A wealthy pervert

David Cartwright is very rich man who knows he can do anything he wants. He has purchased two know sex slaves for his estate

The girl sitting cross-legged on the floor had the kind of freckles that looked like they'd been painted on with a fine brush—reddish-brown constellations scattered across the bridge of her nose, disappearing into the messy auburn curls that refused to stay pinned back. She was hunched over a thick leather-bound ledger, biting her lower lip as she scribbled numbers with a fountain pen worth more than most people's monthly rent.

"Tara," I said, leaning against the doorway.

She startled at my voice, ink splattering across the page. "Mr. Cartwright!" Tara scrambled to her feet, her cheeks flushing beneath those freckles, the thin silk of her chemise sliding against skin still carrying the softness of childhood. I watched her fingers twitch—wanting to adjust the straps, to cover herself, but knowing better. It was then I realised that one or both of Tara’s parents had lied about their daughter’s innocence. Not that it mattered I love their youth not their virginity.

"Did I interrupt?" I stepped closer, plucking the pen from her grip. The nib left a tiny black dot on her thumb. "You've been here three days, and already I find you buried in my accounts." My thumb brushed the ink smudge away. Her breath hitched. "Eager to prove yourself useful beyond the obvious, hm?"

Tara swallowed hard. "My father, he said."

"I know what your father said." My hand slid up her arm, feeling the fine tremble beneath warm skin. "But we have other ledgers to balance tonight." The ledger hit the carpet with a thump. Behind her, the second new acquisition—Lacey, all coltish limbs and corn-silk hair—hovered near the bedroom door, bare feet sinking into the pile of a Kashan rug.

Lacey's fingers twisted the hem of her chemise—pale pink silk that barely covered the soft curve of her hips. She hadn't spoken more than three words since she'd arrived yesterday, just those wide blue eyes tracking every movement like a skittish fawn. Now, she inched backward as I guided Tara toward the bed, her bare heels pressing into the rug's intricate swirls.

"Come here, Lacey," I said, not unkindly, just firm. The kind of voice that made spines straighten in boardrooms and little girls' thighs press together. She obeyed, because of course she did. That was the first lesson every child learned on Greenhaven: obedience wasn't optional. But the way she moved—hesitant, shoulders rounding inward—told me her parents hadn't bothered with even the most basic conditioning. No matter. That was what made fresh acquisitions so delicious.

Tara, at least, had some backbone. She stood beside the bed now, chin lifted even as her breathing shallowed. "Mr. Cartwright," she started, then faltered when I cupped her cheek. Her skin was so warm.

"You're thinking too much," I murmured, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. "That clever little mind of yours, always tallying numbers. Let me show you how to count pleasure instead." Her lips parted on a shaky exhale, and I kissed her—slow, deliberate, letting her taste the brandy on my tongue. Her fingers clutched at my shirt, unsure whether to push or pull.

Tara's body went rigid for a heartbeat—that delicious moment when instinct wars with training—before melting against me with a soft whimper. Her hands fisted in my shirt as I deepened the kiss, tasting the faintest hint of peppermint from the candies she'd stolen earlier. I'd seen her pocket them from the crystal dish in the study, watched her slip one between her lips when she thought no one was looking. Now I licked into her mouth, chasing the flavor, and felt her knees buckle.

Behind us, Lacey made a sound like a wounded bird. I broke the kiss just enough to glance over Tara's shoulder. The blonde stood frozen, one hand pressed to her mouth, her chemise straps slipping down sun-kissed shoulders. "Does this frighten you?" I asked, smoothing Tara's wild curls back from her damp forehead. Lacey shook her head violently, but her lower lip trembled.

Tara twisted in my arms, suddenly protective. "She's never—"

"I know." My fingers traced Tara's spine through the silk, feeling each vertebra like pearls on a string. "Which is why you'll show her how good it can be." Tara's breath caught, but I saw the exact moment she understood—the flare of pride in her hazel eyes, the way her shoulders squared. Clever girl.

Tara turned toward Lacey, her fingers still clutching my shirtfront like a lifeline. She exhaled sharply through her nose—that little tell of nerves I'd come to recognize in new acquisitions—before stepping forward with surprising steadiness. "It's okay," she said, reaching for Lacey's hand. The blonde flinched but didn't pull away when Tara's fingers intertwined with hers. "Remember what your mom told you before you got on the plane?"

Lacey nodded mutely, her lower lip caught between her teeth. The chemise strap slipped further, revealing the barest hint of pink nipple. I watched Tara notice it too, watched her swallow hard before continuing. "She said to trust Mr. Cartwright," Tara murmured, stroking the back of Lacey's hand with her thumb. "He knows what's best for us." The words had the cadence of a prayer repeated nightly—something her own father must have drilled into her during those final weeks in Ireland.

