wife, his face contorted, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself into her. That image tipped him over. He thrust upward, pulling Vanessa down onto him, and came with a groan that emerged from somewhere primal. His cock pumped into her, his vision narrowed to a point, his entire body seized with the release.

They collapsed together, Vanessa draped across his chest, both of them heaving. Alice sat beside them, her hand resting on her friend’s back, her own arousal a persistent ache between her legs. She didn’t push for her own release. Not yet. There would be time.

On the TV, the video played on — Vanessa’s gaping pussy leaking cum, the men cheering. Nobody was watching anymore.

After a few minutes, Vanessa lifted her head. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her skin glistening. She looked at Alice, then at Alan, then back at Alice. “Shower?”

“God, yes,” Alice said.

-----

The three of them crowded into the master bathroom, stripping off whatever clothing remained. Under the hot water, they took turns washing each other, hands moving over skin with a tenderness that felt earned after the frenzy of the evening. Alice lathered up Vanessa’s body. Vanessa soaped Alan’s chest. Alan stood behind Alice and washed her back, his hands moving over the smooth curves of her body with a careful, almost reverent touch. His cock, spent and soft against her ass, didn’t stir. He was done for the night.

They dried off and fell into the big king bed. Vanessa took the middle, Alice on her left, Alan on her right. The sheets were cool against their clean skin. Within minutes, exhaustion pulled them under, their limbs overlapping in configurations that would have been unthinkable a day ago.

-----

Alice woke first. Pale morning light filtered through the curtains, painting soft stripes across the bed. She lay on her side, her blonde hair fanned across the pillow, and took stock. Vanessa was curled against Alan, her back to Alice, one of his arms draped across her waist. They were both breathing deeply, still asleep.

Alice studied Alan’s face in the morning stillness. She’d known him for years, had teased him, provoked him, flirted with him across dinner tables and at parties, always with the safety net of knowing it couldn’t go anywhere. But she’d meant it every time. She’d always found him attractive, not in the flashy, bottle-service way of men like Trent, who broadcast their worth through money clips and designer shirts and expected your pussy as a receipt. Alan’s appeal was quieter, harder to name. It lived in the way he listened, how he looked at Vanessa, the steadiness of him. She’d imagined, more times than she would ever admit, what it would be like to fuck him. Not a fling. She wasn’t interested in wrecking her best friend’s marriage. But the fantasy had lived in her head for years, detailed and persistent, and now the walls that had kept it there had come down.

She slid carefully out from under the covers and moved around to Alan’s side of the bed. He lay on his back, one arm still reaching toward his wife, the sheet pulled down to his waist. His cock rested against his thigh, soft and unassuming. Alice knelt beside the bed, her face level with his hips. She eased the sheet lower, exposing him fully.

She started with her hand — feather-light touches, tracing the length of him with her fingertips. He began to respond even in his sleep. He stirred slightly, a murmur escaped his lips. She wrapped her fingers around his shaft and stroked gently, feeling him thicken and lengthen in her grip. When he was halfway hard, she lowered her mouth and took him in.

He tasted clean from the shower, and she took her time. Her tongue traced slow circles around his head, and her lips slid down his shaft as he grew harder, filling her mouth. She sucked gently, letting the sensation build. Her hand worked the base in a lazy rhythm. Alan’s breathing changed. His hips shifted. She felt his hand find the back of her head. His fingers threaded into her blonde hair, still half-asleep, responding to the pleasure before he was fully conscious of its source.

His eyes opened. He looked down and saw Alice’s blonde hair bobbing between his legs. When she looked up at him, her full lips were stretched around his cock, and her her blue eyes looked up at him communicating both desire and vulnerability. For a moment, he was disoriented — the sight of a woman who wasn’t his wife with his dick in her mouth, in his own bed, at seven in the morning. Then the previous night reassembled itself in his memory, and he exhaled, his head falling back against the pillow.

“Jesus, Alice,” he breathed.

She pulled him out of her mouth just long enough to smile. “Good morning to you too. And don’t worry. Vanessa is ok with this.” Then she took him deep again, hollowing her cheeks, and he groaned.

