Bisexual Fairy Tale Part 1

Brooklyn Gray cackles over an empty throne room while Aspen sits green and warty beside her. The therapist they dragged themselves to is Dante Colle, professionally calm, sniffing at the file like it explains how a royal marriage ran off the rails. Aspen tries to croak his version. Brooklyn insists everything’s Aspen’s fault for mentioning the wrong parish on their wedding night. Dante listens, taps his pen, and makes the obvious call: the three of them on the overstuffed couch for the remedy—the complete, sweaty kind. Brooklyn bends Aspen over first, long fingers slicked and working him open while he stays glossy-eyed and trembling; she loves that angry little breath he takes when she pushes past each ring. Once he’s loose and shiny she guides Dante behind him, guiding the therapist’s cock until Aspen squawks, impaled for real. She doesn’t let either boy steady themselves, she drags her skirt up, kneels over Aspen’s face, and settles right down so he has to lick and breathe at the same pace Dante fucks him. Dante keeps his shirt buttoned but fucks like he’s punishing latency; every thrust punches the air out of Aspen in short frog-curved grunts. Brooklyn claws fingers through Aspen’s tiny crown and rides his tongue, moaning each time that amphibian muscle finds just the right spot behind her clit. Soon she flips it: she knees the couch herself, offers her ass like an altar, lets Dante slide back in while Aspen crawls underneath and stretches his wide frog mouth around her swinging tits. Two cocks switch, one after the other—Dante pumping raw between both of them—till they all shudder, sweatslick, onto the ruined upholstery. Brooklyn stretches a last finger into Aspen’s worked-open hole, dares him to un-frog like that, problem apparently solved.