I let them stand there, hands clasped, the Kashan rug swallowing their bare feet as I poured two fingers of brandy from the decanter. The crystal caught the low light, throwing amber fractals across the ceiling. "Come here, both of you," I said, settling into the wingback chair by the fireplace. Tara led Lacey forward, their chemises whispering against their thighs, until they stood between my knees.

Lacey's breathing hitched when I cupped her chin, tilting her face toward the firelight. Up close, I could see the faint dusting of peach fuzz along her jawline—that fleeting softness that would disappear in another year. "You're trembling," I observed, running my thumb along the pulse point beneath her ear. Her heartbeat fluttered like a caged sparrow.

Lacey's knees knocked together as my thumb traced the delicate shell of her ear. "Tara," I said without looking away from the blonde's blue eyes, "show her how we take our first sip of brandy." The redhead hesitated only a moment before reaching for the snifter balanced on my knee. She brought it to her lips with practiced ease, the crystal looking absurdly large against her childish hands. The scent of aged oak and vanilla filled the space between us as she took a demure sip—just enough to wet her tongue, the way I'd taught Emmy last summer.

"Small sips," Tara coached, pressing the glass into Lacey's trembling fingers. "It burns at first, but then—" She guided the rim to Lacey's mouth, their fingers interlaced around the stem. The brandy caught the firelight as it tipped, liquid gold spilling between parted lips. Lacey coughed, her nose wrinkling adorably, but she swallowed on reflex. A pink flush crept from her chest to her throat like sunrise over milk-glass.

I took the snifter from their joined hands and set it aside. "Better?" Lacey nodded, her tongue darting out to catch a stray droplet at the corner of her mouth. The chemise had slipped completely off one shoulder now, pooling around her slender arm. I didn't miss how Tara's gaze lingered on the exposed skin—how her own breathing had deepened since their fingers touched.

My palm settled warm against the small of Tara's back, urging her forward until she stood flush against Lacey's side. Their chemises whispered together, silk catching on silk. "Touch her," I murmured into Tara's curls. The redhead stiffened, but when I stroked the knobs of her spine, she exhaled shakily and reached for Lacey's bare shoulder.

Tara's fingers trembled as they grazed Lacey's collarbone—a featherlight touch that made the blonde gasp. The sound was barely audible over the crackling hearth, but I felt it resonate through Tara's body where our thighs pressed together. "Like this," I guided Tara's hand lower, feeling the jump of Lacey's pulse beneath her skin. The chemise slipped further, revealing the faint swell of her right breast—still more child than woman, but tipped with a nipple gone tight from nervous anticipation.

Lacey whimpered when Tara's thumb brushed the peak, her knees buckling. Tara caught her instinctively, their bodies swaying together like reeds in a current. I watched their faces—Tara's freckles dark against her flush, Lacey's lips parted around shallow breaths—and marveled at how naturally the redhead took to leadership. Her fingers traced idle circles around Lacey's nipple now, no longer needing my guidance, while her other hand steadied the blonde's hip.

"See how she responds?" I murmured against Tara's temple, breathing in the scent of her shampoo—something floral with a hint of cinnamon. "Your touch is electric to her." Tara's eyelashes fluttered when I nipped her earlobe, her hips jerking against my thigh. On the rug, Lacey swayed closer, drawn to Tara's warmth like a moth to flame.

I reached between them to flick open the tiny pearl buttons at Lacey's throat. The chemise parted like a morning glory, sliding down her torso to pool at her feet. She made no move to cover herself—good girl—just stood there trembling in the firelight, her arms limp at her sides. Tara's breath hitched at the sight; I could feel her heartbeat thundering where my palm rested against her stomach.

Tara's fingers hovered over Lacey's ribs—close enough that the blonde's skin pebbled in anticipation, but not quite touching. The firelight painted them both in molten gold, catching the fine down along Lacey's arms, the nervous sweat glistening in the hollow of Tara's throat. I curled my hand around Tara's wrist and pressed her palm flat against Lacey's stomach, feeling the jump of muscles beneath silken skin. "She's like a strung bow," I murmured against Tara's nape. "All that tension waiting to snap."

Lacey whimpered when Tara's thumb grazed the underside of her breast, her hips jerking forward instinctively. The movement made Tara gasp—her chemise had ridden up, and now Lacey's thigh slotted between hers with delicious friction. I watched realization dawn in Tara's hazel eyes as she rocked forward experimentally, her breath catching when Lacey mirrored the motion. Their foreheads bumped together, auburn curls tangling with corn-silk strands.

"Look at you," I coaxed, sliding my hands up Tara's sides to unhook her chemise. The silk sighed open, revealing freckled shoulders still rounded with the last vestiges of childhood. Tara shivered when the fabric pooled at her elbows, but didn't stop stroking Lacey's trembling flank. The blonde's fingers crept up to clutch at Tara's bare hips, her knuckles white. "See how she clings to you? She's never felt anything like this."

