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  • Action have consequences

    Chapter by smatster · 21 Oct 2025
  • Elise gets embarrassed because she wasn't watching where she was going.
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  • Her gasp was sharp, a tiny, horrified sound in the humid bathroom air. Every muscle in her body went rigid, and a fierce, instinctive clench seized her—a desperate, involuntary lockdown born of sheer, overwhelming shock. She tried to push herself up, but her own body betrayed her, a reflexive knot of pelvic muscle holding her firmly in place on our lap.

    “N-no, no, no,” she stammered, her face flushing a deep, mortified crimson. She was trapped, pinned by her own embarrassment atop the evidence of our shared, deeply unromantic morning ritual.

    “Elise, it’s okay,” my voice rumbled, a fusion of Josh’s calm and my own soothing tone, though the undercurrent of our own surreal amusement was hard to fully mask. “Just breathe. We’re all… a little messy this morning.”

    The internal chorus of cheerleaders was a mix of sympathetic wincing and barely-suppressed giggles.
    “Oh, poor thing!” Brianna cooed.
    “Talk about a sticky situation,” Hannah quipped, earning a collective mental “Hannah!” from the others.

    We moved slowly, deliberately. With one massive arm, we held her gently but firmly around the waist, preventing her from struggling and making it worse. With the other, we reached for the enormous roll of toilet paper. The act of cleaning was one of profound, strange intimacy. We attended to ourselves first with efficient motions, then, with a tenderness that made Elise’s breath hitch, we carefully cleaned her as well, our touch gentle and utterly without judgment.

    The flush was a roaring cataract that seemed to wash away more than just the physical evidence; it released some of the tension. The sound seemed to startle Elise’s body into relaxing its death grip. She went limp against our chest with a shuddering sigh of relief and humiliation.

    But we didn’t let her go. The absurdity, the vulnerability, the raw, unvarnished reality of the moment had ignited something else in us—a fierce, protective, and deeply aroused love for this woman who had signed up for all of this… this.

    Our hand, now clean, didn’t move away. It slid around her hip, fingers tracing a slow, possessive path through her damp curls. She tensed for a second, then another shiver went through her—this one of a very different kind.

    “Wh-what are you…” she began, her voice trembling.

    “Shhh,” we murmured into her hair, our breath warm against her ear. “We’re not done taking care of you.”

    Our fingers found her clit, already sensitive from the morning's events, and began to circle it with a firm, knowing pressure. The internal cheerleaders shifted from spectators to active participants, their collective knowledge and desire focusing into our touch.
    “A little slower,” Zoe advised, her rhythm guiding our fingers.
    “Right there,” Stacey confirmed, feeling Elise’s responding jolt through our shared senses.

    Elise’s protest died in her throat, replaced by a low, helpless moan. Her head fell back against our shoulder, her embarrassment rapidly melting into pure, overwhelming sensation. We held her tight, our other hand roaming up to cup her breast, pinching her nipple gently as our fingers worked her below.

    It was fast and intense. The bizarre intimacy of the last twenty minutes had wound her too tightly. Her climax crashed over her suddenly, a silent, convulsing wave that made her dig her fingers into our thighs and cry out, a raw, unfiltered sound of release.

    The feeling of her pulsing around our fingers, the trust and abandon in her body, was the final trigger for us. Our own orgasm followed instantly, a roaring surge that was both physical and psychic. As we came, a visible wave of warmth and energy seemed to pass from our body into hers. Her stomach, pressed against our arm, visibly swelled for a moment—just a tender, firm rounding beneath her navel—as if our combined climax had planted a seed of pure, cosmic potential deep within her.

    We held her as we both came down, the only sounds our ragged breathing and the distant drip of the faucet. The cheerleaders were a warm, satisfied hum in the back of our mind.

    Elise slowly lifted her head, her eyes wide with a new kind of shock. She looked down at her slightly distended belly, then back at our reflection in the mirror.

    “Did… did you just…” she whispered, her voice full of awe.

    “We take care of what’s ours,” we said, our voice a low, loving rumble. “In every way.”

    She leaned back against us, her hand resting on her stomach, a slow, wondrous smile finally breaking through her embarrassment. It hadn’t been a romantic morning. It had been something better. Real.
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anon_67eee49d865e ∙ 29 Nov 2025