ynmnrmt

[ynmnrmt]

You & Me & Rhea Makes Three: Chapter ɸ

a/n: from the universe in which I discovered that Rhea Ripley is Australian before blasting out 30,000 words of rough polygamous sex

"Please, Rhea," sobs your girlfriend. "Please have sex with my boyfriend, my vagina just isn't good enough."

"Fair dinkum, cob," Rhea cradles you in her big strong arms as she smiles down at your girlfriend, "I'll get me double-ended dildo out me ute"

#rhea ripley #rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley x you #rhea ripley fanfiction #rhea ripley smut

[ynmnrmt]

You & Me & Rhea Makes Three: Chapter 9 (Finale)

rhea ripley x m!reader x m!reader's girlfriend

word count: 3,949

warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, themes of domination/submission, infidelity, rape fantasy, didacticism

a/n: Those who enjoyed the shameless metatextuality of the previous chapter will be happy to hear this chapter opens on an extended Socratic-style apology for RPF as a genre. Those who are just here for the sauce can safely skip to the first asterisk.

(The story so far: chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six, chapter seven, chapter eight)

“No. I won’t condemn them for that. I can’t.”

You look around that sea of horrified faces, you feel how thin the ice is under you. You clear your throat.

“Obviously I sympathise with the impulse, I understand where anyone who wants to prosecute them is coming from. But it’s a situation where any possible cure is markedly worse than the disease. Not too long ago the laws against obscenity led us into absurd situations where – well, take Lady Chatterley’s Lover, for years that was only available as a heavily censored version, except if you went over to Europe, where you could get hold of an unexpurgated version quite easily. And then you had the farcical situation where people were smuggling books back and forth, which is the kind of thing you associate with a much older history, the great religious schisms, dangerous new kinds of Bible, etcetera.”

You breathe more steadily, it seems like the crowd do too, you’ve manoeuvred yourself back onto more abstracted ground.

“Crucially, even those kinds of barriers, which people did defeat quite easily, mean less than nothing in this information age. The big stumbling block in the Lady Chatterley days was, what, buying a ticket for the boat? Now getting hold of censored books is within the grasp of anyone with wi-fi. This, interestingly, was part of the Lady Chatterley trial in England, the prosecutors took the patronising tone that they weren’t so much looking to ban the book for their own benefit as they were for fear their wives or servants might get hold of it – that was their actual argument, and-”

You’re sweating. It’s a fun fact, it’s fun, it’s a fact, but you’re getting away from the point.

“A lot of people know that Lady Chatterley trial, less know that Japan also had a landmark obscenity hearing over the book. It’s from that legal precedent that we have Japan’s modern censorship laws, where pornography has to blur out the genitals. It’s a compromise, fine, but one that’s absurd on the face of it. So as we see, this kind of censorship both can’t be enforced, and manifests itself in profoundly stupid ways.”

You feel a bit steadier. Let’s bite the big one.

“If the members of the pop group Girls Aloud did encounter the fictional story in which they are raped, butchered, and eaten alive, naturally they’d be worried and upset, I certainly would be. Come to that, I didn’t wake up this morning wanting to defend such a thing. And if someone were to send such a work to them, then it’d be straight-out sexual harassment at the very least. But the mere existence of that story, depraved and poorly edited as it might be, cannot be a crime in and of itself. It can’t.”

It doesn’t clang into place the way you’d hoped, like a government of the people, by the people, and for the people. But when you see two of the figures in the crowd – one mousy, one Amazonian – rise from their table and start to clap, you feel the immaculate sense of what you can do for your country.

“Two minutes to rebut,” floats up from below.

“My worthy opponent,” says the guy on the opposite podium, “is perhaps not aware that the author of the vulgar story Girls Scream Aloud was tried on obscenity charges on the basis that children could easily access their work…” But you are aware. You know all too well that this was comprehensively disproved in court, and what’s more, you can already feel the head of steam you’ll build up over it, that children have always sought out works full of sex and violence, that this can’t be laid at the feet of the author, that you yourself read Nabokov’s Lolita at around twelve and while you found it fairly unsettling that would be a pretty poor reason to disinter the late Russian and drag him into court.

*

Rhea gets you under your arms and whirls you three times around through the air, so you’re dizzy when she kisses you. When she sets you down you nearly fall over and it makes her giggle. “Well done,” she tells you with bedroom eyes.