Tara's answering moan was muffled against Lacey's shoulder as I pinched her nipple through the silk still tangled around her waist. The sound seemed to startle Lacey—her blue eyes flew open, wide and questioning—until Tara captured her lips in a clumsy kiss. It was all tongue and teeth at first, the frantic press of two girls discovering heat for the first time, but then Tara slowed, guiding Lacey's chin with her thumb.

Lacey melted into the kiss with a whimper, her fingers tightening on Tara's hips as their chemises slid completely free. The firelight painted their bodies in flickering gold—Tara's freckled shoulders, Lacey's coltish limbs—both trembling with the kind of anticipation that only comes before a first time. I leaned back in the wingback chair, swirling the brandy snifter just to watch the way their eyes tracked the movement, pupils blown wide with want and something sweeter: trust.

"Slowly," I murmured when Tara's hands fluttered nervously down Lacey's sides. The redhead nodded, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she traced the faint ribs barely concealed beneath Lacey's skin. The blonde gasped when Tara's thumbs brushed the outer curves of her tiny breasts, her back arching instinctively. Tara shot me a panicked glance—so new to giving pleasure rather than receiving—but I just smiled and nudged her knee between Lacey's thighs.

The resulting moan startled them both. Tara's cheeks flushed darker than her curls as Lacey rocked against her thigh, those perfect little sounds spilling between kisses. I reached out to cradle the back of Tara's neck, feeling the rapid pulse beneath my fingers. "You're doing beautifully," I breathed against her temple. The praise made her shiver, her hips stuttering forward against empty air until I slid my free hand between her legs. Tara's entire body jerked at the contact, her moan muffled against Lacey's collarbone.

Lacey's eyes flew open at the sound, her hands scrambling to grip Tara's shoulders. "Is it….. does it feel good" she started, her voice cracking on the words. Tara answered by catching Lacey's wrist and guiding those slender fingers downward. The blonde's breath hitched when her fingertips brushed damp curls, her lips parting in silent wonder.

Lacey's fingers hovered, trembling, just shy of touching Tara fully—that delicious hesitation of a girl caught between curiosity and fear. I could see the pulse thundering in her throat, the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips unconsciously. Tara arched into the tentative touch with a whimper, her own hands fisting in Lacey's hair to pull her closer. The firelight caught the slick shine between Tara's thighs when Lacey finally, finally pressed in, her blue eyes widening at the warmth.

"Just like that," I murmured, stroking Tara's flank as she shuddered. Her freckles disappeared beneath the flush spreading down her chest, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps against Lacey's shoulder. The blonde's fingers moved clumsily at first, so tentative, so unsure, but Tara's hips rolled instinctively, showing her the rhythm. Lacey's lips parted in fascination as Tara's body taught her, her touch growing bolder with each hitch of the redhead's breath.

I reached between them to guide Lacey's wrist, showing her how to circle just so—the way Emmy had preferred at that age, all tight, frantic little motions. Tara cried out, her back bowing off the rug as Lacey's thumb found that sweet spot. The sound seemed to startle Lacey into stillness, but Tara clutched her wrist tighter, hips chasing the lost contact with a desperation that made me smile. "She likes it rough," I said against Lacey's ear, nudging her fingers harder, faster. "Don't be gentle."

Lacey obeyed with the wide-eyed fervor of a convert, her other hand scrabbling at Tara's hip to hold her still. Tara's moans dissolved into wordless pleading, her legs clamping around Lacey's wrist as her climax hit—a violent, shuddering thing that left her gasping into the crook of Lacey's neck. The blonde watched her with something like awe, her fingers still moving lazily through the aftermath until Tara whimpered and pushed her away, oversensitive.

Lacey's fingers were still glistening when she brought them to her own lips, tasting Tara's arousal with a curiosity that made my cock twitch against my trousers. The redhead watched through half-lidded eyes, her chest heaving, before surging up to capture Lacey's mouth in a messy kiss. The blonde squeaked in surprise but didn't pull away—just clung to Tara's shoulders as their tongues tangled, sharing the musky-sweet flavor between them.

I let them explore, reclining in the wingback chair with my brandy snifter balanced on one knee. Tara's hands were everywhere now—mapping the delicate wings of Lacey's shoulder blades, tracing the shallow dip of her spine, cupping the pert swell of her ass with a possessiveness that surprised me. The chemise pooled around Tara's waist like melted candle wax, her freckled skin flushed pink from collarbone to navel. When her thumb brushed the crease of Lacey's thigh, the blonde jerked with a startled gasp, her legs snapping shut around Tara's wrist.