Beside them, Vanessa stirred. She rolled over, blinking in the morning light, and took a moment to process the scene: her best friend, naked, kneeling beside the bed, the familiar shape of her husband’s cock in her mouth. Alice’s head bobbed steadily. Her hand twisted along his shaft, the wet sounds of her mouth filled the quiet room. Vanessa felt a jolt of mixed emotions: possessiveness, arousal, hunger. And then the arousal won, easily and decisively, flooding her body with heat.

She reached for her phone on the nightstand and opened the camera. She filmed for a few seconds — the angle catching Alice’s profile, her lips stretched around Alan’s girth, her large round breasts hanging forward and swaying slightly with her rhythm, Alan’s hand tangled in her hair, his face a mask of unguarded pleasure. Then Vanessa set the phone down and slid out of bed.

She came around to Alice’s side and knelt behind her. Alice was naked, kneeling with her legs slightly apart, her ass raised. Vanessa placed her hands on Alice’s hips — the skin warm and smooth — and Alice moaned around Alan’s cock at the contact, not breaking her rhythm. Vanessa’s hands slid down the backs of Alice’s thighs, parting them further. Her friend’s pussy was already glistening, the lips flushed pink and slightly swollen from the previous night’s activity. Vanessa could smell her — musky and sweet, different from her own scent, unfamiliar and intoxicating.

She leaned in and pressed her mouth to Alice’s pussy from behind. The reality was nothing like the fantasy she’d spun for herself in the VIP lounge. She had imagined something sweet and salty, like warm skin. The actual taste was sharper than that, tangier, with an undertone of something almost floral that she hadn’t anticipated. And the heat surprised her. Alice’s pussy was furnace-hot against her lips, the folds slicker and more textured than she’d pictured, the flesh softer under her tongue than she’d expected. Alice gasped around Alan’s cock, her hips pushing back instinctively. Vanessa ran her tongue along the full length of her slit, from her clit to her entrance, then back again, and Alice’s moan vibrated through Alan’s shaft in a way that made Alan grunt and grip Alice’s hair tighter.

In her fantasy, she had imagined Alice writhing dramatically, like something out of the porn she’d been making. The reality was subtler. Alice’s body responded in small, honest ways: a tremor in her thigh, a shift in her breathing, the involuntary clench of her fingers on Alan’s hip. Vanessa found that reading these signals came naturally. She knew what felt good because she knew her own body, and she applied that knowledge now, flicking her tongue lightly over Alice’s clit, then sucking it gently between her lips, then pushing her tongue inside her channel and curling it upward. The taste deepened as Alice grew wetter, and Vanessa discovered that she liked it, genuinely liked it, in a way that went beyond curiosity. Alice’s legs trembled. Her pace on Alan’s cock grew erratic, her concentration split between the pleasure she was giving and the pleasure she was receiving.

After a few minutes, Alice pulled her mouth off Alan with a gasp and pressed her forehead against his hip as Vanessa’s tongue worked her clit. “Fuck, Van … oh fuck, that’s good …” Her voice was strained, her composure cracking. Vanessa reached up and ran her nails lightly along Alice’s inner thigh, and felt her friend’s entire body shudder.

Alan propped himself up on his elbows to watch — his wife, on her knees behind their mutual friend, her face buried between Alice’s legs. His cock throbbed against his stomach, wet with Alice’s saliva.

“Come up here,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended.

They rearranged. Alan lay on his back. Alice straddled him, positioning her dripping pussy over his rigid cock, her back to him. She gripped his shaft and rubbed his head along her slit. It was the first time his cock had touched her pussy, and the sensation made them both catch their breath. She was slick and hot and swollen, and the head of his cock parted her lips easily as she sank down onto him. She took him inside her inch by inch until she was fully seated.

“Oh god,” she breathed, her eyes closing. He felt different from the men she’d been with the night before, not as big as Trent not as energetic as Jake, not as pliable as Brock. But that wasn’t what mattered. The intimacy of it — his hands on her hips, the years of wanting this, the morning light making everything feel unhurried and real — amplified every sensation until his cock felt like exactly the right fit for her body. Her pussy squeezed itself around him, and he groaned beneath her.

Vanessa climbed onto the bed and swung her leg over Alan’s face, lowering her pussy to his mouth. She was already wet — from eating Alice, from watching her friend suck her husband’s cock, from the persistent low-grade arousal that had taken up permanent residence in her body over the past month. Alan’s tongue found her clit, and she sighed, settling her weight onto him.

