Clean Up This Mess!

Kimmy never delivers anything without a disaster attached. She shows up at Sheena's door with the files clutched like they might fly away, and the coffee sloshes an instant later, soaking straight into that pale, six-figure rug. Sheena watches it bloom across the silk. Her jaw tight, she decides today's lesson will be hands-on and humiliating. She strips the apology out of Kimmy's mouth with a shove and a low command. Kimmy ends up on her knees, chin tilted, lips parted. Sheena opens her silk robe, plants one heel on the soaked rug, and grinds her slick cunt over Kimmy's tongue until the first hot gush hits—thick, sharp, tangy—filling the girl's mouth, sliding down her throat, staining the front of her blouse. Sheena keeps going until Kimmy is dripping, chin slick, lashes wet. Then the door swings. Little Puck steps in, heels clicking, taking one long look at her wife riding their assistant's face. A slow grin pulls at her lips. She drops her coat, already reaching for Kimmy's hair, already tugging her own panties aside. Two minutes later Kimmy is on her back between them, thighs spread, while Sheena rides her mouth and Little Puck straddles her hips, both women grinding until they flood her—wave after wave soaking Kimmy's tongue, her chest, the carpet, everything. She swallows what she can. The rest she wears. When the women finally ease off, the rug is a map of wet footprints and streaks. Kimmy lies in the middle of it, panting, thighs trembling, face glazed. The files sit on the side table, untouched.