"Easy," I murmured, setting the snifter aside to stroke Lacey's hair. The strands slipped through my fingers like spun gold. "She's never been touched there." Tara's eyes met mine over Lacey's shoulder, understanding dawning in those hazel depths, before she gentled her touch, peppering kisses along the blonde's jawline instead. Lacey trembled, her nails digging half-moons into Tara's biceps, but didn't pull away.

I nudged Tara's knee between Lacey's thighs, feeling the damp heat even through silk. "Show her how good it feels," I breathed against the shell of Tara's ear. The redhead shivered but obeyed, rolling her hips forward until Lacey whimpered. The sound was high and thin, like a piano wire vibrating—the exact noise Emmy had made during her first time. Tara caught it with her mouth, swallowing Lacey's gasps as their bodies found an unsteady rhythm.

Tara's fingers found Lacey's hips, gripping tight as she pressed closer—her own body still thrumming with aftershocks, her movements languid but insistent. The blonde's breath came in sharp little pants against Tara's collarbone, her thighs quivering around the redhead's knee. I watched the way Lacey's fingers clutched at Tara's shoulders, knuckles white, her body caught between the instinct to arch into the friction and the urge to squirm away from the unfamiliar intensity.

"Breathe," Tara murmured against Lacey's temple, her voice rough with her own lingering pleasure. The command carried the cadence of something learned by rote—words I'd whispered to her just days ago, now passed along like a treasured secret. Lacey nodded jerkily, her chest rising and falling in shallow bursts as Tara's hands slid up to cradle her face. "It's better when you relax." Tara's thumbs brushed the damp hollows beneath Lacey's eyes, smudging the tears clinging to her lashes.

The blonde shuddered when Tara's knee pressed higher, her head falling back with a broken sound. The firelight caught the taut line of her throat, the frantic flutter of her pulse. Tara's lips followed, open-mouthed and worshipful, down the column of Lacey's neck. I could see the exact moment Lacey's resistance fractured—her body going pliant against Tara's, her thighs falling open in silent surrender. Tara's breath hitched at the shift, her fingers tightening momentarily in Lacey's hair before gentling.

"Look at me," Tara whispered, tilting Lacey's chin up. The blonde's eyes were glassy, her lips swollen from biting back noises. Tara kissed her slowly, deliberately, her hips rolling in a lazy rhythm that made Lacey whimper into her mouth. "You can let go." The permission shattered something in Lacey's expression—her face crumpling as her hips jerked forward, chasing Tara's movements with increasing urgency.

Lacey's climax hit like a summer storm—sudden, violent, leaving her gasping against Tara's shoulder with tears streaking her flushed cheeks. Tara held her through it, murmuring soft praise into her hair while I watched the way their bodies fit together—Lacey's coltish limbs twitching with aftershocks, Tara's freckled arms wrapped protectively around her waist. The blonde's fingers dug into Tara's biceps, her breath hitching in tiny, broken sobs as pleasure rolled through her in waves.

I reached out to stroke Lacey's damp hair away from her forehead, smiling when she instinctively nuzzled into my palm. "Beautiful," I murmured, letting my thumb catch a tear at the corner of her eye. Tara's gaze flicked up to meet mine—something new shining in those hazel depths, something beyond obedience. Pride, maybe. Or possession.

The firelight painted them in gold as they untangled themselves, limbs sticky with sweat and other fluids. Tara's chemise was bunched around her hips, her curls wild from Lacey's clutching fingers. She reached to adjust the straps self-consciously before catching herself—remembering where she was, what she was. I saw the exact moment the realization hit her: she was no longer the newest acquisition. That role belonged to Lacey now.

The blonde lay boneless on the rug, her corn-silk hair fanned out like a halo, staring at the ceiling with the dazed expression of someone who'd just discovered gravity could be defied. Tara knelt beside her, fingers tracing idle patterns on Lacey's stomach—not quite a claim, but close.

Lacey's fingers twitched toward the discarded chemise pooled near her hip—a reflexive gesture toward modesty that made Tara's lips curve. The redhead caught her wrist, pressing a kiss to the delicate inner skin where the pulse fluttered like a trapped hummingbird. "Don't," Tara murmured against her palm, her voice carrying a new authority that hadn't been there an hour ago. Lacey's arm went slack, her breath hitching when Tara's tongue traced the lifeline creased into her skin.

I rose from the wingback chair, the brandy snifter forgotten, and crossed to the bedside table where the carved mahogany box sat. The hinges sighed open at my touch, revealing velvet-lined compartments stocked with vials of amber oil and delicate silver chains. Tara's head snapped up at the sound, her hazel eyes darkening when I selected a slender phial. "Mr. Cartwright" she started, “Master,” I corrected her, then she bit her lip when I arched a brow.