From this position, Vanessa and Alice were face to face. Alice had started to move — lifting herself up and dropping back down onto Alan’s cock in a slow, rolling rhythm, her hands braced on his thighs. Her breasts bounced gently with each descent, her nipples hard and dark pink against her tanned skin. Vanessa leaned forward and kissed her. She tasted her husband’s familiar faint musk on Alice’s breath, which mingled with the rich aftertaste of Alice’s pussy on her own. Their tongues met softly, without the frenzy of the night before. After all, this was morning sex, languid and exploratory, their bodies still drowsy and their muscles sore from the previous evening’s exertions.

Vanessa’s hands found Alice’s breasts. She cupped them firmly, noticing their weight and firmness, so different from her own natural softness. She rolled Alice’s nipples between her fingers, pinching lightly. Alice moaned into her mouth, and her rhythm on Alan’s cock quickened. Vanessa’s other hand drifted down Alice’s stomach to the junction where her body met Alan’s. She could feel her husband’s shaft sliding in and out, slick with a mix of Alice’s saliva and juices, and the sensation hit her like a contact high. It was not jealousy, but closer to wonder. Her fingers found Alice’s clit, exposed and swollen where it rubbed against Alan’s shaft on each downstroke, and she began to circle it gently.

Alice broke the kiss, her head falling back, her mouth open. “Oh god … Van … yes, right there …” She was riding harder now, her pussy gripping Alan’s cock, Vanessa’s fingers worked her clit. Below them, Alan’s tongue was making Vanessa moan. He knew every inch of her, knew exactly how to bring her to the edge and hold her there, his lips sealed around her clit, his tongue moving in the slow, insistent pattern that always made her come undone.

The three of them moved together, finding a shared rhythm. Alice bounced on Alan’s cock, Vanessa rocked against his face. Their mouths met and separated, their hands roamed over each other’s bodies. The room filled with the sounds of their sex: wet, intimate, unhurried.

Alice came first. Vanessa felt it under her fingers — the sudden rigidity of Alice’s body, the way her thighs clamped against Alan’s hips, the sharp cry that broke from her throat as her body arched backward. Her pussy spasmed around Alan’s cock. As she moaned in ecstasy, Alan groaned into Vanessa’s pussy. Alice ground down through it, her hands gripping Vanessa’s shoulders for support, her body trembling for a long, luxurious half-minute before she slowed and slumped forward with her sweaty forehead pressed against Vanessa’s collarbone.

Vanessa followed moments later. Alan’s tongue had been building her steadily throughout, and the sight of Alice coming apart on her husband’s cock — the sounds, the feel of her friend’s body shuddering against her own — pushed her over. She came with a deep, quiet moan, her thighs tightening around Alan’s head, her pussy flooding his mouth. She rocked against him gently as the waves moved through her, her hand still resting on Alice’s hip, their bodies connected.

Alan lasted another minute inside Alice. With Vanessa’s taste on his tongue and Alice’s pussy still tight around him, he thrust upward three, four, five times, then pulled Alice down onto him and held her there as he came, not as explosively as the night before, but deeply, a slow, rolling release that seemed to drain the last reserves of energy from his body. Alice felt his cock pulse inside her and squeezed around him, milking every drop, a satisfied smile on her lips.

The three of them disentangled slowly, carefully, and collapsed in a heap on the rumpled sheets. For a while, nobody spoke. The only sounds were their breathing and the distant noise of birds outside the window.

-----

Eventually, Alice padded to the kitchen and started making coffee, wearing one of Alan’s t-shirts, which fell to mid-thigh on her shorter frame. Vanessa joined her a few minutes later, wrapped in a silk robe, her hair still tousled. Alan stayed in bed, half-dozing, his body spent in a way that felt almost medicinal. He marveled at his good fortune. He was married to a gorgeous woman to whom he had never been as attracted as lately. He had just made love to her stunningly attractive best friend, not only with his wife’s permission, but her encouragement. Although he never would have pursued this on his own, Alice’s charms and overt sexuality had never been lost on him.

The two women sat at the kitchen island with their mugs, the morning sun warming the countertop between them. For a few minutes, they talked about nothing. The coffee, the weather, a mutual friend’s engagement. They circled the obvious topics the way people do when there’s too much to say and no clear place to start.

