The door clicked shut behind Bharath, the thud of his footsteps fading down the porch steps as he headed to Papa John’s. It was only a ten-minute walk, but Marisol waited until she could no longer hear even the distant scuff of his sneakers before she turned to Mia with a sly, dangerous smile.

  Sarah was already watching her - head tilted, legs curled beneath her on the carpet, her chin propped in her palm like a cat preparing to pounce.

  Mia looked between them, blinking, suddenly aware of how silent the room had grown.

  “What?” she asked, her voice pitched higher than usual. “Why are you both looking at me like that?”

  Marisol leaned forward on the couch, her elbows on her knees. “Because, chiquita… you’re not just curious anymore.”

  Sarah’s smile deepened. “You’re interested in him.”

  Mia’s mouth opened to protest, but no words came. Her cheeks flushed - and then, slowly, defiantly, she closed her lips and nodded.

  “Yeah,” she whispered. “I think I am.”

  She’d always been the one who made boys sweat. The one who said how far and how fast. But now? She was the one squirming. The one begging. And God help her, she loved it.

  The way Marisol and Sarah spoke - like they belonged to him, like surrender was sacred--it made something tighten in Mia’s chest. This wasn’t the kind of power she was used to. This wasn’t about control. It was about devotion. And for the first time, she wanted that more than anything.

  Marisol gave a quiet, approving hum and leaned back, legs crossing slowly. “Then let’s not pretend. No more awkward gnces or nervous questions. You can ask anything, say anything.”

  Sarah’s voice was gentle, but unmistakably sure. “This space? Right now? It’s just us girls. No judgment. That’s why we sent him out.”

  Mia inhaled slowly, as if testing the air for permission. Her thighs pressed together. She didn’t even realize her fingers had wandered to her p until Marisol’s eyes dropped - not disapproving, but observant.

  “What is he like?” Mia whispered, her voice hoarse. “I mean… really. Sexually. Is he... aggressive? How does he keep two women who look like you satisfied?”

  “Satisfied? More like we have to beg him to spare us sometimes,” opined Sarah remembering that morning. “He’s learned us so well that I don’t think we alone can take him on one on one anymore. He just unravels us. When he growls taking Marisol or I, we just turn into puddles.”

  Mia’s breath hitched. “He doesn’t seem to be the type to be so aggressive!”

  Marisol ughed - low and musical. “Not aggressive. Dominant. There’s a difference.”

  Sarah picked it up like a practiced duet. “He doesn’t take. He cims.”

  Mia let out a small sound, almost a whimper.

  Marisol leaned in again, her eyes now gleaming with conspiratorial heat. “He didn’t ask me if I wanted to submit. He earned it. Every second. Every inch of my surrender, he took with reverence. Worshipped me like a temple before taking me like a man.”

  Sarah giggled softly, her face flushed. “And when he finally touched me… God. He didn’t even have to say anything. Just looked at me like I belonged to him. And I did. I do.”

  Mia’s breath hitched. Her legs shifted, hips unconsciously pressing into the couch.

  Marisol grinned. “Always in the nude. That’s the rule. We sleep together every night, skin to skin, his arms around both of us. Often in us.”

  Sarah added, “And when we make love - it’s always the three of us. Always. We take care of each other. Kiss, taste, tease - but only when he’s there. Only when he wants it.”

  Mia blinked, wide-eyed. “So… you’re not in love with each other?”

  The girls shook their heads in tandem .

  “We are but not in the way you think. We are more like sister-wives,” said Marisol. “I love Sarah as a best-friend and can’t imagine life without her, but not in a romantic way. I only love Bharath that way.”

  “It’s about him,” Sarah said. “We love him. The rest is… bonus. Sometimes we kiss and more to make him moan. Sometimes we tease each other because it gets him hard. Or sometimes he just orders us to and we do it because we can’t help ourselves when he is like that.”

  “He’s the center,” Marisol murmured. “He’s the sun. We orbit around him, and it feels right. He didn’t ask us to. We chose to.”

  Mia’s fingers had now fully slipped beneath the waistband of her pajamas. She didn’t even try to hide it.

  Marisol and Sarah noticed. They didn’t stop her.

  Instead, Marisol said, softly, “You want to know our traditions?”

  Mia nodded rapidly, cheeks flushed with raw need.

  “We wake him with our mouths like today morning,” Sarah whispered. “Every morning. We call it the titjob arm clock - one of us sits on his chest, the other between his legs. He wakes up already in heaven. Then he ravages us. Today we went for almost two hours until we almost passed out from pleasure.”

  Mia whimpered as she rubbed herself visualizing Bharath ravaging them.

  “Sacred Tuesdays,” Marisol added, voice low and warm, “are our special days. We fuck all day from early morning. We skip lunch and have nooners instead. The rule is: no clothes after css until dinner. He makes love to both of us. That’s what he loves to do. But we beg him to sm into us sometimes. Spank us. Tame us. We don’t eat food. We feast on him.”

  Sarah smiled, remembering. “He never bathes alone either. Not anymore. If he tries, we drag him in. It’s a rule now - we worship him in the shower. With mouths, our tits, with hands. All of us slippery and soaked, pressed against him. You haven’t lived until you get a special bath from him either. Both Marisol and I are like puppets in his hands when he worships us instead.”