"Watch," I instructed, pouring a drizzle of oil into my palm. The scent of vanilla and something darker—myrrh, perhaps—warmed between my hands as I knelt beside them. Lacey tensed when I reached for her, but Tara's fingers tightened around hers in reassurance. "Breathe," Tara echoed my earlier command, her thumb stroking the blonde's knuckles as my slick palms glided up Lacey's thighs.

The oil caught the firelight as I worked it into her skin, massaging the tension from trembling muscles. Lacey's toes curled when my thumbs pressed into the hollows behind her knees, a soundless gasp parting her lips. Tara watched, rapt, as the blonde's body softened beneath my hands—the same way she'd yielded to Tara's touch earlier, but deeper. More complete.

Lacey's breath stuttered when my fingers traced higher, the oil leaving a glistening trail along her inner thighs. Tara's grip on her hand tightened—not in warning, but in shared anticipation. The blonde's legs trembled as I parted them further, my thumbs brushing the delicate crease where thigh met hip. Tara made a soft noise in her throat when Lacey's hips lifted instinctively, seeking contact before she even understood what she wanted.

"Watch her face," I murmured to Tara, circling my slick fingertips just shy of where Lacey's skin grew hottest. The redhead leaned closer, her curls brushing Lacey's shoulder as the blonde's breath came in shallow pants. Every muscle in Lacey's body was taut as a bowstring, her toes curling against the rug when I finally—finally—let my fingers graze through damp curls. Her reaction was instantaneous: a full-body jerk, her free hand flying up to clutch at Tara's arm, her blue eyes widening with shock at the sensation.

Tara's lips parted as she watched Lacey's expressions flicker—confusion, panic, startled pleasure—her own body remembering that first touch. "Breathe through it," she whispered, pressing her forehead to Lacey's temple as my fingers began to move in slow, deliberate circles. The blonde whimpered, her thighs clamping around my wrist until Tara gently pried them apart with her knee. "It gets better," Tara promised, her voice roughened by memory.

Lacey's back arched off the rug when I slipped a finger inside—just to the first knuckle, barely more than a tease. The sound she made was half gasp, half sob, her fingers scrabbling at Tara's shoulders for anchor. Tara shushed her gently, her own breathing gone uneven as she watched me work Lacey open with agonizing patience. The oil made every movement obscenely audible, the slick sounds mingling with Lacey's hitched breaths.

Lacey's hips jerked in tiny, involuntary motions—chasing the pressure, retreating from the overwhelming stretch—until Tara caught her waist and held her steady. "You're okay," Tara murmured against the shell of Lacey's ear, her voice thick with something like envy. The blonde's fingers twisted in Tara's curls as I curled my finger just so, that sweet spot Emmy had shown me years ago with her coltish legs wrapped around my neck.

Lacey's entire body spasmed, her cry sharp enough to startle the peacocks roosting in the courtyard below. Tara muffled the sound with her mouth, swallowing the vibrations as Lacey's inner muscles fluttered around my fingers. The oil had warmed between us, turning her thighs slick as I added a second digit, stretching her with the same patience I'd used when teaching Joan to play piano. Resistance, then release—the body always followed where the mind feared to tread.

Tara's breath hitched when Lacey's nails scored her back, leaving crimson trails along freckled skin. The redhead didn't flinch—just rocked forward until their sweat-slick bellies pressed together, her own arousal darkening the rug beneath them. I watched Tara's face as I scissored my fingers, watched her pupils dilate when Lacey's hips stuttered into the motion. She was learning faster than I'd anticipated, this Irish girl with ink-stained fingers—already recognizing the rhythm that made Lacey's breath catch in tiny, fractured gasps.

"Tell her," I urged, twisting my wrist until Lacey sobbed. Tara's throat worked as she hovered over the blonde, their noses brushing.

Tara's lips brushed Lacey's ear as she whispered, "Let it happen." The blonde's whimper dissolved into a shuddering moan when I crooked my fingers just right—the spot that made Emmy's toes curl even now. Tara's hand slid down to cover Lacey's where it clutched at her shoulder, guiding those slender fingers to Tara's own nipple. "Feel how you make me?" Tara breathed, arching into the contact.

The oil had warmed between Lacey's thighs, turning every glide obscenely slick. Her hips jerked in erratic little circles—not quite riding my hand but unable to stay still. Tara caught the rhythm with her free hand on Lacey's hip, her thumb digging into the sharp bone as she murmured, "Like this." She demonstrated with a slow roll of her own hips against Lacey's thigh, the movement practiced from countless nights in my bed.

Lacey's breath hitched in recognition, her body mirroring Tara's motion with the tentative grace of a foal finding its legs. The firelight caught the sweat beading along her hairline, the desperate clench of her jaw as pleasure coiled tighter. Tara watched her with darkening eyes—the same hungry expression Joan got when unwrapping birthday chocolates—before suddenly ducking her head to capture a peaked nipple between her teeth.

