Roomie's Racket

Alison works from the living room table, trying to sound professional on the video call while her headphones fight a losing battle. Ember and Mocha are at it again next door—wet slaps, low growls, a headboard banging the wall like someone’s driving nails. Alison squeezes her thighs, clears her throat, repeats herself for the third time. The call finally ends. She drops her headphones, heat crawling up her neck, and marches down the hall to knock. The bedroom door stands open. Ember lies on her back, legs hooked over Mocha’s shoulders while Mocha drives the strap-on deep. Their bodies shine, skin slick and taut. The shaft disappears and reappears, slick with lube, stretching Ember’s cunt wide with every thrust. Alison feels her own underwear cling. Her hand drifts under the waistband and she starts to rub, slow circles over her swollen clit, biting the inside of her cheek to stay quiet. Mocha’s ass flexes. Ember moans loudly, nipples hard, mouth open. Alison pushes two fingers inside herself, matching the rhythm, breath ragged. A floorboard creaks under her foot. Both women freeze, turn their heads. Alison’s fingers are still buried to the knuckle, cheeks flushed, pajama shorts pulled aside. She pulls her hand free quickly, juice glistening on her fingers. “I—um—work call. Couldn’t concentrate.” Mocha smirks, strap glistening between her legs. Ember pushes up on one elbow, pupils blown. “You could have just said you wanted in.” Ember slides off the toy with a wet sound and reaches out. Alison steps closer, shirt already halfway off, nipples stiff. Mocha strips the harness, beckons with one crooked finger. “Come here. Make it up to us.”