TOPANGA'S TAKE CHARGE DINNER

Topanga arrived by the penthouse elevator holding a paper bag in one hand and a bottle of Veuve Clicquot in the other. She'd dressed carefully in a black wrap dress, low neckline, the kind of outfit that said "I came for dinner but I'm open to dessert." She'd spent forty-five minutes picking it out, which was forty minutes longer than she usually spent on anything that wasn't a court appearance.

The door opened. Riley stood there in a silk robe, barefoot, her hair still damp from the shower. "You're early," Riley said. "I'm on time. You're late getting ready." "Maya's still in the bath." "Of course she is." Topanga stepped inside, kicked off her heels, and set the champagne on the kitchen counter. The penthouse smelled like garlic and rosemary. "What are you making?" Carbonara. Maya's contribution was opening a bottle of wine and then disappearing." "That tracks." Topanga followed Riley to the kitchen, where a pot of water was boiling and pancetta sizzled in a pan. Riley moved around the kitchen with surprising competence, cracking eggs into a bowl, grating pecorino. Topanga leaned against the counter and watched. "You're actually good at this." "I cook naked for you once and suddenly everyone's surprised I have skills." "I wasn't surprised by the cooking."

Riley glanced over her shoulder, a smirk playing at her mouth. "What were you surprised by?" The flexibility. I didn't know someone could flip pasta while being eaten out and not burn the sauce." "I multitask." The bathroom door opened down the hall. Maya appeared in a towel, her blonde hair dark and wet against her shoulders, water still beading on her collarbone. She saw Topanga and grinned. "Look who showed up." "You invited me."

"That doesn't mean we thought you'd actually come." Maya crossed to the kitchen, dropped her towel on a chair, she was naked underneath, of course she was and grabbed the Veuve Clicquot from the counter. "You brought the good stuff." I always bring the good stuff." Maya found three flutes and popped the cork. She poured, handing the first glass to Topanga, the second to Riley, and keeping the third. "To dinner." To dinner," Riley echoed, stirring the pasta. "To whatever happens after," Topanga said, and drank.

They ate at the dining table, just the three of them, candlelight from tapers Maya had lit without being asked, the city spread out behind them through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The carbonara was excellent. The champagne was better. By the time Riley brought out a plate of strawberries and dark chocolate, they'd finished two bottles and were working on a third. Topanga was loosening up. Not drunk, she never let herself get fully drunk, but that warm, loose, unguarded place where everything felt funnier and her thighs didn't mind being pressed together under the table. She'd kicked her shoes off again at some point. Her wrap dress had shifted, the V of the neckline falling open a little further than she'd intended, showing the inner curve of her breasts.

Maya noticed. Maya always noticed. "You keep looking at my chest," Topanga said. "I keep looking at the strawberries. Your chest is just in the way." "Uh-huh." Riley refilled everyone's glasses. "So. We had a thought." Topanga's internal alarm went off. Not a warning alarm, a different kind. The kind that said pay attention, this is going somewhere interesting. Every time Maya and Riley said "we had a thought," the evening took a turn. The last time they'd said it, she'd ended up wearing a collar and screaming into a pillow.
"What kind of thought?" Topanga asked, picking up a strawberry.

Maya leaned back in her chair, completely unbothered by her own nudity. She had the confidence of someone who'd been naked in front of these women enough times that it was just a state of being. "The kind where you end up tied to our headboard." "Again?"
"Different headboard this time. We got a new one. Better anchor points." Topanga bit into the strawberry. Juice ran down her chin. She wiped it with her thumb and licked it off. "You two have a plan." "We always have a plan," Riley said. "The last plan involved chili oil." "And that worked out beautifully," Maya said. "For you." "For everyone. You came so hard you forgot your own name."

Topanga felt heat rise in her face that had nothing to do with the champagne. She reached for her glass and drank. "What's the plan this time?" Maya and Riley exchanged a look. The married-couple telepathy that Topanga had spent years witnessing and still couldn't fully decode. Something passed between them, an agreement, a confirmation and then they both looked at her. "Strip blackjack," Maya said. "Best of ten hands. And Loser becomes the plaything for the night." "And if I win?" Maya smiled. "You won't." "That's very confident for someone who lost her own strip poker night." "That was poker. This is blackjack. I'm excellent at blackjack."