Alice broke first. She set her mug down and pulled out her phone. “Okay, so, I’ve been meaning to bring this up.” She turned the screen toward Vanessa. On it was an OnlyFans profile page: Alice’s face in the header image, pouty and professionally lit, her breasts straining against a lacy bralette. The bio read: *Your favorite bad influence. Solo content. DMs open.* Below it, a grid of locked posts, each one blurred behind a paywall.

Vanessa’s eyebrows climbed. “Wait, is this what you mentioned at the bar? You said you’d started an OnlyFans but I thought you were joking.”

“Not joking. About two months now. Started not long after I got laid off.” Alice took a sip of coffee. “It’s basically a platform where people pay to see your stuff. You post photos, videos, whatever you want, and your fans pay you a monthly subscription to access it. You can also send them exclusive content for extra money. The site takes a cut, you keep the rest. Simple as that.”

She unlocked her phone and scrolled through her page, tilting the screen so Vanessa could see. “Subscribers pay twelve dollars a month for access to my feed. On top of that, I do pay-per-view messages, where I send exclusive content directly to someone’s inbox and they pay to unlock it. That’s where the real money is.” She tapped on a folder of her content. The first few posts were teasing: a mirror selfie in matching black lingerie, her body angled to accentuate the curve of her waist and the swell of her implants. A short video clip of her in a sheer robe, slowly untying the sash with a coy smile, the fabric parting to reveal her bare breasts before she turned away from the camera. Then the content escalated. A photo set of Alice fully nude on rumpled white sheets, her legs parted just enough to show the smooth lines of her pussy, one hand resting on her inner thigh. A video, maybe ninety seconds long, of her lying on her back in candlelight, her fingers circling her clit in slow, deliberate strokes, her breaths growing shallow as her hips started to lift off the mattress.

“I started with just lingerie and implied nudes,” Alice said, scrolling past a topless photo where she cupped her breasts with both hands, nipples peeking out between her fingers. “That got me my first fifty or so subscribers in the first week. Then I started posting full nudes, and the numbers jumped. When I posted my first masturbation video, I gained a hundred subscribers in two days.” She pulled up her earnings dashboard: a simple graph showing a steady upward curve over eight weeks. “Right now I’ve got about a hundred and eighty subscribers at twelve bucks a month. That’s a little over two grand before the platform’s cut. Plus another five hundred or so from pay-per-view messages and tips. So I’m clearing about two thousand a month after fees.”

Vanessa studied the screen, genuinely surprised. Compared to what they had made last night, the numbers were modest. But it was real income, and Alice had gotten to this point in just eight weeks with nothing but a phone, good lighting, and a body she’d already been investing in. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“Because I wasn’t sure how you’d react. You were still, you know, *normal* Vanessa back then.” Alice smiled. “But now that you’re out here getting gangbanged on Pornhub, I figured the statute of limitations on shame has expired.”

Vanessa laughed, shaking her head. “Fair point.”

“But here’s the thing, Van. You should absolutely be on OnlyFans. You already have the audience. You’ll build up the name recognition. You’re leaving money on the table. Serious money.” Alice leaned forward. “Top earners, the girls I follow for research? Some of them clear fifty, sixty thousand a month. They’ve got big followings, sure, but your Pornhub numbers are already in that range. You could set your subscription at fifteen, twenty bucks, and between the monthly fees and pay-per-view and custom content requests, you’d be pulling five figures a month, easy. Maybe more.”

Vanessa’s smile faded slightly. She wrapped both hands around her mug. “I’ve thought about it. But the Pornhub stuff feels… different. It’s out there, but it’s anonymous-ish. Valeria isn’t my real name. OnlyFans feels more personal. More direct. What if someone I know subscribes? What if someone from work sees it?”

Alice reached across the island and put her hand on Vanessa’s. “Babe, your face is on one of the most-watched porn clips in the country. Your tits have been seen by two million people. The toothpaste is not going back in the tube.” Her tone was kind but firm. “Anyone who’s going to recognize you already can. OnlyFans doesn’t change that — it just means you get paid properly for the exposure you already have.”

