Monica comes out of the kitchen and stands behind Caitlin’s chair. It’s a big, modern dining room set with a smoked glass table, brand new, and the chairs have high backs. Monica leans over and put her hands under Caitlin’s breasts and lifts them up.
‘See,’ she says. ‘Didn’t I tell you she had gorgeous tits?’
Caitlin gives me a naughty glance.
Caitlin says, ‘You don’t waste any time, do you girl?’
Monica pulls Caitlin’s chair out from the table, comes around and sits on the arm of the chair, half in Caitlin’s lap. She certainly isn’t that easy and bold with me.
She rarely starts anything. She’s more into teasing me into doing something to her, usually something rough where I’ll pull her down or press her back against a wall, but now she sits on the arm of the chair and bends over and kisses Caitlin open-mouthed.
I can see their tongues working against each other from where I sit at the other side of the table, slowly shuffling the cards. It’s very quiet except for Caitlin’s little amused moans and laughs as they kiss. She knows she’s being naughty and she loves it.
I wonder briefly if Caitlin and I are supposed to fight for Monica, if that’s what this is about.
But no, it doesn’t look like that at all. Monica breaks the kiss and then looks at me.
Her fingers are playing with Caitlin’s ear.
‘What do you say, dude?’ she says. ‘We on?’
‘Yeah, baby,’ Caitlin goes. ‘We on?’
I go, ‘We’re on.’
Caitlin doesn’t wear a bra; she has beautiful breasts just like Monica said: fat little melons instead of Monica’s scoops of ice cream. Monica lowers her head and watches me out of the corner of her eye as she licks one of Caitlin’s nipples.
They’re putting this show on for me. Caitlin puts her hands up and grabs the back of the chair behind her head, lifting her breasts up for Monica.
‘You like to watch?’ Caitlin asks me. ‘Her mouth is so good. Is that all you’re going to do – watch?’ She wants me to be shocked.
Poor girls: beautiful, desirable, at the peak of their sexual ripeness, but they live in a world of expediency, a world of diminishing expectations, with no right and wrong, nothing to rebel against. No consequences. There’s nothing they can do to shock the boys their own age, so they come to me, someone older, someone who remembers when there were good girls and bad girls, that defining line.
I go around to the other side of the table, pull out another chair. ‘Come here,’ I say to Monica.
She stops what she’s doing with Caitlin and obeys me.
She stands in front of me like a little girl. I tug her pants down over her hips and make her step out of them. I roll her panties down her smooth thighs and she puts one hand on my shoulder for balance as she steps out of them. Being naked in front of Caitlin apparently doesn’t bother her at all.
‘Arms up,’ I say, and Monica raises her arms over her head like a baby getting ready for a bath.
I pull her shirt off and toss it aside.
She’s naked now.
I sit down in the chair and pull her to me; make her stand there while I suck her nipples into my mouth, first one then the other. I hold her with one hand squeezing one of her buttocks, and with the other I push her thighs apart so I can work my finger against her.
She stands passive, not resisting.
It’s my turn now to show off for Caitlin. I want her to see how I handle Monica, how passive she is with me.
Caitlin watches me suck Monica’s tits. I turn Monica around and gave her a sharp little smack on the ass. Caitlin’s eyes get big. Her shirt’s still up and her nipples are starting to harden. She has tattoos, but not as many as Monica.
Both girls are submissive and this doesn’t surprise me. Monica is usually demure with me, as if she is an observer to what I am doing to her. Sometimes she will even exclaim with surprise when I push her into some new and subservient position as if she can’t believe I would do this to her, but she never objects. ‘Sometimes,’ she once said, ‘it’s like I’m standing outside my body and I’m like, “is that really me?”’

I pull Monica over. ‘Sit in the chair,’ I tell her. ‘Put your legs over the arms. Caitlin, get your clothes off. I’ll be right back.’
I go into Monica’s bedroom where she keeps the rope and her toys in her nightstand. I grab a handful of stuff along with the riding crop I use on her, and when I get back into the dining room, Caitlin is standing naked next to the chair she’s been sitting in, her nipples pointing up to the corners of the ceiling like the Three Wise Men glancing at the Star of Bethlehem.
Caitlin has a little strip of hair on her pussy – Brazilian they call it – but Monica is shaved clean. There is a twinkle of moisture visible between Caitlin’s thighs. With both their pussies exposed the two girls look even younger than they are; almost juvenile. This sparks a Lolita complex in me, the desire for smooth nymphets.
They stand there waiting: bad little girls waiting to be punished.
I kick my shoes off and come over to the table, pull over another chair and sit down.
I beckon to Caitlin and she comes over, hands clasped over her naked crotch like she’s shy or embarrassed of her exposed sex.
I say to her, ‘Do you know what we do, me and Monica? She tell you about it? The ropes and the whips? Is that what you want me to do with you too?’
‘I don’t know,’ Caitlin says. ‘I’ve never done that kind of stuff. I want to try.’
‘Do you want me to do that with you?’