At first, Kathryn did nothing. When she did move, it was to gaze over at Melanie, who was now perched against the mattress beside Pasha.

Melanie knew that look. Kathryn was seeking permission. It was sort of sweet, actually.

When Melanie nodded, Kathryn eased up on all fours, like a dog with its tail between its legs. She settled down cautiously in front of Pasha.

Melanie couldn’t take her eyes off Kathryn’s tits. Her nipples played hide-and-seek as she breathed, rising just above the top of her exposed bra before ducking back inside the cups. When Pasha urged her to raise her hips, her breasts swelled out and, God, did Melanie ever want to suck those little nipples.

“Not yet,” Pasha instructed, always the mind-reader. “I want you to watch what I do to our dear Kathryn. You will learn, my girl.”

My girrel.

Melanie nodded, even though Pasha’s gaze was focused squarely on Kathryn’s cunt. She pierced that begging slit—three fat fingers all in one go—and Kathryn bucked her hips even higher, squealing. Melanie could only imagine the intense sensation.

“You see what I do?” Pasha asked as she pulled her fingers from between Kathryn’s swollen lips.

Melanie felt strangely like the host of a talk show watching her celebrity chef guest prepare a delicacy. She kept thinking, ‘I know how to do this! I’m not stupid!’ and then forcing humility upon herself.

Nobody was so clever they couldn’t learn something new.