“Yeah, I – we’re both really proud of you,” says Jen, God, she hardly even meets your gaze, so you’re the one to give her a kiss.

“I’m just glad they didn’t want me to defend Holocaust deniers,” you say, slightly breathless, though that’s mainly from what Rhea’s just done to you. “I mean, I could have done it, I could have argued that censoring them just gives them an allure, but-”

“Hmm, you’re right, maybe they have a point,” Rhea bobs her head about, then rests it on yours and holds you. You don’t want to, but you laugh, quite a lot.

“Don’t you, sort of, have feelings about this stuff?” Jen asks tentatively. “You told me about how you sometimes get fanfiction of, well, you.” It makes you freeze, knowing you have unthinkingly committed a grotesque faux pas against the woman who has her solid arms wrapped around you and could snap you like a twig.

“That’s why you put in that caveat, wasn’t it?” Rhea asks you. “That when people actually send me that stuff it’s basically sexual harassment, but if it exists somewhere out there and I never know about it, then what’s the harm...God, I bet if you wrote some of that, it’d be really sexy.”

“I couldn’t do it if I knew you’d be reading it,” you say, as you relax into her grasp. Then, with your trophy for Dominance in Rhetoric in hand, you take your two girlfriends out to eat, still desperately guilty at having publicly defended a snuff fiction about a forgotten bubblegum-pop outfit, unable to shake the feeling another shoe’s about to drop.

But you get through a large expensive meal and it’s all fine. Rhea picks loose bits of rare steak out of her teeth with a fragment of bone. Jen had shovelled down her couscous bowl like a final meal, but now she’s sitting back in her chair, relaxed and almost happy.

“Back in a sec’,” says Rhea, her shadow rolls up over you and then she is gone.

“That was really,” Jen waves her hand about as she tries to pluck the right word out of the air, “I really thought, it was one of those where it said essentially what I’d thought but never really put together. If you know what I mean.”

“I mean, I’m glad you agree,” you laugh, it’s not funny but you do want her to agree.

“And,” thank God, she laughs a bit too, “a guy going to court over writing some dark fan fiction of a girly pop band just seems so, so insane. But I get what you mean, if it was writing that I was seriously offended by, yeah, maybe I’d feel differently. I probably would want to, to, for it to be against the law or something.”

“What’s wrong, Jen?” you say, because she’s turned completely, she can’t meet your eyes again.

“I’ve been having an affair,” she says, she looks at you with tears welling over her cheeks.

“I understand,” you say, probably too quickly, since it’s in the context of everything you and Rhea have done, and, yeah, made her watch too. Next to that you can’t really blame her.

“I want you to know,” she says, as she grabs desperately for a hold on your hand, “that it’s nothing you did wrong, that this is my fault, it’s something I’ve done wrong,” she’s collapsed across the table now, her forehead against your knuckles, you look around nervously and she lifts her head again, “and I still love you.”

“Look, I mean, I don’t know what it-” No, do you really want to know? “I realise it’s all been a bit, you know, sudden change lately, and,” you have no idea how to follow this up, but it’s then that Rhea’s silhouette crosses over you again.

“Hey, guys,” says Rhea with a regretful little sigh, not her usual cheerful tone at all. “So, did you tell him?”

Jen nods, her eyes screwed shut, a tear drops from her chin. Oh! Well, that’s alright then.

“Yeah,” Rhea nods at you. “I’m sorry. And I know she’s sorry.” She has a hand on both your backs, she draws you in, all one huddle across the table.

“I love you so much,” Jen sobs, her clutches work their way up your arm.

“Tell him how it happened.”

“That time when, when Rhea walked in on me masturbating in the shower, I begged her to get in with me. I begged her. And I knew it was wrong, I knew it was a betrayal, but you were away, and, she’s so fucking hot.”

“Don’t gloat,” you chide Rhea, who still looks quite apologetic.

“Don’t be a dick,” she fires back, her fingers brush up the back of your head, her bicep and her shoulder squeeze against you. “I told her I would get in the shower with her, if I could get at you as well. I’m no home-wrecker.”

“She made me come so much,” Jen weeps. Now Rhea does smile a bit, it’s not quite a gloat, but you catch her with a look.

“Alright, alright. We’re apologising, aren’t we?”

“Jen’s apologised,” you say. “I haven’t heard anything like that out of you.”

