I can’t stay cross with Michael; he does everything for me. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little irritated when he told me about Penny. How she supposedly seduced him — or so he insists.
But that’s behind us now. Here we are, parked outside Terri’s flat, her reply flashing on my phone.
I turn to him. “Michael, they’re coming down.”
He looks drawn, tense, and almost brittle. Poor man. I do feel for him, though Terri promised she would, in her words, see him right.
The two women step out through the entrance and cross the road toward us. Terri is exactly as I remember her: mid‑forties, tall and lithe, her blonde hair in a long bob. Dressed in her trademark smart daytime style – a loose blouse and a just‑above‑the‑knee skirt – she radiates effortless authority. The kind of woman who seems in command of her life and everyone orbiting it.
Carrie is different. I barely remember her at all. That night in the club last year was all low light and too much wine. My memories have blurred into fragments. One was of her kneeling on the floor in front of Terri, head buried between her thighs, though even that feels half‑imagined. Now, in daylight, she’s striking in a soft way. About my height, a little chubby with a pixie‑cut of auburn hair and wearing a thin top paired with blue jeans. There is a warmth to her, an ease, that I never noticed before.
“Oh, Dorothea, look at you. You’re glowing,” Terri exclaims, then leans in to brush a quick kiss against Michael’s cheek. “And welcome, young man. She’s told me so much about you.”
Michael beams, lightening up under the attention. Men can be such simple creatures. Terri touches the shoulder of the woman beside her with one hand and lays the other lightly on his chest. “This is Carrie, my special friend. I hope she’ll become yours too.”
Before I can respond, Terri seizes my hand and sweeps me across the road, into the building, and up the stairs. She’s a whirlwind: all momentum and insistence. Inside the flat she ushers me straight into her bedroom and nudges the door shut with her foot.
“Oh, Dorothea, I’ve been waiting for you to come for ages,” she breathes, her arms sliding around my neck as she pulls me into a fierce, eager embrace, her tongue pushing through my open mouth, our two tips flicking together in a wet embrace.
._.
I watch them disappear into the entrance hall, Dora almost trotting to keep pace with Terri’s determined stride. Whatever calm I’d managed to gather a moment ago evaporates, and the old misery settles back in. I know exactly where they’re headed: to Terri’s room, to whatever renewed intimacy awaits them there. I let out a long, defeated sigh, momentarily forgetting Carrie is even beside me.
Her gentle touch on my arm brings me back. Her voice, soft but steady, cuts through my fog.
“Michael, I’m here for you. I know this is difficult. I love Terri deeply, but there’s a part of her heart that belongs to Dora, a part I can’t reach. And Dora has her place like that too.”
She pauses, offering a small, knowing smile. “We have to give them space. Let their passion rise and fall in its own time.”
Her calmness disarms me. For a moment I’m caught, staring into her dark eyes, trying to understand this woman and how she could possibly become, as Terri put it, my special friend. None of it feels logical. Everything is tangled.
“Come on, Michael. We can’t stand here all day. I’ve got the parking permit; put it on your dash, and then we’ll take your bags up.”
We climb the stairs together, and as we step into the flat, I hear Dora’s muffled whimper from behind a closed door. A pang hits me, but somehow Carrie’s presence steadies me. She must be feeling the same sting of jealousy, knowing the woman she loves is behind that door.
In the kitchen she busies herself making tea — talking lightly, almost incessantly. Soon, we move into the lounge, and I sink onto the sofa. She stands before me for a moment, studying me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
Then something shifts in her. Carrie steps closer, her composure cracking just enough to reveal the turmoil beneath. She settles onto my lap, her arms sliding around my neck, her voice barely more than a breath.
“It doesn’t have to hurt like this,” she murmurs. “There is a way forward for us, if you’re willing to be brave.”
Her words take a moment to land. My thoughts spin, trying to catch up.
She leans in, her tone low and honest. “I’m not only drawn to women, Michael. I enjoy men too, especially mature men with your kind of steadiness.”
