Throuple's Counseling

Three women have their counselor backed into a corner. Ella Reese, Jewelz Blu and Jasmine Black sit in matching leather chairs staring at the grim spreadsheet their throuple has become—two bodies tangled, one left scrolling her phone on the couch. The counselor sighs, “Coordinating three libidos isn’t trigonometry, but close.” She scribbles something, then her cell explodes. Important client, she mouths, and darts out, door half-shut. Ella catches Jewelz’s eye, then Jasmine’s. No one says a word. Jackets hit the floor like surrender flags. Ella drops to her knees first, tugging open Jasmine’s zipper while Jewelz shimmies free of leggings. Jasmine bites her lip, already wet, and moans when Ella’s tongue finds her clit. Jewelz slides behind Ella, fingers slick with spit, working two inside her. The door handle rattles. All three freeze, bodies pressed flat against the inside wall. The counselor leans in, still on the call. “Sorry, won’t be a sec,” she says, phone wedged between ear and shoulder, oblivious to the three naked shadows an inch from her nose. The instant the latch clicks, they explode back into motion. Jasmine bends over the counselor’s desk, palms leaving prints on glossy wood. Jewelz guides the thick purple strap-on between Jasmine’s thighs while Ella straddles the arm of the chair, riding her own fingers loud enough that any passer-by would hear. Every thrust knocks framed degrees crooked. Sweat beads, skin slaps, muffled laughter bubbles through clenched teeth. They finish gasping into each other’s mouths, tugging clothes on with seconds to spare. By the time the counselor returns, the office smells faintly like sex and three women sit primly in their seats, legs crossed, hearts hammering like they just ran a marathon they plan to run again at the next green light.