Catching Her Wife With The Sitter

Paige walks in and stops dead. Her wife Whitney is bent over the couch, taking the strap-on Paige wears on special nights. The babysitter, Stella, grips the harness and drives into her like she belongs there. Whitney moans with her mouth full of pillow. Stella's small hands leave red prints on Whitney's hips. They freeze when they see her. Whitney starts apologizing fast, words tumbling. Stella looks down at the floor, the toy still slick and half inside her. Paige feels the heat flood her face. Anger, sure. But something else moves under it when she watches the way Stella's nipples press against her thin bra. Stella's young, smooth, and clearly skilled. Paige crosses the room and pulls the harness off Whitney without asking. She fastens it around her own hips, lets the weight settle. "You both need reminding," she says, voice low. No one argues. She turns Whitney back over the arm of the couch and drives the thick shaft in without warning. Whitney cries out. Stella stands frozen, watching. Paige snaps her fingers and Stella kneels on the cushions, thighs spread. Paige keeps one hand on Whitney's back and the other on Stella's throat while she fucks them in turn, changing angles, forcing deeper. Sweat slides down her stomach. The leather creaks. Whitney begs first, then Stella follows, voice cracking. Paige never lets up until both of them are shaking and used, faces pressed into the cushions, breathing wrecked.