She pauses a moment, then continues firmly. “Terri and Dora are making love in her bedroom. But we can play the same game. I want you, Michael. I’m yours.”
She doesn’t think about the muffled sounds from the other room; instead, her grip tightens on the back of my neck, pulling me forward until her lips hover millimetres from mine.
“Oh, Michael,” she murmurs. “Do you think this is a game?” She releases my neck and drags fingers down my chest, slow and deliberate, stopping just above my belt.
“I want you; take me. Right here. And let them hear us.” Her scent surrounds me as she leans in. Her teeth graze my earlobe, waiting for me to act.
My heart hammers in my chest while my head tries to process her raw hunger until she pleads, “Come on, be the man I want; let me submit – do it!”
My hands seem to act of their own accord, linking behind her back, crushing her against me. Her gasp is swallowed in my mouth as I force my tongue deep inside, flicking and exploring.
Her fingers claw at my shoulders, nails digging in as she moans against my lips, shifting her hips to straddle me completely.
“Yes, oh yes.” She breathes, nipping my lower lip sharply before pulling back to lift her top over her head.
It falls away, revealing pale skin and the dark ink of a tattoo winding down one arm. “Like what you see?” she taunts, watching me stare as she reaches around her back to unclip her bra and toss it aside.
I respond by flipping her aside onto her back and pinning her wrists above her head with one hand, while the other explores every inch she’s bared.
“Fuck yes,” she pants. “There, Michael, don’t stop – show me how much you want me!”
I look down at her, flushed and needy, then lie on top of her, enjoying the feel of submission as her legs part to let me settle.
Her hips grind up against mine instinctively, her voice ragged when she finally speaks: “Don’t hold back,” though her smirk betrays her delight.
I finally release her wrists, then slide my hand down to hook under her knee, hiking her leg around my waist as I grind my hips against her, my stiff shaft pressing against my jeans, shocks of delight coursing through my loins.
I lift off her slightly, fingers fumbling with the button and zipper of her jeans. “You asked for this.”
The denim gives way, and the heat of her presses against me through thin cotton. Carrie lets out a choked moan, her hips rolling in slow, taunting circles. “Yes,” she agrees, her teeth catching my lower lip. “I did ask.”
Her breath hitches as my hand slips beneath her panties, fingertips tracing the dampness there. A ragged moan escapes her when I press inside, her body clenching around my fingers. “Fuck,” she gasps, her thighs trembling.
The muffled sounds of Terri and Dora from the other room only seem to spur her on; she grinds harder, her fingers digging into my scalp as she drags me into another bruising kiss.
I don’t give her a chance to recover. Wrenching her jeans and panties down past her knees, I flip her onto her stomach, pinning her wrists behind her back with one hand while the other yanks her hips up. Carrie lets out a sharp cry as I bury my face between her thighs, tongue lapping at her with rough, desperate strokes. Her back arches violently, a string of curses dissolving into whimpers.
“Yes, right there.” Her voice cracks when my tongue lands on her little bud, her body jerking against my grip.
Somewhere, I register the creak of a door down the hall. Carrie hears it too. Her breath hitches, then comes faster, her hips grinding back against my mouth with reckless urgency. “Let them hear,” she pants, twisting to look at me over her shoulder, her grin wild and unrepentant. “Let them know.”
She rolls onto her back, legs splayed, fingers in her sex, and demands, “Fuck me now, Michael. Do it hard, harder than you’ve ever done Dora. Make her hear me.”
Carrie’s fingers drag through her slickness, spreading herself open in blatant invitation, her chest heaving as she watches me with half-lidded intensity.
“Do it,” she dares, voice rough with need. Her fingers grasp my shaft, then slide it up and down her wet slit. When she is still, I push inside her, and she lets out a long gasp.
Her thighs clamp around my hips, pulling me deeper. Every thrust wrings another hoarse sound from her throat, her nails dug into my back as she arches to meet me. The wet slap of skin, accompanied by her constant pleas of “Harder, harder”, fills the room.
My mouth rests on her shoulder, every breath forced against her flesh. My hips piston into her, and deep down I feel the first surge of completion.