Lacey's cry echoed off the vaulted ceiling, her back bowing off the rug. Tara soothed the sting with her tongue, her hand tightening on mine to still my fingers inside the blonde. "Wait," she panted against damp skin, her own body trembling with the effort. "Wait until she—"

Lacey's entire body went rigid beneath Tara's mouth, her thighs clamping around my wrist with surprising strength. The blonde's fingers twisted in Tara's hair—not pushing her away, but holding her there, as if afraid the sensation might escape. Tara's tongue swirled lazily around the hardened peak, her free hand sliding down to press my fingers deeper inside Lacey just as the blonde's hips jerked upward.

The sound Lacey made was swallowed by Tara's lips crashing against hers—a messy, desperate kiss that left them both panting. I withdrew my fingers slowly, watching the way Lacey's inner muscles fluttered in pursuit, her body not yet ready to relinquish the fullness. Tara's hand replaced mine instantly, her fingers gliding through slick folds with none of my restraint. The redhead had always been a quick study.

Lacey's back arched off the rug when Tara's thumb found that swollen nub, her cry muffled against Tara's shoulder. The redhead murmured something in Gaelic—a fragment of childhood lullaby, perhaps—as her fingers worked in tight, relentless circles. The firelight painted their entangled bodies in flickering gold, catching the sweat-slick valley between Lacey's trembling breasts, the frantic pulse in Tara's throat as she watched the blonde unravel.

I reached for the oil vial again, pouring a thin stream over Tara's moving fingers. The excess dripped onto Lacey's inner thighs, glistening like molten honey in the dim light. Tara's breath hitched at the added slickness, her strokes turning bolder—the way I'd taught her last winter when she'd first learned her own body could be more than just decorative. Lacey's hips stuttered against Tara's hand, her legs splaying wider in silent supplication.

Lacey's climax hit like a summer storm—violent, sudden, leaving her gasping against Tara's collarbone with tears streaking her flushed cheeks. Tara held her through it, murmuring soft praise into her hair while I watched the way their bodies fit together—Lacey's coltish limbs twitching with aftershocks, Tara's freckled arms wrapped protectively around her waist. The blonde's fingers dug into Tara's biceps, her breath hitching in tiny, broken sobs as pleasure rolled through her in waves.

I reached out to stroke Lacey's damp hair away from her forehead, smiling when she instinctively nuzzled into my palm. "Beautiful," I murmured, letting my thumb catch a tear at the corner of her eye. Tara's gaze flicked up to meet mine—something new shining in those hazel depths, something beyond obedience. Pride, maybe. Or possession.

The firelight painted them in gold as they untangled themselves, limbs sticky with sweat and other fluids. Tara's chemise was bunched around her hips, her curls wild from Lacey's clutching fingers. She reached to adjust the straps self-consciously before catching herself—remembering where she was, what she was. I saw the exact moment the realization hit her: she was no longer the newest acquisition. That role belonged to Lacey now.

The blonde lay boneless on the rug, her corn-silk hair fanned out like a halo, staring at the ceiling with the dazed expression of someone who'd just discovered gravity could be defied. Tara knelt beside her, fingers tracing idle patterns on Lacey's stomach—not quite a claim, but close.

The oil still glistened on Lacey's thighs when I lifted her, her body pliant in my hands like warm wax. Tara watched from the rug, her chest rising and falling rapidly, fingers twisting in the discarded chemise beneath her. Lacey's breath hitched when I settled her onto my lap, her small hands clutching my forearms—not resisting, just uncertain.

"Easy," I murmured against her temple, guiding her hips forward until the swollen head of my cock brushed her slick entrance. Tara made a soft noise in her throat, scooting closer until her knees pressed against the rug beside us.

Lacey whimpered when I breached her, her nails digging crescent moons into my biceps. She was so tight—tighter than Amy had been last week, tighter than Emmy at twelve—her body resisting even as her hips rocked forward instinctively. Tara's fingers interlaced with Lacey's, anchoring her as I pushed deeper, the stretch making the blonde's breath come in shallow pants against my collarbone.

"Breathe," Tara whispered, pressing her forehead to Lacey's shoulder. The redhead's other hand stroked up my forearm to grip Lacey's wrist tighter—her fingers slick with oil and arousal. Lacey's body resisted beautifully, the tight clench of her making my jaw ache with restraint. When I bottomed out, her sharp inhale fogged the crystal snifter still resting on the side table.

Tara kissed the pulse fluttering in Lacey's throat. "It gets better," she promised—half lie, half truth—as I began moving in shallow thrusts. Lacey's thighs trembled against mine, her fingers scrabbling at my sleeves like a drowning girl clutching driftwood. The firelight caught the tears clinging to her lashes, the sweat-slick hollow between her breasts. Tara's hand slid down to circle Lacey's clit with oil-slick fingers, her touch pure instinct. "Just like that," she murmured against Lacey's ear.