  Mia’s mouth had fallen open slightly. Her fingers moved faster, breath coming in little gasps. She looked dazed. Wild.

  Marisol kept going, her voice now nothing but velvet. “I have given him every part of me to him, you know. Every part. My mouth. My body. My heart. One by one. And he didn’t even realize he was doing it. He just… looked at me like I was worth ciming. On his birthday he gets the st part of us he hasn’t taken yet. Our asses. After that we will be his three hole sluts whenever he wants. Wherever he wants.”

  Mia moaned.

  Sarah shifted closer, voice now nearly at Mia’s ear. “You want him to take you too, don’t you? You want to belong to him like us.”

  Mia nodded, biting her lip.

  “You want him to bend you over the kitchen table like he did to me st week. To tie your wrists to the headboard like he did with Marisol and made me eat her pussy while he smmed into me.”

  “I want all of it,” Mia whispered. “Everything.”

  Marisol exhaled slowly. “We’ve talked about this, you know. About you.”

  Mia blinked. “Me?”

  Sarah’s smile was gentle. “Ever since you started looking at him differently. Marisol noticed and we discussed it. Of course Bharath doesn’t know.”

  Marisol nodded. “And we couldn’t stop imagining it. What it would be like… watching him take you.”

  Mia’s breath hitched.

  “Your gorgeous tits,” Sarah murmured, gaze flicking down. “Him looking at you lovely breasts jiggling with wonder while he fucks you slowly.”

  Marisol’s voice dropped, husky. “Or fast. Bent over the table. Us watching. Helping. Maybe I’m behind you, whispering in your ear while he’s inside. Maybe Sarah’s holding your wrists down while he sms into you.”

  Mia whimpered.

  The room was hot now. Charged. Mia had slipped her pajamas down almost entirely only left in her thong which was sodden now. She wasn’t even pretending anymore.

  Marisol leaned down until her lips were just a breath from Mia’s ear. “If you want to join us then you have to show us how serious you are.”

  Mia froze. Her pupils dited. Her hand paused just enough for the moment to thrum with tension.

  “How?” she whispered.

  Sarah sat back, legs spreading just enough to send a silent message. Her top clung to her breasts, nipples pressing against the fabric obscenely. “Don’t stop. We want to see.”

  Mia let out a soft, broken gasp.

  “Look at her,” Marisol said to Sarah, almost like a performance review. “She’s dripping. I bet she’s been thinking about this for weeks. Imagining herself in our pce. Wondering what it would feel like to have his hands on her.”

  Mia’s hips lifted slightly off the couch.

  “We can tell he turns you on,” Sarah said softly. “But it’s not just lust, is it? You want to belong to him. Do you want to be his slut as well like us? Only his from now. No other man. Forever.”

  “I do,” Mia breathed. “I really do. I want to only be his. No one else comes close.”

  Mia hesitated, trembling. “But... aren’t you supposed to hate the idea of him with someone else?”

  Marisol’s voice was calm, but her eyes burned. “That’s what I used to think. Before I saw him with Sarah.”

  Sarah smiled, soft and knowing. “Before I saw him with Marisol.”

  Marisol continued, “Watching him… use another woman with so much care, so much power-hearing her scream and knowing I was part of that? It didn’t feel like losing him. It felt like worship.”

  “We’re not jealous,” Sarah said. “We’re addicts. Addicted to watching him give. To hearing someone else moan his name as he cims her over and over.”

  Marisol looked at Mia, almost hesitant. “I know it might sound weird. Especially since you’re my sister. But the thought of him taking you while we help you get there... it makes me shake with desire. Sarah and I have discussed this many times since I saw how interested you were in him. We both knew that it was not just a simple crush. We are having this discussion with you only after we talked through this thoroughly.”

  “And not just him,” Marisol added. “You want to belong to us too. To be part of this.”

  Mia hesitated-just a flicker-but it didn’t go unnoticed. Marisol and Sarah exchanged a gnce.

  Sarah’s voice softened, sincere. “We don’t touch each other when he’s not here. That’s something we decided early on-not because we don’t enjoy it, but because without him, it doesn’t feel the same. It’s not… us.”

  Marisol nodded, her expression gentle. “He’s our anchor. Our reason. When we kiss or more in front of him, it’s for his joy. For his eyes. Not for each other.”

  Mia’s brows pinched slightly, conflicted. “So why now?”

  Sarah stepped closer, her gaze steady. “Because this isn’t about us. It’s about you.”

  Marisol’s voice was low. “This moment isn’t for pleasure. It’s to show you what devotion looks like. What it means to share. What surrender can feel like-when it’s sacred.”

  Sarah took Mia’s hand. “And to see how you react. Not just because we want to know if you’re ready… but because we need to know he’s safe with you. That you won’t flinch at this life. That this kind of love doesn’t scare you.”

  Marisol leaned in. “If it does? That’s okay. But if it doesn’t…”

  She trailed off. Her eyes locked with Sarah’s.

  Mia nodded, slow, trembling. “Do it.”