“Don’t stop,” she breathes, then her voice dissolves into a whine when the tension in her body snaps and leaves her shuddering. Her inner muscles pulse around me in waves as she digs her heels hard into the small of my back, holding me flush against her through the aftershocks.
Carrie’s body is locked around me like a vice, her thighs trembling as her climax forces my release in a shuddering finale.
A raw, guttural “Carrie!” tears from my throat as my cock pulses my life into her, my pleasure syncing with the last aftershocks rippling through her.
She crumples backward onto the sofa, slick skin sticking to mine, her chest rising and falling with her gasping breaths. Her fingers slide down to grip my forearm, and her nails press into my skin, anchoring her while her breath steadies.
“There you are,” she murmurs, her smile lazy and sated. “My special friend.” She releases my wrist, and then her hands join together across the back of my head and pull me into a deep, wet kiss.
When I lift my head, breaking the kiss, her smile is radiant, and her fingers trace a soft path across my cheek. My words feel inadequate: “Beautiful, Carrie, you are beautiful.”
Down below, my softening shaft is slipping from her, and I lift myself up on extended arms, ready to shift my weight off her body. I glance up, and across the room in the doorway, Dora is standing alongside Terri. They are naked — but my focus is on Dora’s face — an expression I had never seen before. Shock? Horror? I stare back, frozen and unable to speak, feeling silence is golden.
Then Terri takes her hand and gently pulls her away out of sight.
._.
Leaving the bathroom for Carrie, I stand in the hallway and listen to the rustles coming from the lounge. Then, one sentence sends shivers down my spine, “Make her hear me.”
I hear her yelling, “Harder, harder,” and my blood freezes in my veins. The sound of flesh slapping on flesh rebounds in my head, like the drums of doom.
I can’t help myself – I edge forward until I’m standing in the doorway. I see and hear everything, and my heart seems to drop straight through the floor when she calls him “my special friend.”
Michael looks up, catches sight of me, and panic freezes me in place. I can’t step forward or back; my voice won’t come. It only breaks when Terri’s fingers close gently around my hand and guide me away.
In the bedroom, I collapse onto the edge of the bed, head in my hands, sobbing as if I’ve shattered something precious. First Penny, now Carrie. Michael is gorgeous – handsome, warm, desirable – and I let him slip through my fingers.
Terri’s arms fold around my shoulders, her calm voice slowly cutting through the storm. “Dora, Dora… it’s not what you think. Carrie isn’t leaving me. She’s my love, and I’m hers.”
She pauses, choosing her words. “She’s doing what I asked; making sure he’s all right. You can’t expect Michael to sit alone while we’re together. I wanted him to have some company, some joy, while you’re with me.”
I lift my head, the truth settling in. “Thank you, love. You’re right. I’m being a silly, emotional old woman.”
Somehow I manage a wan smile and press a soft kiss to her cheek. She hugs me tightly, then a tissue appears in her hand, and she gently wipes away my tears and the mascara streaking down my face.
“We’re going out tonight,” she says. “Carrie will cook for Michael, and maybe they’ll have another little session, but that’s nothing for you to worry about. Come on – let’s go make merry in Brighton town.”
._.
“I know this little trattoria,” Terri said, “quiet, and the food is brilliant.”
So, early in the evening, I blow a waved kiss toward Carrie, who is busy prepping a home‑cooked meal while Michael leans against the wall with a glass of wine. I’ve learned to accept that the two of them will end up playing again later, though the thought still touches something uneasy inside me.
Terri looks stunning – her height emphasised by a short‑sleeved black blouse wrapped neatly across her midriff, fastened with a single button and cinched by a delicate cotton belt tied in a bow. She’s paired it with loose black trousers that move like fabric made of shadows.
I, on the other hand, have only my dark blue mid‑length dress sprinkled with tiny flowers, and a cream cardigan to keep out the evening chill. Standing beside her, we look less like companions and more like mother and daughter. I’m stuck with whatever I packed; she has her entire wardrobe at her disposal. I really wish I’d brought something with a touch more glamour.