“I’m very very sorry,” Rhea’s words warm your face, “that I made your girlfriend come hard in the shower.”

“Good. Alright then,” you’ve hardly even closed your mouth by the time that you kiss Rhea, and you feel Jen paw at your face. When you break apart you turn to her, “Jen, honestly, this is a relief. This whole time I’ve been killing myself worrying you hate this.”

“I really think you’re still dealing with a lot of very sexist attitudes,” Rhea muses calmly. “Like, your insistence on thinking that your pretty girlfriend just wants, I don’t know, a wedding and a suburban house and two point five kids, rather than rough sex with both her boyfriend and her girlfriend.”

After a moment, you say, “Yes, perhaps you’re right. Jen, I’m sorry if you ever felt I was anything less than supportive of this.”

Jen sniffs out the last few tears. “I’m sorry too,” she says, she still sounds wretched. You pull her closer in and kiss her forehead, as tenderly as you can.

“That’s why we thought we should get you caged,” Rhea continues, “to teach you a lesson. And I think we should keep you that way. Ah, don’t look like that.” Her grin turns manic and her voice lowers when she confides in you “I promise it won’t stay on too much.”

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” you ask Jen, still holding her, not quite protectively but not unguardedly either.

“I was going to ask you that,” Jen laughs through her tears. “I mean, sometimes, I acted like I wasn’t, I was worried you’d suspect something. That’s, um, that’s why I did the thing with the knife.”

It’d be an alarming sentence at the best of times, but still, it makes you breathe a sigh of relief you hadn’t been holding. “So, that was, you were sort of acting out a little play for me to follow? Like the kayfabe?”

“Exactly,” Rhea credits you. “To be honest, the knife was a bit of ad-lib, but God, it got my blood pumping. This girl…” You feel her pull you closer, too, as she gives Jen a squeeze.

“I had, I thought you got that,” Jen confesses to you, “with all my but Rhea, what are you doing.” Her words turn sultry and suggestive then, you feel yourself grin like an idiot as the relief she really is alright, and enjoying this even, continues to buoy you up inside.

“I wish I’d thought of that,” you confess right back, “I mean, doing that too.”

“And see, you hadn’t wanted to that time because of what Jen might think,” Rhea explains, “but now you know it was okay all along.”

“Rhea,” you bring yourself to say, while you feel yourself melt into her body, “next time I ask you to stop, you’d better.”

“Of course I will,” she says, with the same gentle, sunny smile.

“That’s the other thing,” Jen comes in with her tiniest voice yet. “I also hoped you’d both help me fulfil my rape fantasy.”

*

“No, stop,” Jen purrs up at you, and just about holds in the laugh. You don’t, and on your next stroke you lean down and kiss her, and she puts her whole head into it. If she didn’t, if she wasn’t so obviously loving every second of it, you couldn’t bear it. You’ve got hold of her by her wrists, but that doesn’t really matter, because Rhea’s underneath her and has her in an implacable full-nelson. “I want you,” she lusts, “to take it out and then to stick it in again, because, that way it’ll be like, mmfh,” the little wriggle she does then is hardly even a physical movement, it’s more spiritual, but you feel it all the same.

You do as she asks, for a moment you just hold your cock and look down at them, at the very faint way Jen wrestles in Rhea’s grasp, these women you would do anything for.

“Squeeze me tighter,” she insists.

“I don’t want to break you,” Rhea teases, or pleads.

“You won’t,” Jen promises. So Rhea draws her up further, and as you put it in and make her wail you can feel the tension in her body, but somehow it’s not the kind of tension that resists you, instead it welcomes you in and threatens not to let you go. Her little body, those thick arms around it, you must be in a dream. But in that dream you would fuck them both, you would please them both, to make sure they both liked you too.

Jen wails like she’s been twisted around, for one awful moment it hits a note of distress. But then, as Rhea nuzzles into her neck, you hear it for the sigh of pleasure it is. Suddenly it’s not a cruel, sadistic stab motion you inflict upon her, you can feel yourself becoming one with her, and here you let go of her left wrist and clutch at Rhea’s iron shoulder, because you want so desperately for her to be part of this too.

You don’t quite all move as one, so as you fumble about, your hand ends up trapped between the two women you love. You’re in no hurry to move it, but you do, to touch Rhea’s face, at first just with your fingertips, but then your palm, you caress her properly, and she nuzzles into that, too. It makes you lose your rhythm, you flop down on top of Jen’s little body, feeling yourself press down on her, and her press up into you – but seconds before she looks at you and starts to complain you get going again, and her eyes flash with delight.

