Laps Of Luxury

Reagan and Rachael lead Dixie through marble hallways and high ceilings. "What do you think?" one asks. Dixie smiles. "It's beautiful." The wives share a glance. They explain they've always wanted a girl they could look after, someone who would let them provide everything. Dixie can stay, they say, if she lets them take care of her in every way. She agrees without hesitation. They send her off for a bath and promise to order food. Steam curls above the tub when the wives step inside. They tease her about missing a spot, sliding a sponge over her wet skin, eyes lingering on the way her nipples tighten in the cool air. When they finish, they tell her to come find them. Dixie walks into the bedroom wrapped in a towel. The wives sit waiting on the edge of the bed. They pull her forward until she settles across their laps, legs draped over two sets of thighs. Hands move at once—Reagan’s fingers trace the soft curve beneath her breasts while Rachael’s palm cups the swell of her ass. Lips meet hers, first Reagan, then Rachael, kisses that deepen until breath turns shaky. Fingers slip between her legs, parting her gently, stroking until she arches. Clothes fall away. The three of them stretch across the sheets, mouths and hands never idle. Reagan’s tongue circles a nipple, Rachael’s fingers slide inside her, slow and steady. Dixie reaches for both women in turn, learning the rhythm they set. Pleasure builds, breaks, rebuilds. When they finally lie still, skin flushed and breathing slow, Reagan murmurs against her ear, "Welcome home."