It had been a while since their unforgettable weekend at the resort—when Katrina and Giselle first welcomed Natalie into their world of shared seduction. That second night, what began as playful teasing had turned into something far more intimate. Natalie, sweet and curious, had surprised them both with how eagerly she surrendered to their touch. Since then, they had been together a couple more times, each encounter bolder, more addictive, the three of them discovering new depths to their desire.
Now, they were planning something even more indulgent.
The restaurant was high-end and discreet, nestled in a quiet corner of the fashion district. The booth they chose offered privacy—curved leather seating, amber lighting that cast flattering shadows, and a view of the city through gauzy curtains. Katrina arrived first, crossing her long legs beneath the table, her ivory linen dress hugging her frame just enough to reveal the elegant lines of her body. Her blonde hair fell smooth and straight, her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, giving her that composed, intellectual air that made people underestimate how carnal she could be.
Giselle slid into the booth moments later, her floral dress soft against her sculpted curves, her red hair falling in waves that brushed her bare shoulders. She smelled of jasmine and something darker—an expensive perfume that promised indulgence.
Katrina offered a slow smile as Giselle’s hand disappeared beneath the tablecloth, fingers brushing with deliberate lightness along the inside of her thigh. “Very nice,” Katrina murmured, her tone low and teasing, though her breath caught slightly.
“I can be both nice and naughty,” Giselle replied, her fingers pausing, pressing just enough to be felt through the thin fabric before retreating. “You’ll see naughty later.”
Before their flirtation could deepen, Natalie arrived.
She moved with a new confidence, her emerald dress skimming over curves that had been explored, claimed, worshipped by both women in recent weeks. Her soft brown hair caught the golden afternoon light, and her smile held a different quality now—warm, yes, but with an edge of wickedness, a spark of knowledge that hadn’t existed before they’d introduced her to pleasure beyond boundaries.
“You two look stunning,” Natalie said, sliding into the booth beside Katrina. Her gaze moved from one woman to the other, lingering just long enough to be noticed, appreciative and hungry in equal measure.
“As do you,” Giselle replied, her voice thick with suggestion. She let her eyes travel down Natalie’s neckline, admiring her firm nipples as they pressed through the fabric, then back up to meet her gaze with deliberate slowness.
Natalie’s cheeks flushed, but her smile remained steady. She glanced at Giselle’s décolletage—the swell of breasts barely contained by silk—and gave a knowing wink, bold in her newfound confidence.
The moment stretched between them, heavy with unspoken desire. They had ostensibly come to discuss another getaway, but beneath the surface, all three of them were thinking about bodies, about touch, about the delicious anticipation of what came next.
“So,” Katrina said smoothly, her fingers trailing the stem of her wine glass with the same deliberate sensuality she applied to everything, “we’d been thinking about another weekend away. Something more… exclusive this time.”
Giselle leaned in, dropping her voice to that sultry register that always made Natalie’s pulse quicken. “We found a resort in the desert. Completely private villas, each with its own pool. No interruptions. No distractions. Just the three of us… and whatever we decide to do with that time.”
Natalie’s breath hitched audibly. “That sounds… perfect,” she murmured, her voice breathy, her eyes locked on Katrina’s. The suggestion alone—the possibilities it implied—was already setting her body alight, awakening the hunger they’d cultivated in her.
Katrina’s hand drifted beneath the table and settled on Natalie’s thigh, her touch light but possessive. “It will be just us,” she said, her voice dipping lower, more intimate. “And this time, we’ll plan ahead. Something very deliberate. Very sexy. We want to surprise you.”
The waiter’s arrival with wine paused the moment without breaking its spell. They ordered without much attention—their focus remained on each other, on the electric charge building in the air between them.
As the wine flowed and courses arrived—barely noticed, barely tasted—the conversation shifted from logistics to something more carnal.
“There’s a boutique we’ve been meaning to visit,” Giselle said, swirling her glass, watching the light play through the red liquid. “Ms. Cleopatra’s. Very private. Appointment only.”
“She’s a consultant of sorts,” Katrina added, her tone suggesting far more than the words conveyed. “She takes time to understand your tastes, your fantasies. Then she helps you choose things for your partner… without them knowing. It’s all about the surprise. The anticipation.”
Natalie’s lips parted slightly, her imagination already racing ahead. “I’m not invited?”
“You’ll get your surprise soon enough,” Katrina purred, her thumb stroking small circles on Natalie’s thigh beneath the table. “Whatever Giselle and I choose for you… you’ll wear. Or feel. Or endure.”
The last word hung in the air—promising, threatening in the most delicious way.
“All I have to do,” Natalie whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation, “is trust you?”