“Take it,” you tell her, “fucking take it,” it’s little more than something to say, ridiculous porn-star dialogue you’d never have thought of outside the heat of the moment. It works though, her eyes turn liquid and again she wails somewhere between pain and pleasure, she tries to break free of the way Rhea holds her but you all know she never, ever will.

The muscles in your neck tense, the blood thumps in your head, and with Rhea’s help and Rhea’s love you come directly inside your girlfriend. Your climax coincides with the last gasp of hers – so when you return to full consciousness, she is there for you in the afterglow. Her eyes flash at you, she smiles as if you had been gentle as velvet with her, and she whispers “I love you.”

Rhea shoves you both aside, as is her wont, and takes the big gulp of air you denied her. “God, you two are actually quite heavy,” she complains – before she props herself up a bit, arms folded back behind her head. “And I’d like to get off too, you know.”

The golden afterglow makes you sluggish for a moment. So by the time you dive in, Jen is already there with her face between Rhea’s legs, hungrily looking for any spot that will make her feel good. You settle for kissing around Rhea’s thigh, before she grabs you by the hair and pulls you up to look you in the eye.

“When do you think you’ll be ready to go again?” she asks, so sweetly, but by now you know, that light in her eyes, that belies the hunger.

“Oh! I, I’ll do my best,” you say limply, able to think only that she’d be ready right away. It’s an unfair comparison, but it’s the same results you get every time you compare yourself with her. Against her gorgeous sculpted torso, feeling the heat of her body, your cock flops, not even fully gone down yet, nowhere near going up again. You waver in her grasp, ready to collapse if she wasn’t there, “I can, I can help you get off in other ways,” you mean it, too, even if Jen’s face has still got Rhea’s vagina firmly occupied.

“I want to get fucked,” says Rhea, quite flatly, and you squirm in embarrassment that you cannot give her what she wants immediately. But then she smiles again, and with a little sing-song cadence adds “I know how to get you ready.”

The chill of desire you get when she says that is nothing compared to the chill of the metal on your balls as she pops them one after another through the chastity ring. Then there is the intense pleasure of her bending your still-half-erect cock about, to work that under the ring too, all of a sudden you think maybe you could go again. You collapse onto the bed, but immediately nuzzle up as close to her as you can, you thrust her hips to help her ease the cage over your cock. And then, when she looks at you with untrammelled delight and clicks the lock shut, then you get the first twinge of another erection.

“When it starts to hurt,” Rhea emphasises hurt like a French kiss, “we’ll know you’re ready again – ooh, Jen.” You feel her muscles move under you as she wriggles about with enjoyment.

“Uh huh,” comes your choked reply, your mouth pressed up against her shoulder, the cage somehow throttling your voice.

“But not a bad hurt, I wouldn’t want to do that to you, that wouldn’t be fun,” she specifies quite carefully. “I mean a kinky hurt.”

Jen pops her head up. “You said I was a shit girlfriend for doing th-” But without the slightest change of expression, Rhea rams Jen’s head back down between her legs. Jen produces a few satisfied “Hmm hmm hmm” sounds, you know these by now, the sound of smutty laughter muffled by Rhea’s thighs.

Rhea sits you up, lays her arms gently around your shoulders, and then with no force but immense power pulls you back in. First a little peck right on the lips, then a longer, deeper one, she nips your tongue with her teeth, you yelp – that’s muffled too – as you feel yourself swelling in the cage and the metal close in around you.

Her teeth release you, you do have the power in your limbs not to slither down her body and end up with your mouth on her breasts, but somehow that’s what happens. With all the talk of kinky hurt, that’s probably all the grounds you need to give her a little nip. But that’s not even what you want to do. With one of her arms around you, and the other keeping Jen in place, you kiss and suck on her tits as if you’re getting married to them and a priest’s told you to.

You can feel yourself filling up the cage completely now, feel the tip of it around you. But in spite of that bodily demand, you work your way back up Rhea’s chest, you smear your lips across the bottom of her neck, and she giggles to feel you land under her arm. There it is, the light sheen, the flavour and tang of the very slight exertion she’s suffered holding Jen in place for you. You scrub her remorselessly with your tongue, not wanting to miss one little bit.