Vanessa was quiet for a moment, turning the mug in her hands. She knew Alice was right. The anonymity she’d been clinging to was an illusion, a comfortable fiction that let her keep one foot in her old life. But that old life was already gone. The woman who’d blushed asking Alice for blowjob advice didn’t exist anymore. The woman sitting in this kitchen had fucked a stranger for twenty-five hundred bucks last night, had cum on her best friend’s fingers, had tasted another woman’s pussy for the first time this morning. Pretending she was still that other person wasn’t caution — it was denial.

“I’ll think about it,” she said, which they both knew meant yes.

Alice grinned and squeezed her hand. “Good. And listen — in the meantime, I have a thought.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping conspiratorially, the t-shirt sliding off one shoulder. “My subscribers have been asking for partner content. I’ve never done it because… well, I didn’t have a partner I trusted enough. But now I do.” She glanced toward the bedroom, where Alan could be heard shifting in the sheets. “What if we film a scene? Me and Alan. For my page.”

Vanessa felt the suggestion land in her stomach — a flutter that was part thrill, part something more possessive that she chose not to examine too closely. “You want to fuck my husband. On camera. For your subscribers.”

“I want to make love to your husband,” Alice corrected, her eyes holding Vanessa’s steadily. “On camera. For my subscribers. While you film it.” She let the words settle. “Look — it’s good content for me, it’s hot as hell for both of you, and honestly?” She bit her lip. “I’ve wanted to fuck Alan for six years. You know that. I’ve never made a secret of it. This just… makes it productive.”

Vanessa studied her friend. Alice’s expression was open, almost vulnerable — a rare look on a woman who wore confidence like armor. She was asking for permission, genuinely, and it disarmed whatever resistance Vanessa might have mounted.

“Let me ask him,” Vanessa said.

She didn’t have to go far. Alan appeared in the kitchen doorway, wearing boxers and nothing else, his hair sticking up at odd angles. “Ask me what?”

Alice and Vanessa exchanged a look. Vanessa turned to him. “Alice wants to film a scene with you. For her OnlyFans. I’d film it.” She watched his face carefully — the flicker of surprise, the rapid processing, and then, the heat that rose behind his eyes.

“Right now?” he asked.

Alice laughed. “I mean, ideally after you’ve had some coffee. But yeah — this morning, while the light’s good.”

Alan poured himself a cup, leaned against the counter, and took a long sip. His eyes moved between the two women — his wife in her silk robe, her expression somewhere between amused and anticipatory; Alice in his t-shirt, her bare legs crossed, her full lips giving him a smile that made promises she clearly intended to keep. He’d fantasized about Alice countless times. Every man who’d ever met her had. But the fantasy had always been safely impossible, sealed as it was behind the glass of his marriage, his friendship, basic decency. But now that glass was gone — not shattered, more like the window had been opened. And with Vanessa’s encouragement, now the woman herself was sitting in his kitchen asking him to fuck her while his wife filmed it.

“Okay,” he said. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

-----

They used the bedroom. Vanessa opened the curtains to let in the natural light, which fell across the white sheets in warm, diffused bands. She positioned herself at the foot of the bed with her phone, framing the shot wide enough to capture the full scene.

Alice stood at the edge of the bed, still in Alan’s t-shirt. She looked at him, sitting on the bed, watching her. For a moment the playful, flirtatious persona she’d worn like a second skin for as long as he’d known her thinned and became transparent. Beneath it, he glimpsed what was actually underneath: genuine desire, unmediated by performance.

She pulled the t-shirt over her head slowly, revealing her body in the morning light. Her breasts were round and firm, the implants giving them a fullness that defied gravity. In the morning light, they caught the sun. Her dark pink nipples were already hard. Her stomach was flat and tanned, her waist curving into hips that flared to toned thighs. Her shaved pussy, still slightly puffy from the previous night, was the only part of her that showed evidence of the four times she’d already been fucked since last night. She stood before him without posing, without performing, just letting him look.

“Come here,” he said quietly.

She climbed onto the bed and knelt beside him. For a moment, they just looked at each other — years of loaded glances and suggestive comments collapsing into this single, still point, and then she leaned in and kissed him.

It started gentle. Her lips were soft, and she tasted like coffee and something sweeter underneath. Her hand came up to his jaw, thumb tracing the line of his stubble. He kissed her back, his hand finding the curve of her waist, and felt her shiver. Not from cold but from the contact itself, as if his touch carried a voltage she hadn’t been prepared for. She deepened the kiss, her tongue meeting his, and the gentleness began to dissolve into something more urgent. She pressed her body against his, her bare breasts flattening against his chest, and he felt the heat of her pussy against his thigh.

