SHARING CONTROL

Topanga showed up at the Matthews-Hunter penthouse at seven sharp carrying a bottle of Veuve Clicquot and the quiet confidence of a woman who'd won the last round. She'd spent the cab ride reviewing the memory with a private sort of satisfaction. Maya's tongue between her legs, Riley clenching around her fingers, both of them cuffed and desperate and doing exactly what she told them to do. She'd been thinking about it for two weeks. She suspected they'd been thinking about it too.

Riley was wearing a silk robe the color of red wine, belted loosely enough that Topanga could see the inner curve of one breast and the flat plane of her stomach. Her dark hair was down, freshly straightened, framing her face. "You're early," Riley said. "I'm on time. You're underdressed."

Riley smiled. "Maya's in the kitchen. She made that baked brie you liked last time."
Topanga stepped inside. The penthouse smelled like garlic, butter, and something sweet, vanilla, maybe, from a candle burning on the entryway table. The Manhattan skyline glowed through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Maya was in the kitchen in a cropped black t-shirt and nothing else that Topanga could see, her bare legs crossed at the ankle where she stood at the counter, slicing figs. "Hey, counselor," Maya said without looking up.
"You're not wearing pants." "I'm in my home. I don't have to wear pants." Maya glanced over her shoulder. Her blue eyes tracked down Topanga's body seeing the fitted gray dress, the heels, the way Topanga held herself like she was waiting for someone to challenge her. "You look like you're about to give a closing argument." "Maybe I am."

Maya laughed and turned back to the figs. "Pour the champagne. Glasses are above the sink." Topanga set her bottle next to the two already chilling on the counter. She reached up for the glasses, and when she turned around, Riley was right behind her, close enough that their bodies almost touched. "Let me take your coat," Riley said. She wasn't wearing anything under the robe. Topanga could see that now. The robe had parted slightly, revealing the line between Riley's breasts, the soft skin of her stomach, the bare curve of her hip. "I didn't bring a coat." "Then let me take your dress." Topanga raised an eyebrow. "We haven't even had dinner yet."

"Since when do you care about the order of things?" Riley's fingers found the zipper at the back of Topanga's dress. She didn't pull it down. She just held it, her knuckles warm against Topanga's spine. "Last time, you had us cuffed before the main course." "That was different. I was in charge." Riley's smile changed. It went from warm to something sharper, something with teeth. "Were you?" The question hung there. Topanga felt a flicker of something she hadn't expected. Not annoyance, not amusement, but a low pulse of heat between her legs. Riley's fingers on her zipper. Maya watching from the kitchen, knife still in her hand, eyes fixed on the two of them. "Dinner first," Topanga said. She stepped back, breaking contact, and reached for the champagne.

They ate at the dining table. Baked brie with honey and figs, a carbonara that Riley had made from scratch, a salad that nobody touched. Three bottles of champagne became the real meal. Topanga drank more than she usually allowed herself. She could feel the warmth spreading through her chest, loosening her shoulders, softening the edges of her control.
Maya told a story about a deposition gone wrong. Riley laughed so hard she nearly fell out of her chair. Topanga found herself laughing too, really laughing, the kind that made her eyes water. She kicked off her heels under the table. At some point, Maya's bare foot found Topanga's ankle and rested there, casual, possessive.

"You know what I've been thinking about?" Maya said, swirling her champagne. "Your closing argument?" Topanga replied. "No. I've been thinking about how you made us wait. How you made Riley hold back while you fucked her with your fingers. How you sat on my face and told me not to stop." Maya took a sip. "I've been thinking about how good you are at being in charge." "And?" And I think it's time you found out what it feels like on the other side." Topanga set her glass down. "Is that right?"

Riley stood up from her chair. She walked behind Topanga and placed both hands on her shoulders, thumbs pressing into the knots at the base of her neck. Topanga's body responded before her mind did, her head tipped forward slightly, her shoulders dropping.
"You're so tense," Riley said. "You carry everything up here." Her thumbs worked into the muscle. "You've been running the show for weeks. Months, maybe. You had us cuffed. You made us beg. You made us come on your schedule." "It worked," Topanga said. Her voice was steady, but Riley's hands on her neck were making it hard to concentrate.