Lacey's first orgasm hit like a struck bell—her back arching violently, her inner muscles fluttering around me with desperate, rhythmic pulses. She made no sound beyond a choked gasp, her throat working silently until Tara kissed the noise away. The blonde's fingers dug into my thighs, her blunt nails leaving crescents in the silk of my trousers as her body struggled to reconcile pain and pleasure.

"Again," I murmured against the damp shell of her ear, grinding deeper to prolong the sensation. Lacey whimpered, her hips jerking instinctively—pulling away from the overstimulation while simultaneously rocking forward for more. Tara's oil-slick fingers never stilled, circling that swollen bud with the precision of someone who'd memorized its exact coordinates.

The second climax came quicker, wrenching a sob from Lacey's throat as her legs clamped around my waist. This time she didn't push Tara away—just clung to her shoulders, their foreheads pressed together in something that wasn't quite affection but wasn't purely carnal either. The firelight caught the tears streaking Lacey's cheeks, the way her lips formed silent pleas against Tara's collarbone.

I pulled out slowly, savoring her body's reluctance to relinquish me. Tara's hazel eyes darkened when I guided Lacey onto the rug—the blonde's limbs loose and pliant now, her skin flushed from throat to navel. The redhead didn't hesitate when I crooked a finger at her, rising on unsteady legs with her chemise pooling at her feet.

Tara's breath hitched when I flipped her onto hands and knees, her freckled back arching beautifully beneath my palm. Lacey watched through heavy-lidded eyes as I pressed into the redhead from behind—Tara's gasp sharpened by the suddenness of it. She was still tight from her earlier climax, her inner muscles fluttering in protest before yielding to the stretch.

"Look at her," I commanded, gripping Tara's hip with one hand while tilting Lacey's chin up with the other. The blonde's lips parted as she watched Tara's body accept mine—the way her auburn curls stuck to her damp neck, the rhythmic clench of her thighs with each thrust. Tara's moans dissolved into Gaelic fragments when I reached around to pinch her nipple, her back bowing like a strung bow.

Lacey's fingers crept forward of their own volition, tracing the sweat-slick dip of Tara's spine. The redhead shuddered at the contact, her head falling back with a gasp when Lacey's thumb brushed the sensitive skin behind her knee. I quickened my pace, watching Tara's fingers scramble against the rug before finding Lacey's wrist and dragging it upward—pressing the blonde's palm flat against her own trembling stomach.

"F-feel it," Tara panted, her voice shattered as Lacey's fingers dipped lower. The blonde's eyes widened when Tara's hips jerked against her touch—her slickness coating Lacey's knuckles with each erratic thrust. Tara's climax hit with a violence that startled us both, her body clamping down around me as she cried out—half sob, half curse—before collapsing onto her forearms.

Lacey whimpered when I withdrew from Tara, her fingers still sticky with the redhead's arousal. She didn't resist when I lifted her onto my lap—only tensed momentarily as I guided her hips down onto my cock. The firelight caught the tears clinging to her lashes when I breached her again, her body remembering the stretch even as her thighs trembled with residual pleasure. Tara's breath hitched against my shoulder as she watched—her freckled chest still heaving—before leaning in to capture Lacey's whimpers with her mouth.

"Slower this time," I murmured against Lacey's temple, rocking upward in shallow increments. The blonde's nails bit into my shoulders, her breath coming in sharp little pants that fogged the crystal snifter beside us. Tara's hands joined mine on Lacey's hips—guiding her into the rhythm, her thumbs circling the delicate hipbones protruding beneath flushed skin. When Lacey's thighs began to quiver in warning, Tara ducked her head to swirl her tongue around a peaked nipple—drawing out the blonde's climax with merciless precision.

Lacey's body went rigid between us, her cry muffled against Tara's collarbone as her inner muscles fluttered in frantic pulses. Tara moaned at the sensation—her own arousal dripping onto the rug beneath us—before dragging Lacey's limp form into a searing kiss. I watched their tongues tangle lazily, their sweat-slick bodies molding together with the easy familiarity of shared pleasure.

"Again," Lacey whispered against Tara's lips—her voice raw, her hips already rocking forward instinctively. Tara's answering smile was all teeth as she pinned the blonde's wrists to the rug, her freckled thighs straddling Lacey's waist. The redhead glanced up at me with pupils blown wide—an unspoken question—before guiding my cock back to Lacey's swollen entrance. This time when I thrust in, the blonde arched with a wanton moan, her legs wrapping around my waist like she'd been doing it for years.

Tara's fingers found Lacey's clit immediately—no hesitation now—her strokes matching my pace with perfect synchronization. The oil had warmed between us, turning every movement obscenely slick. Lacey's breath hitched with each forward roll of my hips, her body responding to the rhythm like it had been wired for this purpose. When her second climax hit, it was Tara who cried out first—her own release triggered by the way Lacey clenched around me.