She pushed him back onto the bed and straddled him, her knees on either side of his hips. She kissed down his neck, his collarbone, his chest. She took her time, mapping his body with her mouth as if memorizing it. When she reached his stomach, she felt his muscles tense under her lips. She continued lower, her blonde hair trailing across his skin, until she reached his cock, hardening rapidly against his boxers.

She pulled the waistband down, freeing him. He wasn’t fully hard yet but she took him into her mouth and worked him patiently. Her tongue swirled, her lips created a gentle suction, her hand stroked in a slow, twisting motion that gradually coaxed him to full rigidity. She wasn’t rushing. She wasn’t performing. She was savoring him, and the intimacy of it — so different from the frantic, champagne-fueled energy of the night before — made Alan’s chest tighten with an emotion he hadn’t prepared for.

When he was fully hard, she climbed back up his body and kissed him again, her hand still wrapped around his shaft. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” she murmured against his lips. It wasn’t dirty talk. It was a confession.

She sat up, positioned herself over him, and reached down to guide his cock to her entrance, rubbing his head along her slit to coat him in her wetness. Then she sank down slowly, her lips parting, her brow furrowing, a sound escaping her that was closer to a sigh than a moan — a sound of arrival, of something falling into place.

From behind the phone, Vanessa watched her husband’s cock disappear into her best friend’s pussy. She’d expected jealousy, braced for it. What she felt instead was a rush of heat that began in her belly and radiated outward, flushing her chest and neck. Her pussy throbbed. Her mouth went dry. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a small voice noted the possessiveness — *that’s my husband* — but it was quiet, distant, easily drowned out by the roar of arousal that was overpowering everything else. So this was what Alan felt when he watched her with other men. This intoxicating cocktail of vulnerability and excitement, the thrill of seeing your partner through someone else’s desire. She understood him now, in a way she hadn’t before.

Alice began to move — slowly at first, rolling her hips in languid circles, grinding her clit against his pubic bone. She was fucking him the way she’d imagined fucking him during all those years of restless fantasies — intimately, attentively, with a focus on connection rather than spectacle. Her hands were on his chest, her eyes on his face, watching his reactions, adjusting her angle and rhythm to find the movements that made his breath catch and his fingers dig into her thighs.

“You feel incredible,” she told him, and meant it completely. His cock wasn’t the biggest she’d had (not by a considerable margin, as it happened), but size was never the point with Alan. His body responded to hers with an attentiveness that the men she’d fucked for money couldn’t match. His hips rose to meet hers in a rhythm that was collaborative rather than competitive. She leaned down to kiss him, her breasts pressing against him, her pussy squeezing around him as she ground forward.

Alan’s hands moved up her back, pulling her closer. He couldn’t quite believe this was happening — Alice, the woman who’d tormented him with innuendo for years, naked and wet and riding his cock in the morning sunlight while his wife filmed them. Her pussy felt different from Vanessa’s — tighter in some ways, the texture different, the angle of her body creating friction in unfamiliar places. But what struck him most was how focused she was on him. She wasn’t just making love to him; she was studying him, responding to every signal his body gave, persuading him to repeat this encounter in the most convincing way conceivable.

She sat up, changing the angle, and started riding him harder. Her breasts bounced with each movement. Her stomach muscles flexed, her thighs gripped his sides. She reached behind her and found his balls, cupping them, rolling them gently as she rode. “God, Alan — you’re so deep right now,” she gasped, her head tilting back, her hair cascading down her back. She was building toward something, and she wanted it to be visible — for him, for Vanessa, for the camera.

Vanessa circled the bed slowly, capturing different angles. Alice’s ass bouncing on Alan’s thighs, her pussy gripping his shaft on each upstroke, the wet sheen of her arousal coating him. Alan’s face: eyes half-closed, jaw clenched, hands gripping Alice’s hips. The way his cock disappeared into her, emerged glistening, then disappeared again. Vanessa’s hand wasn’t entirely steady. Her own pussy was soaking the inside of her silk robe, her nipples stiff against the fabric. She wanted to touch herself, but she kept filming. This footage was important. For Alice’s page, yes, but also for something else she didn’t have words for yet. A record of a transformation that was still unfolding.