"It did. You're very good at it." Riley leaned down, her mouth near Topanga's ear. "But you need to be taken apart too. You need someone to take all that control and put it somewhere else for a night." Topanga turned her head. Riley's face was inches from hers. Their eyes met, and Topanga saw it, the same Riley who'd whimpered and begged and come so hard she'd soaked the sheets, but also someone new. Someone who'd been planning. "What exactly are you proposing?" Topanga asked.

Maya stood up from the table. She walked over, bare legs and cropped shirt, and knelt beside Topanga's chair. She looked up with those blue eyes and said, "We're proposing that you finish your champagne, and then you let us have you. However we want. For as long as we want." "And if I say no?" Maya smiled. "You won't say no. You're too curious. You're too wet already." Topanga didn't deny it. She could feel the arousal that had been building since Riley's fingers touched her zipper, since Maya's foot found her ankle, since the conversation turned to what happened last time. She was wet. She was getting wetter.

"One condition," Topanga said. "Name it," Riley said from behind her. "If I use the word 'enough,' you stop. Both of you. Immediately." Maya and Riley exchanged a look. Something passed between them. The silent language of two people who'd been together long enough to have entire conversations in glances. "Agreed," Maya said. "Now finish your drink." Topanga drained her glass. The champagne was cold and bright and she felt it all the way down. Riley's hands slid from her shoulders to the zipper of her dress, and this time Topanga didn't move away. The zipper opened. Riley peeled the dress down, over Topanga's shoulders, past her hips, until it pooled on the chair. Topanga stepped out of it in her bra and thong, her body warm from the champagne, her skin prickling in the cool air of the penthouse.

"Arms up," Maya said. Topanga raised her arms. Maya pulled the cropped shirt over her own head and dropped it. She was naked underneath. Her breasts were small and firm, her nipples already tight. She unhooked Topanga's bra from the front, her fingers quick and sure, and pulled it away. Topanga's breasts settled fuller than Maya's, heavier, the nipples broad and dark and beginning to stiffen. Riley slipped the robe off her own shoulders. It fell to the floor. Three naked women in the dining room, the city glowing through the windows behind them, the remains of dinner still on the table.

"Bedroom," Riley said. "Now." They walked Topanga to the master bedroom. It was the same room where it had happened last time with the same bed, the same headboard with the leather cuffs still attached to the posts. Topanga saw them and felt a sudden jolt of understanding. "You're going to cuff me," she said. "We're going to cuff you," Maya confirmed. "Face up. Legs spread. And you're going to find out what it's like to be the one who can't move." Topanga's pussy clenched. She could feel her own wetness now, the slick heat between her legs, the throb of her clit demanding contact. She climbed onto the bed and lay back against the pillows. The sheets were cool against her bare skin.

Maya cuffed her left wrist. Riley cuffed her right. The leather was snug but not tight, the same cuffs Topanga had used on them. She tested them, pulling, feeling the restraint. Her arms were stretched wide, pinned to the bed. She couldn't touch herself. She couldn't touch them. She could only receive. "Legs," Riley said. They each took an ankle and attached a cuff to it, spreading Topanga's legs wide, her pussy fully exposed and open. Topanga watched them work. They were efficient, coordinated, a team in a way they hadn't been last time. They'd practiced this. They'd planned it.

Maya climbed onto the bed and knelt between Topanga's spread legs. She looked down at Topanga's pussy, the dark hair trimmed short, the outer lips parted, the inner lips were glistening with wetness, the clit swollen and visible at the top. "Look at you," Maya said. "You're dripping. You've been wet since dinner." "I've been wet since the cab ride over," Topanga admitted. Maya's thumb traced a line up Topanga's inner thigh, stopping just short of where the wetness began. "Last time you made me describe what I wanted before you'd touch me. You made me say it out loud."

"I remember." "Good. Now it's your turn." Maya's thumb moved higher, brushing the outer edge of Topanga's labia, not parting them, just tracing. "Tell me what you want, Topanga. Be specific. Use the words you made us use." Topanga swallowed. She could feel her pulse in her clit. "I want your mouth on me. I want your tongue inside me and on my clit. I want you to make me come." "That's a start." Maya looked at Riley. "What do you think?"
Riley climbed onto the bed beside Topanga. She straddled Topanga's waist, her own pussy pressing against Topanga's stomach, and Topanga could feel how wet Riley was, the slick heat of her against her skin. Riley leaned forward and brought her mouth to Topanga's breast. She didn't touch the nipple. She kissed around it, lips dragging across the full curve, tongue tracing the underside.

