Heather stands there, fresh from the shower, when Shauna bursts in. Blonde meets brunette in the middle of the room, words turn sharp, hands fly. Fabric rips. A pale breast spills free, a pierced nipple flashes, then another. Buttons scatter. Panties tear. They’re half-naked, still clawing when Gillian steps between them. She tries logic, then calm, then force. Nothing lands. The girls keep spitting insults until the insults turn cruel: who’s wetter, who’s louder, whose tongue lasts longer. Gillian’s breath catches. A slow smile curves her mouth. She shrugs off her blouse, lets it fall. “Prove it,” she says, lying back on the bed, legs open. “Show me who fucks better.” Shock freezes them for a heartbeat, then hunger wins. Shauna drops first, tongue dragging slow over Gillian’s clit. Heather pushes in beside her, fingers sliding deep, curling hard. Gillian’s hips lift. She moans once, low, then again when two mouths work in rhythm, trading licks, sucking, biting softly at the soft inner thighs. The fight drains out with every wet sound, replaced by soft laughter, whispered apologies, then the urgent need to finish what they started. Gillian pulls them both up, kisses each in turn, guides Heather’s mouth to Shauna’s while her own hand slips between their legs. Fingers find slick heat. Tongues meet. The three of them move together now, no anger left, only heat and the slick, steady rhythm of bodies chasing the same edge until it breaks over all of them at once.
Heather stands there, fresh from the shower, when Shauna bursts in. Blonde meets brunette in the middle of the room, words turn sharp, hands fly. Fabric rips. A pale breast spills free, a pierced nipple flashes, then another. Buttons scatter. Panties tear. They’re half-naked, still clawing when Gillian steps between them. She tries logic, then calm, then force. Nothing lands. The girls keep spitting insults until the insults turn cruel: who’s wetter, who’s louder, whose tongue lasts longer. Gillian’s breath catches. A slow smile curves her mouth. She shrugs off her blouse, lets it fall. “Prove it,” she says, lying back on the bed, legs open. “Show me who fucks better.” Shock freezes them for a heartbeat, then hunger wins. Shauna drops first, tongue dragging slow over Gillian’s clit. Heather pushes in beside her, fingers sliding deep, curling hard. Gillian’s hips lift. She moans once, low, then again when two mouths work in rhythm, trading licks, sucking, biting softly at the soft inner thighs. The fight drains out with every wet sound, replaced by soft laughter, whispered apologies, then the urgent need to finish what they started. Gillian pulls them both up, kisses each in turn, guides Heather’s mouth to Shauna’s while her own hand slips between their legs. Fingers find slick heat. Tongues meet. The three of them move together now, no anger left, only heat and the slick, steady rhythm of bodies chasing the same edge until it breaks over all of them at once.