Topanga considered this. The champagne was making her reckless. Or maybe it was the memory of last time with the oil, the wand, the cuffs, the way Maya's voice had cracked when she came. The way Riley had looked at her, fascinated, while she fell apart. She wanted that again. But she also wanted something different. She'd spent two weeks thinking about what it would feel like to be on the other side of this dynamic. To be the one holding the leash instead of wearing it. "Fine," Topanga said. "But I have a counter-proposal." Maya raised an eyebrow. "You want to negotiate?" "I'm a lawyer. I always want to negotiate."

Riley pulled the cards from a drawer, they kept cards in every room, the same way they kept cuffs in every nightstand and sat down at the table. She shuffled with practiced hands. "What's your proposal?" "Same game. Same stakes. But whoever loses doesn't just become the plaything." Topanga leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her dress gaping open. She looked at Maya first, then Riley. " The loser becomes the property of the winner. Not the winner and her wife. The winner. One person in charge. No co-ownership." The room went quiet. The candle flames flickered. Maya's eyes narrowed, and Topanga watched something shift behind them an interest, calculation, a flicker of competitive fire.
"You want to split us up," Maya said. "I want to find out which one of you is actually in charge when the other one isn't helping." Maya looked at Riley. Riley looked at Maya. The telepathy thing happened again, faster this time, and then Riley nodded. "Deal," Maya said.

Riley dealt. The first three hands went fast. Topanga won the first. Maya busted at twenty-two, too aggressive, too impatient. Maya won the second, Topanga hit on sixteen and drew a five, the kind of luck that made her believe in divine intervention. Riley won the third as dealer, blackjack on the flip, and Topanga shed her wrap dress, leaving her in a black bra and matching thong. "Nice," Riley said, looking at her. "Eyes on the cards."

Hand four. Maya lost. She was already naked, so the penalty shifted. Riley got to choose. "Pants off," she told Maya, which was pointless since Maya had no pants, so instead Maya had to spread her legs and let whoever won the next hand touch her for thirty seconds while the hand was being dealt. Topanga won hand five. She reached under the table and slid her hand between Maya's thighs while Riley shuffled. Maya was wet. Not slightly wet, genuinely, noticeably wet. Topanga pushed two fingers inside her and curled them, and Maya's breath hitched, and Riley said "Time" and Topanga withdrew and picked up her cards.

"You're a menace," Maya said, her voice unsteady. "I'm a lawyer who plays to win." Hand six. Riley lost. She shrugged off her robe. Naked underneath, as Topanga had suspected. Hand seven. Topanga lost. She unclasped her bra and dropped it on the chair, her breasts settling against her chest, her nipples tightening in the cool air-conditioned breeze. Maya's gaze dropped to them immediately. "Focus," Topanga told her. Hand eight. Maya lost. The penalty: she had to go down on Riley for the duration of the next hand. Maya slid under the table, pushed Riley's thighs apart, and started licking. Riley tried to deal. Her hands were shaking. Topanga watched Riley's face while Maya ate her, the flush spreading across Riley's chest, the way she bit her lip, the way her eyes kept trying to close.

"Cards," Topanga said gently. Riley dealt. Topanga got nineteen. Riley got twelve, hit, drew a nine, busted. Topanga won. "Maya, stop," Riley said, her voice strained. "I need to think." Maya didn't stop. Her tongue Maya surfaced, her chin wet, her expression smug. "You're welcome." "Score," Topanga said, ignoring the throbbing between her own legs. "I have five wins. Maya has two. Riley has one." "We need six to win," Riley said, straightening up, pressing her thighs together. "You need one." "One hand. High stakes." Topanga picked up the cards and shuffled them herself, slowly, maintaining eye contact with Maya. "Winner takes all." "Deal," Maya said.

Topanga dealt. Maya got a king and a seven. Seventeen. She stayed. Riley got a ten and a six. She hit, drew a five. Twenty-one. She leaned back with a grin. Topanga had a jack and a queen. Twenty. She'd lost to Riley. But she'd still won the match. Five wins to Riley's two to Maya's two. The game was over. "I won," Topanga said. She set the cards down. The champagne buzz was still there, warm and loose, but underneath it something sharper had taken hold. Something focused. She stood up from the table, topless, her black thong the only thing she was wearing, and looked at both of them.

"Maya. Riley. Come with me." She walked toward the bedroom. She didn't look back to check if they were following. She heard their footsteps. Maya's bare feet, Riley's bare feet, both of them moving and felt a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the champagne.
The bedroom was the same as last time, but Topanga saw it differently now. Their California king. The white sheets. The blackout curtains. The cuffs in the nightstand. She pulled them out, all four of them and set them on the bed.