Giselle’s smile turned wicked. “Exactly. Though ‘trust’ might be a generous word for what we have planned.”
By the time dessert arrived—untouched, forgotten—the plans had been made. Natalie would meet them at the villa in two weeks. Katrina and Giselle would handle the preparations, the selections, the careful orchestration of pleasure and surrender. The anticipation itself was already its own form of arousal.
Katrina leaned over and brushed her fingers across the back of Natalie’s hand, her touch feather-light and deliberately maddening. “I think,” she said softly, “we’re all going to enjoy ourselves very much.”
After leaving Natalie flushed and distracted on the sidewalk—with promises of what was to come and strict instructions not to ask questions—Katrina and Giselle made their way to Ms. Cleopatra’s.
The boutique was tucked discreetly between polished storefronts in the upscale shopping district. There was no sign, no window display to advertise its purpose—just an ornately carved wooden door, dark and elegant, that whispered of exclusivity and secrets kept.
Inside, the atmosphere shifted immediately. The air was cool and perfumed with notes of sandalwood, amber, and something darker. Sents that bypassed the mind and spoke directly to more primal instincts. Suede-lined walls in deep burgundy, warm golden sconces casting intimate pools of light, and carefully draped silks transformed the space into something far beyond a simple boutique.
It felt like crossing a threshold into another world—one where desire was not only expected but celebrated, where indulgence was elevated to art.
A woman appeared from behind a curtain—stunning, her silk gown the color of champagne, skimming over curves with the kind of precision that suggested the garment had been made for her body specifically. Its sheer fabric revealed all, while retaining her allure. “Welcome,” she said softly, her voice like honey. “Ms. Cleopatra is expecting you.”
They were led through a narrow corridor draped in diaphanous fabric that brushed against their arms as they passed. With every step, the atmosphere deepened—sounds from the outside world fading, replaced by soft instrumental music that seemed to pulse with the same rhythm as a heartbeat. When the final curtain was drawn back, Katrina and Giselle stepped into the main chamber.
Ms. Cleopatra was waiting.
She stood at the center of the room beside a circular table draped in black velvet, her presence filling the space without effort. Elegant and refined, yet with an unmistakable air of command—she was a woman who understood desire in all its forms and knew exactly how to cultivate it. Her silver-streaked dark hair framed her face in soft waves. A crimson silk dress clung to her body as though it had been painted on, revealing just enough to intrigue while maintaining an air of sophisticated restraint. Her smile was subtle, knowing—her eyes said far more than her lips.
“Welcome, ladies,” she said, her voice smooth as aged cognac. “You’ve come at the perfect time.” She gestured toward two plush chairs positioned at an intimate angle. “Please, sit. Tell me what you’re looking for—not just what you want to purchase, but what you want to experience.”
Katrina and Giselle exchanged a glance—silent communication passing between them—before Katrina spoke. “Surprise. Control. Surrender.” She paused, letting the words settle. “Something that keeps all of us on the edge.”
Ms. Cleopatra’s smile deepened with approval. “Excellent.” She made a subtle gesture, and two attendants materialized—one male, one female, both beautiful, both moving with practiced grace—offering flutes of champagne on a silver tray. Giselle accepted hers with a small, curious smile, noting the way the male attendant’s eyes lingered just a moment too long on her throat.
“I specialize in curating experiences,” Ms. Cleopatra continued, her voice dropping to a more intimate register. “Not just purchases, but transformations. I suggest you each select something… for the other. But separately. Let it remain a secret until the moment it’s revealed. The anticipation will be exquisite.”
Her gaze drifted to a tall armoire behind her, its dark wood carved with intricate patterns that seemed almost erotic in their suggestion. “Now, let me show you something rare.”
Ms. Cleopatra gestured for them to follow her deeper into the boutique. The lighting shifted as they moved through sheer-draped alcoves and past gilded mirrors that reflected their images back to them in fragments—a glimpse of hip, the curve of a shoulder, the suggestion of something illicit.
“We’ll begin separately,” Ms. Cleopatra said, her tone making it clear this was not a suggestion. “What you choose should be a surprise for your partner… and for your beautiful third.”
Katrina was guided into a private room—intimate and plush, with walls the color of midnight. Ms. Cleopatra presented a series of items arranged on black velvet: elegant, discreet, and undeniably devious. These were not crude instruments but beautifully crafted pieces—some in polished metal, others in smooth silicone with intriguing textures, a few that hummed almost inaudibly with promise.
Ms. Cleopatra asked only a few questions, but they were intimate ones—about Giselle’s preferences, about Natalie’s limits (or lack thereof), about what Katrina truly wanted to see happen between the three of them. Her calm, knowing manner drew answers easily, and Katrina found herself being far more explicit than she’d intended.