"She left something out," Riley said against Topanga's skin. "She didn't say she wants to be fucked. She didn't say she wants fingers inside her." Maya pressed her thumb against Topanga's opening, just barely, just enough for Topanga to feel the pressure without penetration. "Do you want to be fucked, Topanga?" "Yes." "How?" "However you want."
Maya smiled. "Wrong answer. We're not in charge of what happens to you tonight. You have to tell us what you need. That's the game. That's the difference. Last time, you decided everything. This time, you have to ask for everything."

Topanga pulled against the cuffs. Her body was straining upward, her hips tilting toward Maya's hand. She wanted those fingers inside her. She wanted Riley's mouth on her nipple. She wanted to come, and she wanted to come hard, and the not-having-it was making the wanting worse. "I want your fingers inside me," Topanga said. Her voice was lower than usual, rougher. "Two of them. I want you to fuck me with them while you lick my clit. I want Riley to suck my nipples. I want to come like that, and I want to come when you let me."

"When I let you," Maya repeated. She slid two fingers inside Topanga, slow and deliberate, and Topanga's back arched off the bed. "Like this?" "Yes. Fuck. Yes." Maya fucked her with measured strokes, curling her fingers against the front wall of Topanga's pussy, pressing the spot that made Topanga's thighs shake. At the same time, Riley took Topanga's left nipple into her mouth and sucked, hard, pulling the stiffened peak between her lips and flicking it with her tongue. Topanga gasped. The dual sensation of Maya's fingers inside her, Riley's mouth on her breast was overwhelming. She pulled at the cuffs, wanting to grab Maya's hand and push it deeper, wanting to hold Riley's head against her chest. She couldn't. She could only lie there and take it.

"You're close already," Maya said. She could feel the way Topanga's pussy was clenching around her fingers, the increasing wetness, the trembling in her thighs. "You're going to come fast the first time. That's okay. We're going to make you come more than once tonight." "Can I come?" Topanga asked, and the words shocked her. She'd never asked permission in her life. Not in a courtroom, not in a bedroom, not anywhere. But the word came out naturally, instinctively, because the game demanded it and because part of her that had been running things for so long desperately wanted to surrender.

"Not yet," Maya said. She pulled her fingers almost all the way out, then pushed back in slowly. "Riley, switch sides." Riley moved to Topanga's right breast, sucking that nipple while her hand cupped the left one, thumbing the wet peak her mouth had just been abandoned. Topanga's breathing was ragged. Her hips were rolling against Maya's hand, chasing the orgasm that was building fast and hot in her core. "Maya, please." "Please what?" "Please let me come."

Maya lowered her mouth to Topanga's clit. She licked it once, a single broad stroke, and Topanga cried out. Then she sucked it into her mouth, tonguing it rapidly while her fingers fucked deep, and Topanga's whole body went rigid. "Come," Maya said against her. "Come now." Topanga came so hard her vision blurred. The orgasm detonated from her clit and her pussy simultaneously, the contractions gripping Maya's fingers in rhythmic waves, her back arching, her wrists straining against the leather. She heard herself moaning loud, raw, uncontrolled and didn't care. The pleasure was blinding, total, a white-hot peak that went on and on as Maya's tongue kept working and Maya's fingers kept curling and Riley's mouth kept sucking.

When it finally ebbed, Topanga was shaking. Maya withdrew her fingers and sat back, her chin wet, her eyes bright. Riley lifted her mouth from Topanga's breast and looked down at her with an expression that was equal parts tenderness and hunger. "One," Riley said.
"One," Topanga echoed, breathless. "We're going for three. At least." Riley shifted her body, moving up toward the head of the bed. She positioned herself above Topanga's face, her pussy inches from Topanga's mouth. Topanga could see how swollen Riley was, how wet, the pink folds parted and glistening.

"You made me eat you last time. You sat on my face and told me not to stop. Now I'm going to sit on yours, and you're going to eat me until I come, and Maya is going to make you come again while you do it." Riley lowered herself. Topanga opened her mouth and found Riley's pussy with her tongue. The taste was familiar now, the same taste from her fingers last time, but richer, more direct. She licked through Riley's folds in long strokes, gathering the wetness, then focused on her clit, circling it with the tip of her tongue.
Riley's hands braced against the headboard. She ground down, controlling the pressure, and Topanga responded by pressing harder, licking faster, sucking Riley's clit into her mouth the way Maya had done to hers.

