The back room

The kettle clicked off and none of us got up at once. Three chairs, the back room, the rust dress again because I had wanted the continuity and they had said they liked me in it. Books on the far shelf were a blur of spines. We had agreed at lunch that after close we would sit first. Sitting first is our rule. I like chosen.

Martin poured the water and said he had been thinking about my voice all day, the one I use when I want something and refuse to decorate it. Cora said she had thought about my mouth. I said I had thought about both of them in this room with the door locked, and I wanted to direct the next hour out loud. They said yes. The yeses were plain. I felt my cunt answer before I had a clever follow-up.

I told Cora to sit in my lap. She did, knees around my hips, dress bunched, and we kissed until the kettle went quiet in the way of cooling metal. I told Martin to take his cock out and stroke, slowly, where I could see. He did, eyes on us. I told Cora to grind her cunt on my thigh and to say what she needed. She said fingers. I gave her two in her cunt, curled, and talked her through it. There. Stay. Your cunt is so open. Martin, tell her what you see. He said he saw a woman he loved getting her cunt fucked by a woman he trusted. I told him not yet.

When Cora came she pressed her mouth to my shoulder. Then I stood, bent over the empty chair, and told Martin to fuck my cunt while Cora sat and kept talking. She did. She said I looked like a closed-door wish the shop had never put on a shelf. Martin held my hips and fucked me the way I asked, deeper, then slower. I reached under and rubbed my clit and came with my cheek on my arm, my cunt gripping his cock. He pulled out and caught his cum in his hand because the chair was fabric and we had agreed not to ruin it. Cora kissed me after, so I could taste the end of it.

We drank the tea lukewarm. My voice was hoarse. Martin said that was his favorite sentence of the night. I believed him.