“This one,” Ms. Cleopatra said, lifting a substantial strap-on from the display—sleek purple silicone, lifelike, shaped to provide very specific pleasures, with a thickness that would require preparation and surrender in equal measure, “has been known to leave even the most composed partners breathless. Imagine Giselle’s reaction when she realizes you’ve been planning this. When she understands what you intend to do with her.”
Katrina’s breath caught. “Perfect.”
“It has a special feature,” Ms. Cleopatra added, showing how to prepare and use the device. “This will allow you to take full control of your lover, providing a surprise she’ll not expect and never forget. Imagine Giselle beneath you, her reaction as you climax with her, unable to maintain her composure under your spell.”
Katrina’s smile was slow and wicked. “I’ll take it.”
A little later, in another private alcove, Giselle was being shown a different collection by Ms. Cleopatra. Where Katrina had gravitated toward subtle power and pushing boundaries, Giselle was drawn to intensity and precision—restraints that looked like jewelry, impact toys disguised as art, and several items that made her raise an eyebrow with delighted surprise.
“Something refined,” Giselle mused, running her fingers along a set of silk ropes dyed deep red, “but filthy in practice. I want to control Katrina’s perfect composure. And I want her to discover she can take more than she ever imagined.”
Ms. Cleopatra nodded with approval. “I believe I have exactly what you need.” She produced an exquisite arrangement of straps—a piece designed to celebrate and expose the body beautifully, while claiming it—and a collection of tethers to restrain her movement. “And perhaps these,” she added, showing Giselle a set of clamps connected by a delicate chain, ‘for when her pleasure needs an edge of sweet suffering.’
“Yes,” Giselle breathed. “All of it. She will fall under my will.”
Once their selections were made and wrapped in discreet black boxes tied with gold ribbon, the women rejoined each other in a wide, curtain-draped area. An attendant met them with fresh champagne and a knowing smile that suggested she was well aware of what had just been purchased.
“If you’d like to select some pieces for yourselves to try on,” she offered, her tone suggesting this was more invitation than question, “we can provide anything else you might desire.”
Katrina’s fingers grazed a black leather bustier displayed on a mannequin—subtle studs along the boning, gold clasps that would require nimble fingers to fasten. Giselle was drawn to a crimson corset trimmed in delicate black lace, the color bold and unapologetic against the fair skin of her arms.
They exchanged a look—playful, charged with possibility—and disappeared behind a curtain into the changing area.
The space was more boudoir than fitting room. Golden light bathed plush chaise lounges and floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Silk pillows in jewel tones spilled from low benches. The air smelled of jasmine and something warmer—amber, perhaps, or vanilla. When they emerged moments later, the temperature in the room seemed to have risen.
Katrina’s tall frame was showcased perfectly by the black bustier. It cinched her waist, lifted her breasts, emphasized the elegant line of her body from shoulder to hip. The leather was soft but firm, and the gold clasps gleamed against the black like promises waiting to be fulfilled.
Giselle looked devastating in the crimson corset. It hugged every firm curve on her body with precision—the boning emphasizing her narrow waist, the deep neckline offering a view of cleavage that was both sophisticated and obscene. Her red hair fell over one shoulder, a cascade of flame against the deep crimson fabric.
“Stunning,” Katrina murmured, circling Giselle slowly, letting her fingers trail along the lace trim. “Turn around.”
Giselle obeyed with deliberate slowness, the movement unhurried and sensual. When she completed the turn, she found Katrina directly in front of her, close enough that their bodies nearly touched.
“You’re one to talk,” Giselle breathed, reaching out to adjust a clasp on Katrina’s back. Her fingers lingered, and the moment stretched, charged with the same tension that had been building between them all afternoon.
A soft sound—a throat being cleared—interrupted them. An attendant stood at the curtain’s edge, poised and professional, holding a choker of garnets set in gold. “For you,” she said to Giselle, stepping forward to fasten it gently around her throat. The gems caught the light, glittering like drops of blood against pale skin.
“Perfect,” came Ms. Cleopatra’s voice from behind them, smooth and approving. “You both look exquisite.” She stepped into their space with the confidence of someone who belonged there. “Would you like to see one of my attendants model something for you? Or perhaps experience a… demonstration?”
Katrina’s lips curled into a slow smile. “Show us what you have to offer.”
Ms. Cleopatra led them to an oversized chaise in a separate alcove—this one draped in gold-trimmed silk, surrounded by mirrors positioned at flattering angles. “Please,” she purred, gesturing to the seating, “make yourselves comfortable. I’ve arranged something special.”
