PENTHOUSE WILD DARES

The cards hit the table with a crisp snap, and Maya's fingers were steady this time, steadier than they had any right to be considering what had just happened on the terrace ten minutes ago. She could still feel the ghost of Riley's breath on her shoulder, the lingering ache between her legs where Riley's fingers had been, the cool night air that had kissed every bare inch of her skin while the city watched. Her thighs were still warm. Her pulse hadn't fully settled. But she dealt anyway, because that was the game, and the game was the thing that kept all of this moving forward. "Same stakes," Maya said. "Low hand strips. Loser draws from the bowl."

"Can we even strip anymore?" Aubrey asked from the couch. She was draped across it like a Renaissance painting that had decided to get inappropriate, one leg bent, the other stretched out, her tall body completely bare and unbothered. Her blonde hair fanned across the cushion behind her. "We're all naked."

"Then the losers do dares directly," Riley said. She was sitting on the floor near the terrace doors, cross-legged, also naked, her brunette hair still messy from where Maya had gripped it without meaning to. "No more buffer. You lose, you draw." Topanga was beside Aubrey on the couch, equally bare, her brown skin catching the low light from the kitchen fixture someone had left on. She wasn't sitting upright so much as reclining, her shoulder against Aubrey's, her fingers idly tracing the line of Aubrey's collarbone in slow, absent strokes. Aubrey's eyes half-closed every time Topanga's fingertips passed over the hollow of her throat. "Deal," Topanga said, without looking away from Aubrey's skin.

Maya dealt five cards to each of them. Riley reached for hers from the floor, leaning forward, her breasts hanging as she picked up the hand and fanned it out. Aubrey sat up slightly, breaking contact with Topanga's fingers just long enough to look at her cards. Topanga picked hers up one-handed, her other hand returning immediately to Aubrey's collarbone, tracing lower now, along the upper curve of Aubrey's right breast.

"Read them and weep," Maya said, laying down a pair of nines. Riley had a pair of jacks. Aubrey had nothing, a king high, no pairs, no help. Topanga had a pair of sevens.
"Aubrey," Maya said. "You're up." Aubrey set her cards down and stood. She didn't flinch. She hadn't flinched since the rooftop garden, since the couple had watched her walk naked through the landscaped path, since the woman had smiled. If anything, losing had become something she leaned into, the way a runner leans into a hill. She walked to the table, still naked, still tall, still completely at ease with it, and reached into the bowl. Her fingers rustled through the folded slips and pulled one out. She unfolded it. Read it. Her green eyes flicked up. "Lick champagne from each other's lips," she read aloud. "Pick a partner." The room went quiet for exactly two seconds. "Pick a partner," Riley repeated from the floor, grinning. Aubrey looked at Topanga. Topanga looked back. Their dynamic had shifted somewhere between the couch and the oral sex. Topanga's mouth on Aubrey, Aubrey's fingers in Topanga's hair, the two of them tangled and breathing hard while Maya and Riley watched through the glass terrace doors. There was something building between them that hadn't been there before tonight, or maybe had always been there and was only now being acknowledged. "You heard the dare," Aubrey said. Topanga smiled slowly. "Pour the wine."

Maya grabbed the prosecco bottle from the counter. It was still half full, still cold, condensation beading on the glass. She walked it over to the couch and handed it to Aubrey, who took it by the neck. "Sit," Aubrey told Topanga. Topanga sat. Aubrey sat beside her, close, their bare thighs pressing together. Aubrey tilted the bottle and poured a slow stream of prosecco directly onto Topanga's lips. It pooled against her mouth, ran down her chin, dripped onto her chest and traced a path between her 36C breasts. Topanga gasped at the cold, her mouth opening slightly, and Aubrey leaned in and licked the wine from Topanga's lower lip. It was not a quick lick. It was slow, deliberate, the flat of Aubrey's tongue dragging from the bottom of Topanga's chin up to her upper lip, collecting the prosecco, tasting it, tasting her. Topanga's hand came up and gripped Aubrey's wrist. Aubrey did it again, this time letting her tongue slip briefly between Topanga's lips. Topanga's mouth opened for it. The kiss that followed was wet and tasted like cheap sparkling wine and want. Aubrey pulled back. "Your turn."

Topanga took the bottle. She poured it more carefully, a thin stream that hit Aubrey's upper lip and cascaded down, pooling in the dip above her collarbone, running in rivulets over her 35C breasts and tight pink nipples. Topanga leaned forward and licked the champagne from Aubrey's lips the same way, slow, thorough, tongue-first, and then followed the trail down. She licked the champagne from the hollow of Aubrey's throat. Then from the slope of her right breast. Then, lower, from her nipple, her tongue circling the tight peak before sucking it clean. Aubrey's head fell back. "Fuck."

"Is that the dare?" Maya asked, watching from the kitchen island, her own hand resting between her legs without her fully realizing it. "The dare was the lips," Riley said, also watching, also touching herself, one finger tracing lazy circles. "Topanga's improvising."
"Topanga's winning," Aubrey corrected, her voice breathy. Topanga came back up and kissed Aubrey again, and this time it was deep and searching and Aubrey's hand found the back of Topanga's head and held her there. When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing hard and the couch cushion under them was damp with prosecco and sweat.