"On the bed," she said. "Both of you. Side by side. On your backs." Maya opened her mouth to argue, to negotiate, to say something clever and Topanga pointed at the bed. "Now." Something passed over Maya's face. Surprise, maybe. She wasn't used to being told what to do. She was the one who gave orders. She was the one who held the leash. But she climbed onto the bed, and Riley climbed on beside her, and they lay there side by side, naked, waiting.

Topanga cuffed Maya's right wrist to the headboard. Then her left. She moved to Riley and did the same, right wrist, left wrist. Both of them, arms stretched above their heads, side by side, unable to move their hands. She stepped back and looked at them. Two beautiful women, naked and cuffed on a king-sized bed, their bodies available, their legs free but their hands secured. Maya's blonde hair fanned out on the white pillow. Riley's brunette hair tangled beside it. Their breasts rose and fell with their breathing.

"Here's how this works," Topanga said. She pulled a chair from the corner of the room and set it at the foot of the bed. She sat down, crossed her legs, and regarded them. "I won. That means I own you tonight. Both of you. Not as a team as mine." "We're not great at not being a team," Riley said. "You'll learn." Maya tested the cuffs. The leather creaked. "What are you going to do?" I'm going to watch you." Topanga uncrossed her legs. "I'm going to tell you what to do, and you're going to do it, and I'm going to sit right here and watch. And if you're very good, I'll join you."

"Watch us do what?" Maya asked, though her voice had shifted lower, breathier, the tone of someone who was already wet and wanted to be wetter. "Each other." Topanga leaned back in the chair. "Riley, turn toward Maya. Maya, turn toward Riley. You can reach each other with your mouths. That's all you get for now." They shifted on the bed, rolling onto their sides, the cuffs pulling their arms taut. Their faces came together. Riley kissed Maya first with a soft, tentative press of lips, the kind of kiss that was more question than an answer. Maya responded by opening her mouth, her tongue sliding against Riley's, and the kiss deepened. Topanga watched their mouths work against each other, watched the way their bodies curved together, breasts pressing, stomachs touching, legs intertwining.

"Riley," Topanga said. "Kiss Maya's neck. Collarbone. Don't touch her nipples yet." Riley obeyed. Her mouth traveled down Maya's throat, lips dragging across the skin, tongue tracing the line of Maya's collarbone. Maya's breath caught. Her hips shifted, pressing forward, seeking friction that wasn't there yet. Maya. Same thing. Riley's neck. Riley's collarbone. No lower." Maya mirrored Riley's movements, her mouth finding the sensitive spot below Riley's ear, the hollow of her throat. Riley made a small sound, not a moan yet, just a hum of pleasure, the kind that said more is coming.

Topanga watched. She uncrossed her legs and let her hand drift to her own thigh, not touching herself yet, just resting her fingers on the warm skin. The sight of them, two women exploring each other slowly, restrained, following her instructions was doing something to her that the champagne hadn't. A deep, focused arousal that built from her core outward. "Now nipples," Topanga said. "Mouths only. No hands, you can't use them anyway. Take your time."

Riley found Maya's nipple first. She licked it in slow, broad strokes, then sucked it into her mouth, pulling gently. Maya arched into it, her back curving, a sharp exhale escaping her. Maya reciprocated, her mouth closing around Riley's nipple, tongue circling the stiffened peak, sucking with a pressure that made Riley's legs clench. They worked each other in tandem. Riley on Maya's right nipple, Maya on Riley's left, their mouths wet and warm and relentless. Topanga could see the effect: Maya's thighs pressing together, Riley's hips now rolling in slow, involuntary circles. They were getting desperate. They wanted more. But they were waiting for permission.

"Stop," Topanga said. They stopped. Both of them. Immediately. Their mouths separated, wet and swollen, their breathing ragged. They looked at Topanga with an identical expression of frustrated arousal. "Maya," Topanga said. "I want you to tell me what you want." "I am touching you. I'm touching you with my eyes. Be specific." Maya swallowed. "I want your mouth on my pussy. I want you to lick me until I come." "And Riley?"
Riley's voice was hoarse. "I want, God, I want fingers inside me. I want to be fucked."

"You'll both get what you want. But first." Topanga stood up. She slipped off her thong, the last piece of clothing she had on, and dropped it on the chair. She climbed onto the bed, between them, positioning herself so she could reach both. "First you're going to watch me make myself come. And neither of you is allowed to look away." She lay back between them, her head on the pillow, her body between their cuffed bodies. She spread her legs. Her right hand slid down her stomach, over the trim of dark hair, and found her pussy. She was soaked. More wet than she'd expected. Watching them had affected her more than she'd realized. She pushed two fingers inside herself and gasped at the contact, at the relief of finally having pressure where she needed it.

