Babysitting Lesbians: House Rules

Cherie walks Serena to the guest room with a single rule. No visitors. Serena nods, Cherie leaves. Ten minutes later Serena's on the phone with her girlfriend whispering about sneaking her in anyway. Back in the driveway Cherie remembers her purse. She climbs the stairs without a sound, pauses outside the door, and hears every word. When she steps inside and clears her throat, Serena spins, ends the call, eyes wide. Cherie asks if a boy is coming over. Serena says no, that would be ridiculous. Cherie raises a brow, glances at the phone again, and the truth tumbles out: another girl, a fuck on the leather couch, sweaty limbs on her freshly cleaned sheets. Instead of firing her, Cherie studies Serena like she's scanning a tasting menu, then sets the phone down. 'The only person who gets fucked in this house is me,' she says. 'And tonight that’s you.' She grabs two handfuls of Serena’s hoodie, shoves her onto the mattress, and peels the fabric away like it offends her. Serena’s protest melts into a caught breath. She came here wanting sex and the hunger doesn’t care whose hands deliver it. Cherie’s mouth tastes like lipstick and the promise of heat, fingers slick as they slide inside. Serena arches, knuckles white around the pillow, and lets the older woman take everything she’s been aching for.