While you love and mouth at that softer, more private skin, you feel her shift and go “Oh,” a low sexy intonation from the core of her being. Her chest heaves, she trembles which shakes you about too, and then comes the eruption, a long rattling cry of ecstasy. Part of you is tempted to pull away, to enjoy the look on her face, but you have latched on too firmly, and when she sweats out her climax you know you have made the right decision.

You straighten up, you finally take a breath – and so does Jen, a huge gasp for air when Rhea finally opens her legs and sets Jen free. For a moment she is slumped on the dampened sheets, and you go to her and check on her, help her up, genuinely worried she might have been squeezed too hard between Rhea’s thighs. But she leaps up to meet you, laughing merrily, then kisses you and lets you taste Rhea’s pleasure, all over her face.

“Mmh,” sighs Rhea, she settles down on the bed, gazing up at you both. “Look at you…” and the warmth of it fills your heart, before she blinks her eyes properly, focuses on you, and all business again asks “Are you ready yet?”

Jen grabs the cage, you feel her fingers through the bars and you yelp, she declares “It feels like it!” She cradles your balls, gives them a little squeeze, and asks them “Are these refilled for her?”, yes, there’s that heat of the moment filthy-talk again. You just manage one passionate kiss before Rhea’s got hold of your balls instead and pulls you over toward her.

“Well well,” Rhea muses, playing with the cage and your cock inside it, bouncing it on her hand. You’re hard enough by this point it doesn’t flop down but stays pointing painfully towards her – like she said, a kinky hurt. And she relishes it, she smirks, devours whatever expression’s on your face as she undoes the lock, she hadn’t even needed to take the key out after shutting it. She grips the cage, and pops it right off, you produce half a groan and half a gasp.

“I hope you fuck her real good,” Jen whispers, snuggled up to you from behind, she takes hold of your cock and points it directly at Rhea’s vagina, poking at her on your behalf. For a second you are nervous, you’re hard again but your erection doesn’t quite feel fully recovered. And hunched over Rhea’s big, lovely body you feel as inadequate as you ever have. But then Jen shoves you forward, with a trill of delight that Rhea echoes – and when you pump eagerly away, you can tell, she really does feel good too.

Rhea squeezes you with her legs, the way she did Jen’s face – the same face sticking to yours now – to hold you in place, inside of her, and you’re happy, and she’s happy too, and you’re all happy, more than you could ever even have wanted.

#rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley x you #rpf #rhea ripley fanfiction #rhea ripley smut

[ynmnrmt]

You & Me & Rhea Makes Three: Chapter 8

rhea ripley x m!reader x m!reader's girlfriend

word count: 7,049

warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, themes of domination/submission, dubiously consensual nonmonogamy, relationship drama, violence/threat

a/n: This chapter contains a moment of metatextuality which is so self-indulgent I should probably be in prison for it. However, it also contains scenes of rough, kinky sex, which is presumably what you're really here for.

(The story so far: chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six, chapter seven)

The bathroom isn’t where you remember it. It isn’t how you remember it, either. The door doesn’t stick, and the tiles are pleasantly warm under your feet, which is good, because it’s a long walk across them to a sink like a sacrificial Roman altar. Surely, you think blearily as you lift your toothbrush from a silver recreation of an eagle’s claw, the old cup worked just as well.

Obviously you see Jen come into the room, in that banquet-table sized mirror, long before she’s anywhere near you. But you still make the noise of pleasant surprise when she hugs you from behind and kisses you on the neck.

“How’d you sleep?” you ask as best you can through a mouthful of fluoridated foam.

“It’s...a really nice bed,” she says. “I’ll get used to it, I guess.”

“That new bed smell,” you joke half-heartedly, it still makes her smile. Perhaps she feels the same neurosis as you, that this is all some kind of trick, that any moment the bottom will drop out, perhaps it’s all some kind of reality show. “I know, it’s all still strange.”

“It’s not that,” she mumbles. “I woke up feeling really fat and bloated.”

“You’re not,” you insist, and turn to caress her stomach and show her that part of her too is loved. She has less body fat than you do, which is probably still under a healthy amount. “You have absolutely no reason to feel unattrac-”

As you say it, Rhea walks in to yawn and stretch her arms over her head, broad at the shoulders and lean in the waist. You both stare, and it really feels like it would be patronising to finish the sentence. And of course you know exactly how Jen must feel, faced with that gorgeous strength and power, there’s the vague thoughts of how scrawny you are by comparison but before anything else the immediate desperate desire.

