Contractor Clam Jam

Two wives, Stella and Allison, are in their bedroom preparing their anniversary massage when Rebecca arrives unannounced. Tight schedule, she says. Let me in. She sets her toolbag by the door and watches. Stella strips to her black lace panties and stretches across the sheets. Allison oils her palms and works slow circles into her shoulders. Stella groans, parts her knees wider than necessary, and Allison takes the cue. She slides her hand down the curve of Stella’s ass, presses deep with her thumb. The massage turns to deliberate strokes along the inner thighs. Every pass pulls the lace tighter until it slips between bare lips. Stella is already wet. Rebecca leans against the dresser, arms crossed, phone untouched in her pocket. She doesn’t flinch. Instead she steps closer, tilts her head, and asks if the pattern of the flush on Stella’s neck tells her pulse. Allison laughs low. Stella lifts her hips, seeking her wife’s hand again. No pretense left. Allison meets Rebecca’s eyes. “Since you’re already here.” The invitation hangs. Rebecca sheds her jacket. Steel-toed boots thump on hardwood. She crosses the room, fingers tugging at her work shirt, and the three of them collide in the low light. Oil-slick hands find Rebecca’s rough palms, pressing them between Stella’s thighs where Allison has opened her. Rebecca sinks in. Two wives and the contractor forget schedules, anniversary speeches, everything except how many times they can make each other break before the paint dries.