Katrina sank into the cushions with elegant ease, still wearing the bustier, her legs crossed in a way that was both casual and deliberately provocative. Giselle settled beside her, the corset making her posture impossibly straight, her breasts rising and falling with each breath. They accepted fresh champagne from a silent attendant, and then the room seemed to hold its breath.
A moment later, Alani emerged.
She was breathtaking—tall and graceful, with golden-brown skin that seemed to glow in the warm light. Her dark hair fell like silk down her back, past her waist, moving like water with each step. She wore crimson lingerie—a lace bra that barely contained full breasts, matching panties that revealed more than they concealed, a garter belt framing the perfect curve of her hips, and sheer stockings that made her legs look impossibly long. Her heels were high, making her movements deliberate, each step a small performance.
She was art in motion—every curve an invitation, every subtle shift of weight carefully calculated to draw the eye and quicken the pulse.
Alani began simply, her hands moving to her own body with a confidence that spoke of experience and genuine pleasure. She ran her fingertips along her sides, traced the tops of her stockings, let her hands drift upward to cup her own breasts through the lace. Her eyes were half-closed, her lips parted slightly, as though she were alone and lost in sensation rather than performing for an audience.
She turned, presenting her back, and with agonizing slowness, reached behind to unhook the bra. It fell away in a whisper of lace, revealing breasts that were full and perfect, nipples already tight with arousal. She let the garment drop, then turned again to face them, her hands cupping her own breasts now, lifting them, her thumbs brushing across sensitive peaks. Her nipples glistened, as she licked her fingers and pinched and tweaked them.
Katrina’s breathing had changed—slower, deeper. Giselle’s hand had found Katrina’s thigh, fingers pressing between her legs in unconscious response to what they were witnessing.
Alani’s hands drifted lower, sliding the panties down over hips, past thighs, letting them pool at her ankles before stepping free. The garter belt and stockings remained—framing her body in a way that made her nudity more erotic than complete bareness would have been. Only her heels stayed on as she moved toward the chaise.
She positioned herself carefully as she sat—one foot on the cushion, offering them an unobstructed view as her hand slipped between her thighs and spread her pussy lips. Her fingers moved with practiced knowledge, penetrating her folds, finding her clit and circling it with slow, deliberate pressure. Her other hand roamed upward, pinching a nipple, rolling it between thumb and forefinger, her head falling back as pleasure built.
This was not performance—this was genuine. Alani’s breathing deepened, became audible, small sounds escaping her lips as her fingers worked all along her pussy. Teasing, tempting, indulging in her own body. She shifted, changing angles, adjusting pressure, chasing sensation with single-minded focus. Her hips began to roll, pressing forward against her own touch, seeking more.
She reclined fully on the chaise, letting them watch as her pleasure built. One hand between her thighs—fingers sliding through wetness that was visible even from where Katrina and Giselle sat—the other hand roaming across breasts, stomach, back to her clit. Her legs spread wider, offering them complete access to the view, hiding nothing. Her beauty was intoxicating to witness.
Her movements grew more urgent. Her thighs began to tremble. The sounds she made—soft gasps, breathy moans—filled the intimate space, mingling with the faint music still playing in the background. She was close, chasing release, her fingers moving faster, circling, pressing, sliding deep inside her and then back to her sensitive clit.
When her orgasm came, it was with a sharp cry—her back arching off the cushions, her thighs clamping together around her own hand, her whole body shuddering with the intensity of it. The contractions were visible, waves of pleasure rolling through her as she rode it out, her hand still moving, drawing out every last tremor.
She stayed there for a long moment, breathing hard, skin flushed and gleaming with a light sheen of sweat. She slowly licked her fingers clean, her eyes gleaming, enjoying her own taste. Then, slowly, she looked up at them and smiled—intimate and knowing—before rising and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to each of their lips. First Katrina, then Giselle, sharing the taste of her own arousal between them.
Then she gathered a silk robe around herself and disappeared through the curtain, leaving them in charged silence.
Katrina set down her champagne glass with a hand that was not entirely steady. Giselle’s pupils were dilated, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath the constriction of the corset.
“Well,” Katrina said softly, her voice husky. “That was erotic.”
Giselle laughed—low and dark and full of promise. “Indeed.”
Before they left, as they were changing back into their clothes, something caught their attention through a gap in the curtains.
On the far wall of an adjoining room, partially concealed behind sheer fabric, was a circular opening cut into the wall—carefully positioned at waist height, its purpose unmistakable.
Giselle’s gaze lingered on it, curiosity evident in the tilt of her head. Ms. Cleopatra, who seemed to materialize whenever interest was piqued, stepped close.