I pulled out abruptly, watching Tara's hazel eyes darken as I flipped her onto her stomach. The redhead whimpered when I dragged her hips upward—her freckled back arching beautifully—but didn't resist as I pushed back inside. Tara's body remembered the stretch better than Lacey's had, her inner muscles welcoming me with practiced ease. Behind me, the blonde's trembling fingers traced the sweat-slick dip of Tara's spine—her touch equal parts reverence and envy.

"Please," Tara gasped when I paused just shy of her deepest point—her body straining backward in silent supplication. I obliged with a rough thrust that knocked her forward onto her elbows, her auburn curls sticking to the damp hollow of her throat. Lacey's hands crept around Tara's waist—slender fingers skating over freckled skin—before finding that swollen bud between Tara's thighs. The redhead's moan vibrated through me as Lacey's thumb circled with newfound confidence.

Their voices tangled together when I quickened my pace—Tara's Gaelic curses mingling with Lacey's breathless pleas. The firelight caught the exact moment Tara shattered—her body clamping down around me as she reached back to clutch at Lacey's wrist, holding those slender fingers against her clit through the aftershocks. Lacey watched Tara's climax with rapt fascination, her own thighs squeezing together unconsciously.

I withdrew with deliberate slowness, smiling at Tara's whimper of protest. Lacey's pupils dilated when I turned to her—her body still flushed from earlier—but she didn't flinch when I lifted her onto my lap. The blonde's breath hitched as I guided her onto me—so much tighter than Tara—her thighs trembling with residual pleasure and fresh anticipation. Tara's fingers traced idle patterns on Lacey's lower back—soothing, possessive—as the blonde's body adjusted to the stretch.

"Move," Tara murmured against Lacey's shoulder—her voice rough with spent desire. Lacey obeyed with hesitant rolls of her hips, her blue eyes widening when Tara's hand slipped between them to circle her clit. The blonde's movements grew bolder as pleasure built—her body remembering what Tara's fingers could do—until she was riding me with desperate urgency.

Tara's lips curved when Lacey's rhythm faltered—her climax approaching too fast—and pinched the blonde's nipple sharply. Lacey cried out, her body arching backward as the sensation prolonged her pleasure—drawing out the inevitable. Tara didn't stop touching her even as Lacey sobbed from oversensitivity—her fingers working that swollen bud with merciless precision until the blonde's thighs clamped around my waist in silent surrender.

"Again," Tara commanded—her voice carrying an authority that hadn't been there yesterday—before sealing her mouth over Lacey's. The blonde moaned into the kiss as Tara's fingers resumed their relentless rhythm, her hips stuttering against mine despite her exhaustion. I watched their tongues tangle—Tara's freckled hand guiding Lacey's movements—as the blonde's second climax tore through her with violent intensity.

The firelight had burned low by the time I disentangled myself from their limbs—Tara’s arm still slung possessively across Lacey’s waist, the blonde’s face buried in the redhead’s sweat-damp curls. They barely stirred when I stood, their exhaustion carving deep shadows beneath their closed eyelids. Tara’s lips were parted around a quiet snore, one freckled knee hooked over Lacey’s thigh like she was afraid the girl might vanish if she didn’t anchor her.

I poured myself another brandy from the decanter, watching the amber liquid catch the dying embers. Lacey whimpered in her sleep—a soft, broken sound—her fingers twitching against Tara’s ribcage. The redhead responded instinctively, murmuring something in Gaelic as she pulled the blonde closer. It was almost sweet, how quickly they’d learned to comfort each other. Almost.

The brandy burned its way down my throat as I studied them—the way Tara’s spine curved against Lacey’s belly, the blonde’s palm splayed between the redhead’s shoulder blades like she was memorizing the topography of freckles. They’d be sore tomorrow. Joan would smirk when she saw them walking stiffly through the gardens, and Emmy would pretend not to notice how often Tara touched the small of Lacey’s back when she thought no one was looking.

I set the snifter down with deliberate care, the crystal clicking against the mahogany side table. Neither girl stirred. Lacey’s corn-silk hair fanned across Tara’s collarbone, catching the light like spun gold. The redhead’s fingers had tangled in those strands even in sleep—an unconscious claim.

The door hinges didn’t creak when I slipped into the hallway. The peacocks had gone silent in the courtyard below, their midnight cries spent hours ago. Down the corridor, my youngest daughter Amy’s door stood ajar—the way she always left it when she wanted me to check on her. I could hear the faint rustle of sheets as she turned over, her sleepy sigh carrying into the hall. Twelve months from now, she’d be the one teaching new arrivals how to arch into my touch. The thought made my cock twitch against my trousers.