We walk for twenty minutes to the trattoria—a tiny place with barely half a dozen tables. The service is impeccable, the food exquisite, and the wine dangerously smooth. I lose track of how many bottles of velvety chianti we share, and by the time we leave I realise, yet again, that I’ve drunk far too much. Every step feels like a negotiation with gravity; staying upright, an achievement.
Outside, I cling to Terri as she guides me down the centre of the street; thankfully only a quiet back lane with no traffic. Time and place blur until we stop before a nondescript building. Terri presses a bell. The door opens immediately, revealing a woman in a tuxedo who smiles and beckons us inside.
We follow a corridor that tugs at my memory – doors on one side, a blank wall on the other. A bass beat pulses through the air, steady and insistent. Then we reach the top of a short flight of steps, and I look out over a crowded dance floor. Recognition hits me in a dizzy wave: the same club she brought me to a year ago, the same women‑only crowd, the same half-remembered secret world.
Terri threads her way through the throng, tugging me behind her until we reach a vacant table tucked into a dark corner. I drape my cardi over the back of a chair, but before I can sit, she catches my hand and pulls me straight onto the dance floor.
The music swallows us. I’m absurdly aware of my age – a granny among the glittering twenty and thirty‑somethings – but no one looks twice. Terri’s body moves close to mine, warm, confident, and I find myself matching her rhythm, my eyes drawn to the curve of her smile, the way the lights catch in her hair. The movement burns off the alcohol just enough to sharpen everything: the brush of her arm, the faint scent of her perfume when she leans in to say something I can’t quite hear.
Eventually the heat and noise wash me out, and I retreat to our table. A jug and two tumblers wait there as if conjured. I pour myself a drink, letting the cold seep into my fingers, and take a sip. Bacardi and coke. A favourite. I settle into the chair facing the dance floor, content to watch the bodies swaying and colliding in the lights.
That’s when she appears.
A young woman approaches, catching me off guard. Fair, freckled face. Curly ginger hair brushing her shoulders. Bare arms, a low-cut shimmering trouser suit. Something about her tugs at a memory I can’t quite reach.
“Hi, Dorothea.” The sound of my name jolts me. How does she know?
I manage a shaky “Hi,” and stare up at her, blank.
“Do you mind if I sit with you?”
I shake my head. She slides into the other chair, pours herself a drink, and grins.
“I’m sure Terri won’t mind me pinching one.” She takes a sip, eyes glinting, then adds, “You’ve forgotten, haven’t you? I’m not surprised. You were well pissed.”
She dissolves into giggles, all twenty-something mischief, then reaches across the table to take my hand. “I’m Fiona.”
And suddenly it clicks. The memory slams back: the same club, a year ago, me drunk and behaving disgracefully. By God, it was fun and exciting.
I remember, the two of us together, her pussy pressed against my mouth. My nerves ebb away and I squeeze her hand gently.
“Yes, Fiona. I remember now. I remember everything.”
Gently, she lifts me as she rises. “Come,” she murmurs, the word soft but unquestionable. She threads her way across the crowded floor, and I trail after her, meek, still scanning the room in a futile search for Terri.
Up the stairs, along the corridor—she moves with purpose, opening the first side door and drawing me in behind her.
I recognise the room at once; I’ve been here before. The door clicks shut, sealing us in. For a heartbeat I see nothing, only darkness, until my eyes adjust to the low red glow. Shapes emerge slowly: an armchair tucked into the corner, a king‑sized bed dressed in crisp white sheets, the neat symmetry of bedside cabinets. The space feels both familiar and strange, as though it’s waiting for something to begin.
The bed is where she sat on my face. I turn to face Fiona, unsure as to the next move, but she does not hesitate. “Dorothea, kiss me, just like you did before.”
I touch my lips to hers, and tentatively wiggle my tongue between her lips. I feel her hands on the nape of my neck just before she crushes my face against hers.