"Next hand," Maya said, because someone had to. She dealt again. Riley lost this time, a dismal hand, nothing above a nine. She crawled to the table on her hands and knees, naked, her breasts swaying as she moved, and reached into the bowl. She unfolded the slip and read it. Her brown eyes went wide. "What?" Maya asked. Riley turned it around: Go to the rooftop garden. Lie on the lounge chair. Masturbate until someone comes to get you. If anyone sees you, don't stop. "Jesus," Aubrey said. Riley stood up. She didn't put on a robe this time. She didn't hesitate. She walked to the front door of the penthouse, opened it, and stepped into the hallway completely naked. The hallway was carpeted and quiet. She walked to the elevator and pressed the button. The doors opened. Empty.

She rode up two floors, stepped out, and pushed through the glass door to the rooftop garden. The air was warmer up here than on the terrace, trapped by the surrounding buildings, and the landscaped path was lit by low solar lights that cast everything in amber. She found the lounge chair , the same one the couple had been sitting near when Aubrey walked through and lay down on it. The vinyl was cool against her bare back and ass. She bent her knees, planted her feet, and let her legs fall open. The sky above her was dark except for the ambient glow of the city. She could hear traffic below, distant, a low hum. A breeze moved across her stomach. She put one hand on her left breast and the other between her legs. She was already wet — had been wet since she'd had her fingers inside Maya on the terrace, since she'd felt Maya clench and shake and come against her hand. She found her clit and started rubbing it in slow circles, her eyes closed, her back arching slightly off the lounge chair.

She tried to keep quiet. That lasted about thirty seconds. A small sound escaped her, a breathy half-moan, and once it was out, she couldn't take it back. Her fingers moved faster. She slipped two inside herself, then three, fucking herself with her hand while her thumb worked her clit. The wet sounds were obscene in the quiet garden. Her hips lifted off the chair, chasing her own fingers. She heard footsteps on the stone path. Her eyes opened. A man stood at the edge of the garden, maybe forty, wearing a hotel robe, holding a room key. He had come from the stairwell door. He was frozen, staring at her. Riley didn't stop. The dare said don't stop. But more than that, she didn't want to stop. The man's eyes on her made her pulse spike and her walls clench around her fingers. She looked directly at him, her mouth open, her hand still moving, and she fucked herself harder. The man's hand tightened on his room key. He didn't leave. He didn't speak. He watched.

Riley came with a sound that was closer to a sob than a moan, her whole body seizing, her hips bucking against her hand, her thighs snapping together and then falling open again. The orgasm rolled through her in pulses, each one making her twitch, and the man stood there and watched every second of it. When it passed, Riley lay there panting, her hand still between her legs, her chest heaving. The man swallowed visibly, turned, and walked back to the stairwell without a word. Riley started laughing. It was breathless and giddy and slightly unhinged, the laugh of someone who has just done something completely insane and loved every second of it. She was still laughing when she rode the elevator back down. She walked back into the penthouse naked, flushed from her chest to her hairline, and dropped onto the floor beside Maya. "There was a guy," she said. "He watched the whole thing."

"Did you stop?" Aubrey asked. "What part of 'I came while staring directly at him' sounded like stopping?" Maya kissed her. She couldn't help it. She grabbed Riley's face and kissed her hard, tasting the laughter and the adrenaline and the faint salt of sweat. Riley kissed back, her hand still damp from herself, and Maya could smell it on her fingers, could smell her own orgasm from earlier still clinging to Riley's skin.

"Next hand," Topanga said from the couch. She was sitting up now, her legs crossed, watching them with dark eyes. "Before you two start something we'll never finish." Maya dealt with one hand, the other still on Riley's jaw. Topanga lost. She drew from the bowl and read it silently, her lips moving slightly. "Well?" Aubrey pressed. Topanga held up the slip: *Pick two people. Both go to the terrace. One sits on the railing, legs open. The other uses their mouth. The remaining person watches from inside and controls when they stop.

"That's three people," Maya said. "The remaining person watches," Riley read over Maya's shoulder. "So one person stays inside and calls the shots." "I'll stay," Aubrey said. She stood from the couch, walked to the armchair near the terrace doors, and sat down. She crossed her legs, leaned back, and looked at them. "Go."

Maya and Riley walked out onto the terrace together. The concrete was still cool. The city was still there, lights, windows, the distant noise of traffic and life. Maya could see the rooftop garden from here, two floors up, the lounge chair where Riley had just been. The man's face flashed in her mind and heat pooled between her legs. "Who sits on the railing?" Riley asked. "You," Maya said. "I owe you one." Riley walked to the railing and hoisted herself up. The metal bar was cold against her bare ass and the backs of her thighs. She gripped the railing with both hands, leaned back slightly, and opened her legs. Her feet dangled, toes pointed at the city below. She was completely exposed. Her pussy open and wet, her body on display for anyone in the surrounding buildings who happened to look. Maya stepped between her legs. She put her hands on Riley's thighs and pushed them wider. Then she bent down and put her mouth on Riley. Riley's head dropped back. "Oh fuck."