Alice changed positions — she climbed off and lay on her back, pulling Alan on top of her. She spread her legs wide, hooking her ankles behind his ass, and guided him back inside her. From this angle, he slid in deeper, and she felt the head of his cock graze a spot that made her gasp. “Right there — oh fuck, right there —” She grabbed his ass and pulled him into her, urging him to repeat the motion. He obliged, finding the angle and stroking it deliberately, watching her face transform as the pleasure mounted.

“Don’t hold back,” she whispered, pulling him down for a kiss. “I want to feel you let go.”

He started fucking her harder, the bed creaking under them, his hips driving forward with increasing force. Alice matched him thrust for thrust, her nails raking his back, her moans filling the room, not the exaggerated cries of the VIP lounge but rawer, less controlled, sounds pulled from her body involuntarily. She was close, and she wanted him to know it, not as a performance, but as a gift. She wanted him to feel what he could do to her.

“I’m going to cum,” she breathed, her eyes locked on his. “You’re going to make me cum, Alan — oh god —” Her body arched beneath him, her pussy clamping around his cock as the orgasm tore through her. She cried out, grabbing his shoulders, her heels digging into his ass to hold him deep inside her as she came. The sound she made was different from any sound she’d made the night before — less theatrical, more vulnerable, almost surprised by its own intensity.

Alan felt her orgasm ripple around his cock and it pushed him to his own edge. He thrust deep into her three more times, then buried himself and held still as he came, his body rigid, his cock pulsing inside her. It was explosive, yes, but the intimacy of it, the way Alice held him against her as he finished, the way she whispered “yes, give it all to me” as she felt him fill her — it registered on a different level entirely.

He collapsed beside her, and she rolled into him, tucking herself against his side in a way that felt both natural and foreign. Giving them some time to cuddle together, Vanessa ended the recording after another minute and set the phone on the nightstand. She looked at them — her husband and her best friend, naked and intertwined, his cock now soft against her thigh, his cum beginning to seep from between Alice’s legs — and waited for the jealousy to hit.

It didn’t. Not really. What she felt was closer to the satisfaction of watching a scene she’d directed come together perfectly. And threaded through it, a love for both performers and a low, steady pulse of arousal.

She climbed onto the bed and settled on Alice’s other side, draping an arm across both of them. “That was beautiful,” she said, and kissed Alice’s shoulder.

Alice smiled, her eyes still half-closed. “That was worth the wait.”

-----

They spent the rest of the morning in a lazy haze — coffee refills, leftover takeout eaten standing at the kitchen counter, long stretches of comfortable silence. Alice borrowed some of Vanessa’s clothes and the three of them migrated to the living room couch, where they sprawled in various configurations of overlapping limbs.

It was Alice who brought up the party. She was lying with her head in Vanessa’s lap, her feet in Alan’s, scrolling through her phone. “So, Trent,” she said, without looking up, pronouncing the name the way you might say *cockroach*. “When do we call him?”

Vanessa ran her fingers through Alice’s hair absently. “Not today. Not tomorrow either. We don’t want to seem desperate.”

“Wednesday?” Alice suggested.

“Thursday,” Vanessa countered. “Let him stew. If he taught us one thing about himself last night, it’s that he likes to spend money when he’s desperate.”

Alice nodded approvingly. “Smart. And what are we asking for?”

“We need to figure out the terms. How many guys, how long, what’s on the table, what’s off. And a price that makes it worth our while.” Vanessa glanced at Alan, who was rubbing Alice’s feet with one hand and scrolling through his own phone with the other. “Babe, you should be involved in the negotiation. You know this stuff better than we do.”

Alan looked up. The idea of negotiating the terms under which his wife and her best friend would have sex with a group of men for money was, he reflected, not a scenario any business school case study had prepared him for. And yet the practical challenge of it appealed to him — the same part of his brain that enjoyed deal-making at work was already calculating variables. “I’ll think about the structure,” he said. “We want to set it up so the money’s good, the boundaries are clear, and you two are in control the entire time.”

“My hero,” Alice said, wiggling her toes against his chest.

They agreed: Thursday, Vanessa would call Trent. In the meantime, the three of them would work out what they wanted and what they’d charge for it.