Then something inside me snaps, and I push her back until her calves are pressing against the bed. We tumble down, my weight on top pushing the air from her lungs. Our mouths lock together, tongues probing and dancing together, I have no notion of where we are heading, or what my role is. We seem frozen there, until with surprising strength she flips me onto my back, then steps off the bed and starts to strip.
Fiona’s clothes hit the floor piece by piece – jacket first, then the bra unhooked with a practiced twist of her fingers, trousers and panties sliding down her thighs before she steps out of them, kicking the fabric aside.
The red glow catches on the curve of her hips and the taut flesh of her stomach. When she climbs onto the bed again, the mattress dips under her weight. Her thighs fill my view, muscles flexing as she leans down, fingertips brushing my cheek. “Do you remember how I taste?” she murmurs.
The scent of her fills my lungs as she shifts forward, pressing herself against my mouth with a shuddering sigh.
My tongue drags up her slit, slow and deliberate, and Fiona’s fingers tighten in my hair while her hips roll against my face. I can feel her trembling, thighs clamping around my ears when I suck her clit between my lips, flicking it slowly. Her ragged moan is half-smothered by the hand she slaps over her own mouth
“Don’t stop,” she gasps, grinding down harder. “Please, don’t stop.”
I can barely breathe, my nose buried in her – but I don’t pull away. Not when her thighs start shaking, not when her breath comes in whimpers. She’s close; I can taste it, the tang of her, the way her muscles flutter under my tongue.
“Yes, there,” Fiona gasps, as I swirl my tongue in tight circles. Her hips jerk erratically now, chasing the pressure, and I let my teeth graze her ever so slightly. Her grip on my hair turns punishing, yanking my head back just far enough to meet her gaze. Her eyes are wide open, lips parted for her panting breath. “You’re going to make me come,” she warns.
I answer by slipping two fingers inside her, and she lets out a choked cry. Her walls clamp down around me, pulsing rhythmically, and I can feel her orgasm shuddering through her and her thighs quivering against the sides of my head. She collapses forward, her forehead and forearms pressed to the wall as she rides out the aftershocks. “Oh, fuck,” she pants.
Panting, she smiles from above, “Thank you, Dorothea,” then lifts off me and lies alongside on her side. Her hands trace little circles on my arms, while she lifts her head and kisses me gently on the lips.
She whispers, her breath wafting across my face. “My turn to pleasure you now, but you are overdressed.”
I sit up, allowing her to run my dress’s zip down my back and shuffle around to let her pull it over my head. Her hands find the clasp of my bra, and softly run the straps down my arms.
Then, I lie down again, and watch her fingers toying with the waistband of my panties. She grins. “Let’s get these granny panties off.” As I lift my hips she pulls them down my legs and over my feet.
Fiona rolls half on her front, and one hand slips between my thighs, probing my pussy until I shudder when she finds my clit. Then her head drops and she suckles a teat, the two sensations together sending waves of pleasure through my body.
I feel my hips begin to buck, and I lay a hand on her head, pushing her onto my sensitive nipple. “Suck the other one too.” Just as she shifts across the door opens and bright light floods across the bed, and as my eyes adjust I see a figure standing there.
“Well, here you both are. Having a good time are we?” Terri’s voice is unmistakable. “Fiona – out – now.”
The abrupt intrusion shatters the room’s intimacy. In seconds, Fiona’s warmth vanishes from my body. The bed shifts as she scrambles off, clothes hastily snatched up in a tangle of fabric and panic.
Terri doesn’t move from the doorway, arms crossed, her silhouette backlit by the hallway’s fluorescent glare. The door clicks shut again behind Fiona, leaving me exposed on the rumpled sheets, the taste of her still on my lips.
Terri’s silence is worse than any reprimand; her foot taps a slow, deliberate rhythm against the floorboards as she waits. “You’re a bit of a slut, Dorothea. What will Michael say to this? He thinks you are with me, not snatching at young stuff.”
“I’m sorry, she led me astray.”
“Just like Penny led Michael? Hmm, you two deserve each other.”