Below, Maya positioned herself between Topanga's legs again. But this time, instead of her fingers, she used her mouth. She licked into Topanga's pussy, tongue pushing inside, then dragged upward to her clit. Topanga moaned against Riley's pussy, and the vibration made Riley gasp. They fell into a rhythm. Topanga ate Riley while Maya ate Topanga. Three bodies connected, mouths working, the sounds wet and explicit. Topanga felt her second orgasm building slower than the first, deeper, a heavy ache that pulsed with every stroke of Maya's tongue. She could feel Riley getting close too, the trembling in Riley's thighs, the way her grinding became erratic, the sharp little sounds she was making.

"Don't stop," Riley said. "Right there. Right — fuck —" Riley came. Her pussy pressed down against Topanga's mouth, her thighs clamping around Topanga's head, and Topanga kept licking, kept sucking, extending Riley's orgasm until Riley's legs gave out and she collapsed forward, catching herself on the headboard. The moment Riley lifted off, Topanga's own orgasm hit. Maya had pushed two fingers back inside her and was sucking her clit, and the combination sent Topanga over the edge. She came with a sound that was almost a sob, her body convulsing against the cuffs, her pussy clenching and releasing around Maya's fingers.

"Two," Maya said, climbing up the bed. She lay beside Topanga, her body pressed along her side, one hand resting on Topanga's stomach. Riley collapsed on the other side, her breathing still ragged. Topanga stared at the ceiling. Her body was humming, every nerve alive, her wrists raw from pulling against the cuffs. She'd come twice, hard, and she could feel the promise of more in the way Maya's hand was tracing circles on her abdomen, moving lower with each revolution.

"How are you feeling?" Riley asked. "Like I've been wrong about something for a very long time." "What's that?" Topanga turned her head to look at Riley. "I thought I needed to be in control to enjoy this. I thought being the one who decides was the part that made it good." She paused. "I was wrong. Being the one who can't decide, who can't move, who has to ask that's its own thing. That's something else." Maya's hand reached the top of Topanga's pubic hair. Her fingers traced through it, then lower, finding the wetness that had gathered between Topanga's legs again. "You want a third?"

"I think I need a third." Maya rolled on top of her. She settled between Topanga's spread legs, her pussy pressing against Topanga's, wet against wet, heat against heat. She began to move, grinding slowly, their clits rubbing together, the friction sending sparks through Topanga's body. Riley uncuffed one of Topanga's wrists, then the other. Topanga's hands came down to Maya's hips, gripping, pulling her closer, increasing the pressure. Then Riley uncuffed Topanga's ankles, and Topanga wrapped her legs around Maya's waist.

"Come with me," Maya said, her hips rolling, her pussy sliding against Topanga's in a slick, hot rhythm. "Come at the same time." Topanga pulled Maya against her, hard, and ground up into her. Their clits pressed together, swollen and sensitive, and the sensation was electric. Topanga could feel it building not slow this time, but fast, a runaway train. She could feel Maya shaking too, could feel the way Maya's rhythm was falling apart. "Now," Topanga said. "Come now." They came together. The orgasm hit them simultaneously, their pussies clenching and pulsing against each other, both of them crying out, Maya collapsing onto Topanga's chest, their bodies fused and trembling. Topanga held Maya against her, riding the waves, feeling Maya's heartbeat against her own.

They lay there for a long time. The room smelled like sex and champagne and the vanilla candle that was still burning somewhere in the apartment. Riley curled against Topanga's side, her head on Topanga's shoulder, one hand resting on Maya's back. "So," Maya said eventually, her voice muffled against Topanga's neck. "Same time next month?" then
Topanga laughed. "You're assuming I'm giving up control permanently." "We're not asking you to give it up permanently," Riley said. "We're asking you to share." "Share," Topanga repeated.

"You take the odd nights. We take the even ones." Maya lifted her head and looked at Topanga with those blue eyes. "Fair?" Topanga considered it. She thought about the cab ride over, the confidence she'd worn like armor. She thought about how it felt to ask permission, to be restrained, to come on someone else's schedule. She thought about how it felt to come together, equal and simultaneous. "Fair," she said. "But I pick the first odd night." "Deal," Riley said. She reached across Topanga for the champagne bottle on the nightstand that had somehow it had migrated here, or maybe they'd brought it, she couldn't remember and poured what was left into three glasses that also materialized from somewhere she wasn't tracking. Topanga took a glass with a sore wrist and a satisfied body and a feeling she hadn't expected.