She fucked herself slowly, her fingers curling inside, her other hand coming up to cup her own breast, thumbing her nipple. Maya and Riley both turned their heads to watch. Their eyes tracked her hand, her fingers, the wet sounds coming from between her legs. "Tell me what you see," Topanga said, her voice steady despite the pleasure building in her abdomen. "I see your fingers inside yourself," Maya said. "I see how wet you are. I can hear it." "Riley?" I see your pussy clenching around your fingers when you pull out. I see your clit, it's swollen, it's right there, I want to —" "You want to what?" "I want to put my mouth on it."

"Not yet." Topanga increased her rhythm. Her fingers moved faster, pressing deep, curling against the spot that made her thighs tense. Her thumb found her clit and circled it, firm and deliberate. She was close. The orgasm had been building since the card game, since the first time she'd touched Maya under the table, since the moment she'd realized she was going to win. "Watch me," she said. "Watch me come."

She came with her eyes open. The orgasm hit in a sharp, clenching wave, her pussy spasming around her fingers, her back arching off the bed, her free hand gripping the sheet. She moaned, loud and unguarded, her hips rolling through the contractions. Maya and Riley watched every second of it, their faces flushed, their bodies straining toward her. As the aftershocks faded, Topanga withdrew her fingers. She held them up, wet, glistening and pressed them against Maya's lips. Maya opened her mouth and sucked them in, tasting Topanga's arousal, cleaning her fingers with her tongue.

"Good," Topanga said. She pulled her fingers from Maya's mouth and pressed them against Riley's. Riley did the same, sucking Topanga's fingers deep, her tongue swirling. "Now," Topanga said, and her voice had changed, lower, commanding, the voice she used in courtrooms when she wanted a room to pay attention. "Maya. I'm going to sit on your face. You're going to eat me until I tell you to stop. Riley. "She shifted, positioning herself over Maya's mouth, her pussy inches from Maya's lips. "Riley, I'm going to fuck you with my fingers while Maya eats me. And you're both going to come when I say you can come. Not before."

"Yes, Topanga," Maya whispered. "Yes, Topanga," Riley echoed. Topanga lowered herself onto Maya's face. Maya's tongue found her immediately, hot, slick, pressing through Topanga's folds in a long stroke that ended at her clit. Topanga braced herself against the headboard, her knees on either side of Maya's head, and reached across to Riley. Her right hand slid between Riley's legs. Riley was drenched, wetness coating her inner thighs, her pussy swollen and hot. Topanga pushed three fingers inside her, and Riley's hips bucked.
"Still," Topanga said. "Don't move. Let me do it." She fucked Riley with slow, deep strokes while Maya ate her from below.

Maya's tongue was relentless, circling Topanga's clit, then licking flat and broad through her folds, then pointing and probing inside her. Topanga ground down, controlling the pressure, controlling the angle. She could feel another orgasm building already, faster than the first. "Riley, you're close." "Yes." "Don't come." Topanga —" "Don't. Come." She curled her fingers inside Riley, pressing against the front wall, and Riley whimpered, her whole body trembling. "You come when I say. Not before." Maya sucked Topanga's clit into her mouth and flicked it rapidly. Topanga's hips jerked. She was close, very close and she could feel Riley clenching around her fingers in rhythmic waves that said she was on the edge.

"Maya, don't stop," Topanga gasped. "Right there. Don't — fuck —" She came. The orgasm crashed through her, her pussy grinding against Maya's mouth, her fingers burying deep inside Riley. She heard Riley cry out a desperate, strained sound and felt her clenching, fighting the orgasm, obeying the command not to come. "Riley," Topanga said, her voice shaking. "Come. Now." Riley shattered. Her pussy clamped down on Topanga's fingers so hard that Topanga couldn't move them. Riley's back arched, her wrists pulled against the cuffs, and a rush of wetness flooded Topanga's hand. She squirted a thin, hot stream that soaked the sheets and screamed into the pillow.

Topanga lifted herself off Maya's face. Maya was flushed, her chin slick, her lips swollen, her eyes dark with unspent need. "You haven't come," Topanga said. "No." "Do you want to?"
"Please." Topanga moved down the bed. She settled between Maya's legs, spreading them wide. Maya's pussy was swollen, flushed pink, visibly wet. Topanga lowered her mouth and licked her in one long, slow stroke from opening to clit. Maya's hips flew up. Topanga ate her methodically. No urgency.