-----

Alice left in the late afternoon, borrowing one of Vanessa’s sundresses and calling her own Uber. At the door, she hugged Vanessa for a long time — longer than their usual goodbye, infused with a warmth that hadn’t existed between them before this weekend. Then she turned to Alan, and kissed him on the mouth. Not a peck. A real kiss, soft and lingering, with just enough tongue to remind him of the morning. “See you soon,” she said, and walked out.

Alan and Vanessa stood in the doorway, watching the Uber pull away. Alan put his arm around his wife, and she leaned into him. They were quiet for a while.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

He considered the question honestly. His body ached in places he didn’t know could ache. His cock was genuinely sore, a dull pleasant throb that reminded him of every orgasm he’d had in the past sixteen hours. But beyond the physical, there was a tangle of emotions that he wasn’t sure he could sort out yet. He had watched his wife fuck another man on a screen while she rode him. He had cum inside another woman for the first time since his marriage. He had watched that same woman, his wife’s best friend, eat his wife’s pussy and ride his cock and whisper confessions of desire that had been building for years. None of it matched the script of the life he’d imagined for himself. But standing here with Vanessa warm against his side, he felt no regret. The guilt he might have expected was absent, replaced by an expansiveness, as though the walls of his marriage, rather than crumbling, had simply moved outward to accommodate more.

“I feel good,” he said. “Confused. Turned on. Exhausted.” He paused. “Happy.”

Vanessa nodded against his shoulder. Her own inventory was similarly complex. Her pussy was sore. She had fucked a stranger for money, put on a lesbian show for cash, eaten her best friend’s pussy, watched her best friend suck and ride her husband’s cock, and filmed it all. A year ago, any single one of those acts would have been unthinkable. Now they felt like the natural progression of a journey that she and Alan had started together, and that was pulling them — and now Alice — toward something she couldn’t yet see the shape of.

She had no regrets. The love she felt for Alan hadn’t diminished; if anything, the trust required to do what they were doing had deepened it. And Alice — Alice was a complication, but not an unwelcome one. Having a partner in this, someone who understood the thrill and the hustle and the vulnerability, made the whole thing feel less like a secret vice and more like a life she was choosing with open eyes.

“I feel good too,” she said. “Sore as hell. But good.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Thursday,” he said.

“Thursday,” she agreed.

-----

In the back of the Uber, Alice pressed her forehead against the cool window and smiled. Her body was tender. Four men in twelve hours would do that. But the ache felt like an accomplishment, a reminder of a night that might reshape the course of —if not the rest of her life — her love life at the very least.

The money was real. Eighteen hundred dollars from the bar, plus whatever they could squeeze out of Trent and his idiot friends next weekend. For a woman who’d opened an OnlyFans account to be sure she could make rent, there was a sense of relief. The stranglehold of her financial insecurity was loosening. But it was more than the money. She had tasted something tonight that she hadn’t known she was hungry for — not just being desired, but being paid for it. Men like Trent thought they were buying power over you. The truth was the opposite.

And then there was Alan. She touched her lips, remembering the morning — the way he’d looked at her when she pulled off his t-shirt, the tenderness of his hands on her body, the quiet intensity of their sex. She had set out to demonstrate her value as a lover, and she was fairly certain she’d succeeded. But somewhere in the process, the performance had stopped being a performance. She had felt something real on that bed, more than physical, more than strategic. Whether she could afford to feel it was a question she wasn’t ready to answer.

What she knew was this: she wanted more. More of the money, more of the thrill, more of Vanessa’s body against hers, more of Alan’s cock inside her and his hands in her hair and the way he looked at her like she was worth looking at. She wanted to be part of whatever this was becoming.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Vanessa: *Thursday. We’ll figure out the details this week. Sleep well, babe. last night was incredible.*

Alice typed back: *Thursday. And thanks for sharing him. He’s even better than I imagined.*

A moment later, another buzz: *I know.* Followed by a winking emoji — the first emoji Vanessa had ever sent her that felt like it meant something.

Alice closed her eyes and leaned back against the seat. Trent’s party. She didn’t know what it would look like yet, but she knew it would be lucrative, and wild, and another step into a world that was expanding faster than she could keep up with. And meanwhile, she had some new content to sell on her OnlyFans.

She couldn’t wait for the weekend.

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