“A specialty,” she said quietly, her hand brushing lightly along Katrina’s shoulder. “For clients who crave anonymity… and the particular pleasure of mystery.”
“What’s on the other side?” Giselle asked, though her tone suggested she already knew.
“One of my attendants,” Ms. Cleopatra replied. “Handpicked. Prepared. Eager. But you’ll never see more than what you’re meant to touch. Just sensation. Just pleasure. No names, no faces, no complications.”
Katrina and Giselle exchanged a look—heat and curiosity flaring between them.
“We’re intrigued,” Katrina said simply.
“I thought you might be,” Ms. Cleopatra purred. “Give me a moment.”
The atmosphere shifted again as Ms. Cleopatra disappeared. The lights dimmed further. Light music swelled—low and percussive, rhythmic as a pulse. When they approached the alcove, anticipation thrumming through both of them, they watched as a large cock appeared through the opening.
What emerged through the glory hole was substantial—thick and rigid, the evidence of significant arousal. Large and perfectly shaped, with the flesh swollen and hard with unrestrained need. The attendant’s heavy balls hung below, strained with their fullness.
They knelt together—shoulders brushing, sharing space, sharing this moment. Giselle moved first, her hand reaching out to wrap around heated cock, testing the weight, the hardness. A low sound came from beyond the wall—appreciation, need.
She leaned in, her tongue flicking out to taste skin, salt, the essence of arousal. The response was immediate—a sharper exhale, a slight forward thrust seeking more contact. Giselle smiled against him before taking the cock into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing with the effort of accommodating his girth.
Katrina watched for a moment—her breathing deliberate, controlled—before joining. They worked together with the same intuitive rhythm they’d developed over time, alternating between lips and tongue and hands. Sucking on the cock, licking his balls, building sensation, drawing out sounds from beyond the wall. One would pull back just as the other moved in, overlapping, creating continuous stimulation that left no moment for recovery.
The man’s responses came in wordless sounds—ragged breathing, helpless groans, the occasional whispered moan. Every noise fed their arousal, their sense of power, their shared pleasure in his helplessness.
Giselle took him deep—taking his shaft all the way to the base—holding there for a moment, then repeating several times before releasing. Katrina followed immediately, her tongue tracing the underside of his shaft in long, slow strokes before sucking his size into her mouth. She went further, feeling his full length fill up her mouth. They alternated: deep and slow, then shallow and fast, keeping him constantly on edge, never allowing him to settle into rhythm.
Their faces were close enough that they could feel each other’s breath, taste each other’s saliva transferred to his skin. At one point, Giselle’s tongue met Katrina’s at the tip of his cock, and they shared a deep kiss there—mouths pressed together with him between their lips—before breaking apart to continue their work.
Giselle’s hand worked his shaft while her mouth focused on the head, her tongue flickering against the sensitive spot just beneath. Katrina licked his balls, sucking them gently, then with increasing firmness, alternating, adding just enough pressure to intensify every other sensation.
The tension was building to its inevitable conclusion. His body had gone rigid; they could feel his muscles tensing through the wall. His breathing had become desperate, punctuated by sounds that suggested he was fighting to hold back.
When release came, it was explosive. Hot and abundant, thick white ropes, coating their faces, their lips, their waiting tongues. They took his warm cum together—sharing it between them, letting it spill from their lips as they kissed deeply, tongues exploring, mixing his taste with their own.
They took their time, licking him clean, sucking him dry, pressing soft kisses to sensitized flesh, savoring the aftermath. Only when he’d softened and withdrawn did they sit back, flushed and breathless and satisfied.
Ms. Cleopatra appeared moments later with warm towels and fresh champagne, her smile knowing and approving. “I trust everything was… satisfactory?”
“Very,” Giselle said as she began to fully relax from the erotic experience they had enjoyed.
After cleaning up and changing back into their clothing, an attendant presented them with sleek black bags bearing the boutique’s discreet logo in gold. Inside, their carefully selected items were wrapped in tissue and tied with ribbon—secrets waiting to be revealed.
They stepped out into the afternoon sunlight, the door clicking shut behind them, sealing away the world they’d just inhabited.
“Two weeks,” Giselle said, adjusting her sunglasses.
“Two weeks,” Katrina agreed, her smile slow and wicked. “Sweet Natalie has no idea what’s coming.”
“No,” Giselle laughed. “She really doesn’t.”
They walked to their cars, bags in hand, already mentally orchestrating the weekend to come—every touch, every surprise, every moment of surrender they would draw from their willing, eager third.
The anticipation was almost as delicious as the event itself would be.
Almost.