When she came in the lights upset my eyes, but now, I see Terri is naked as she glides forward towards me, and the dim red light catches a thick, shifting shape between her thighs. Then it comes into focus – a strap-on, already glistening with lube, swaying hypnotically with each step. Her smirk is predatory, eyes locked onto mine as she kneels on the mattress.
“Dorothea,” she purrs, fingers trailing up my thigh, “you didn’t think Fiona was the only one who missed you, did you?”
The tip of the toy brushes my inner thigh, cold silicone against the heat of my skin.
“Now,” she murmurs, gripping my hip, “let’s see what you make of this.”
My pulse spikes as she flips me onto my stomach without ceremony, the sheets bunching under my elbows. Terri’s palm pins me down with effortless strength.
“Spread,” she commands, and when I hesitate, her fingers dig into the soft flesh of my bum, spreading the cheeks roughly. The first drag of the toy against my entrance is deliberately teasing, and I try to stifle a whimper.
Terri leans down to nibble at my earlobe. “I want to hear you moan.” She pushes in with a single thrust, and my gasp dissolves into a shuddering moan as the stretch burns.
Terri rocks into me, agonizingly slow. “You’re so tight,” she muses. “It’s much bigger than any man you will ever have.”
There is no answer because, as she angles deeper, she hits the spot that makes my vision blur. The bedframe knocks against the wall in a steady cadence, and I hear the squelch of lube combined with my wetness.
Terri’s laughs darkly. “Look at you; taking it so well. Maybe I should’ve interrupted sooner.”
She stops, buried deep inside me, and my body responds, feeling helpless. “Beg,” she whispers. “I want to hear you beg for it.”
The words claw their way out of my throat, ragged and desperate. “Please.”
Terri doesn’t move. “Please what?”
I swallow hard, feeling the stretch of her inside me, the unbearable stillness. “Fuck me, fuck me hard,” I gasp, and she rewards me with a sharp thrust that punches a groan from my lungs.
“Good girl,” she purrs, setting a brutal pace, each stroke dragging against that aching spot.
Terri’s free hand slides under my hips, fingers finding my clit with unerring precision. “There,” she growls as I clamp around her, “you’re gonna come just like this.”
The dual sensation is too much. Her relentless thrusts, her fingers circling just right, and I sob as the tension coils tighter. “Look at you,” Terri breathes, hips snapping forward to bury herself to the hilt.
I can’t answer; my whole body convulses as the orgasm rips through me, thighs trembling violently against the mattress. Terri doesn’t stop – if anything, she speeds up, riding my shaking body with rough thrusts.
She slams into me one last time, her groan muffled against my shoulder as she stills, her hips jerking from her own orgasm.
The silence that follows is broken only by my panting and the creak of the bed as Terri pulls out, making me wince at the sudden emptiness. She collapses beside me, the strap-on glistening between her thighs. “Wow,” she mutters, rolling onto her side to face me. Her fingers trail idly down my spine, sticky with sweat. “I don’t often come doing this.”
I don’t answer – my limbs feel like lead, but Terri doesn’t seem to mind. She props herself up on one elbow, studying me intently and stroking my breasts softly.
She leans over my face, her golden hair falling into my eyes, then kisses my cheek, whispering, “Let’s go home.”
,_,
The flat is silent and dark when we step inside, the only light spilling from the harsh corridor lamp behind us. I reach for the hall switch, but Terri catches my hand, stilling it. She moves to her bedroom, leans in for a quick check, then flicks on her light.
I close the front door softly and cross to the second bedroom. My fingers ease the handle down; the door opens with the smallest crack.
My worst fears are waiting for me.
Michael and Carrie lie entwined, face to face, arms wrapped around each other in a deep, untroubled sleep, the ink on her arm seems to be writhing its way into his body. The sight of their closeness knocks the breath out of me, strips away all my confidence.
In the morning, I’ll tell Terri we need to leave early. But tonight, there’s no escape. I’ll have to share her bed, pretend none of this is tearing me apart.
And all the while, I know the truth: the mess is mine, entirely mine.