Maya's tongue moved in long, flat strokes, bottom to top, through the full length of Riley's wetness. She tasted sharp and sweet and familiar. She knew this taste, knew this body, had been here before in beds and showers and the BDSM Suite downstairs, never here, never outside, never with the city watching and Aubrey controlling the clock from the other side of the glass. She focused her tongue on Riley's clit, circling it, then sucking it gently between her lips. Riley's thighs tensed under her hands. Riley's hips rocked forward, pushing against Maya's mouth, and Maya let her, let Riley fuck her face, let her set the pace while Maya kept her tongue moving.

Inside, Aubrey watched. She was naked in the armchair, one leg thrown over the armrest, and she was touching herself again, two fingers sliding in and out of her own pussy while she watched Maya eat Riley out on the terrace railing. She could see Maya's blonde head between Riley's legs, see Riley's bare body arching against the night sky, see the city spread out behind them like a lit-up audience. "Harder," Riley whispered down to Maya. "Use your fingers." Maya slid two fingers inside Riley and curled them upward, her mouth still working her clit. Riley made a sound that was loud enough to carry, loud enough that someone on a neighboring balcony could have heard it, and the thought made Maya fuck her harder. She added a third finger. Riley was soaking wet, dripping down Maya's chin, clenching around her fingers. "Stop," Aubrey called from inside.

Maya pulled her mouth away. Her fingers stayed inside. Riley whimpered. "Wait," Aubrey said. Ten seconds passed. Riley's thighs were shaking. Maya's fingers were still curled inside her, pressing against the spot that made Riley's vision blur. "Go," Aubrey said. Maya's mouth came back. Her tongue found Riley's clit immediately, and she sucked it hard while her fingers thrust deep. Riley's hands came off the railing and grabbed Maya's hair, pulling, and Maya didn't care, didn't care about the sting, just kept going. "Stop," Aubrey called. Maya pulled off again. Riley made a frustrated, desperate sound. "Please," Riley said, not to Aubrey, to the night, to the city, to anyone. "Thirty seconds," Aubrey said. "Wait."

Maya counted. She could feel Riley clenching and unclenching around her fingers, feel the trembling in her thighs, feel the heat radiating from her skin. Riley was close. She'd been close for minutes. The denial was making it worse, making everything worse, making Riley's body a live wire. "Go," Aubrey said. Maya didn't ease into it. She sucked Riley's clit into her mouth and flicked it rapidly with her tongue while her fingers fucked her hard and deep, and Riley broke. The orgasm hit her like a wave she'd been held under, her whole body convulsing on the railing, her thighs clamping around Maya's head, her voice breaking into a moan that echoed off the glass and concrete and disappeared into the city.

Maya didn't stop. She kept her mouth on Riley, kept her fingers inside, and rode out every aftershock until Riley's body went slack and her grip on Maya's hair loosened.
Maya stood up slowly, her chin wet, her fingers sliding free. Riley was still sitting on the railing, legs open, breathing in ragged gulps, her eyes half-closed. Inside, Aubrey was coming too. She had three fingers inside herself, her hips lifting off the armchair, her green eyes fixed on the terrace. She came with a sharp, bitten-off sound, her body going rigid and then melting into the chair.

Maya helped Riley off the railing. They walked back inside together, Maya's arm around Riley's waist, Riley still unsteady on her feet. They reconvened at the kitchen island. Four naked women, four glasses of prosecco, and a bowl with more dares in it. "How many slips are left?" Topanga asked, picking up the bowl and shaking it. "Enough," Maya said. Aubrey reached for the bowl and pulled out a slip without being told. She read it and set it on the counter. Everyone leaned in. All four of you. The rooftop garden. One lounge chair. The last person to come pays for dinner for a month. Riley looked at Maya. Maya looked at Topanga. Topanga looked at Aubrey. "I'm not losing," Aubrey said. "Neither am I," said Topanga.

Maya grabbed the prosecco bottle, tucked it under her arm, and headed for the door. "Bring the bowl." The four of them walked naked into the elevator. Riley pressed the button for the rooftop. The doors closed. The city rose around them in the glass wall of the elevator shaft, all those lights and windows and people who had no idea what was coming. "Fair warning," Maya said as the elevator climbed. "I'm going to win." Riley snorted. "You just came on a terrace railing twenty minutes ago. You're already
behind." "Watch me." The doors opened. The garden was empty. The lounge chair was still there, still damp from Riley's earlier performance.

Maya set the prosecco on the ground beside it and looked at the other three. "Line up."
Topanga sat on the lounge chair first. Aubrey knelt between her legs. Riley stood behind Topanga, reaching around to cup her breasts. And Maya stood back for exactly three seconds before she dropped to her knees beside Aubrey and put her mouth on Topanga's inner thigh, working her way up. Topanga's head fell back against Riley's shoulder. "Oh, that's not fuck, that's not fair." Nobody had said it was.