“Can you stop making our girlfriend feel insecure?” you ask her, with the same air of flimsy jocularity as before, even though you mean it. Rhea blinks, taken aback somewhat, and you reflect it is an unreasonable thing to ask, it’s not as if she can help it. Then she kisses Jen full on the mouth, bending her back slightly over the sink, only to break away and leave Jen dazed and move on to you.

It was the morning wood that woke you, straining in the cage up against Jen’s thigh, and you stayed awake in the dark for some time in that half-sleep limbo. Now, with Rhea’s morning breath filling your lungs, it’s back with a vengeance. One of these days, you reflect muzzily, as you share lips and tongue and oxygen, you’re going to have to have a little talk with Jen about the logistics of wearing one of these things while living with two sexy ladies.

When Rhea backs off, it’s your toothpaste-froth she has across her mouth – and she licks it up, you see her run her tongue all around her teeth. When she swallows, you go so far as to make a little noise, a choke on the inhale. She gently lays a hand around Jen’s shoulder, onto her triceps, and tells her “You’re beautiful just the way you are” before giving her that golden easy smile.

“Yeah,” you agree, and come round her other side, this time it’s you kissing her on the neck and probably leaving a foamy imprint where your lips touch her. “Don’t ever change. Ever.”

*

You find yourself alone, in the larger lounge, slightly awestruck by just how high the ceilings are. “What’s up?” you ask, as Rhea shuffles into the room.

“I’m a little stiff, I’ve been blasting my abs,” she replies – and lifts her shirt. “Here, feel.” The heat, the hard steel ridges, it’s as if you have your hand on the world’s sexiest radiator. She flops down on the couch with an “Oof!” and spreads out. “Stretchie-me-out…” she mumbles as she gets herself the whole way across the couch and across you. The filthy, lovely smell of her body is still all around you, rising from her underarms and her crotch and her feet, and between her top and her sports shorts her tummy sparkles. “God, I’m beat. I bet you could take me at an arm wrestle, right now.”

“No I couldn’t,” you say, even as she pokes you with her toes, and eyes you in a way that makes you want to give it a try. “Anyway, you were doing your abs, and-”

With a grunt of discomfort, she’s upright and in your face. “Come on, I dare you. Maybe we can make it interesting.”

“Interesting how?” Hardly even your words, but the response she wanted, and you’re all too happy to give it to her.

All playful, she proffers “If you win, I get to suck your cock,” and immediately you are uncomfortably aware of the cage under your clothes as you twitch in her direction, “and if I win, you get to jam your face in my ass and take a nice deep whiff.” She’s so close she’s practically French-kissing you, and she comes closer still to lower her voice and add “I showered before, it’s not like, y’know.”

Oh yes, you know. “When you put it like that, I don’t see how I can lose,” you say. Rhea wriggles with glee. You have already firmly decided you will let her win, or rather, won’t even resist too much while she effortlessly defeats you. Now is not the moment, you feel, for the shock revelation of the cage, the awkward explanation, and God help you the politics of it all.

It’s a couple of careful, deliberate movements with which she stretches out on the floor, lying on her stomach, her right arm cocked and ready. You get down there to match her, meet her head-on, a conception that seems ridiculous when your palm meets hers and she sweetly smiles “Holding hands.”

“Come on, take this seriously,” you say, as you try to shift so the cage isn’t wedged straight into your bladder. She hardly needs to expend any effort to lever your hand down towards the floor, and you don’t try to stop her – and then, when her victory seems assured, she pulls you hard back the other way. Even if you did take the strain now there’s no possible way you could stop her, the back of her hand’s on the floor, and your hand’s there on top of hers.

“Oops,” she says, cutely. “I knew you could beat me.”

“But Rhea,” you reply, and you think you keep your voice steady and don’t let the desperation show, “I was really looking forward to getting better acquainted with your ass.”

“Aww…” she gently strokes your cheek, with the hand you allegedly just pinned to the carpet. “Tell you what. Since you won, we can do both, since that’s what you want.” Hmm, you’ve allegedly won and ended up with the exact opposite of what you wanted, how’s that happened? Though really, it’s not as if you didn’t want either side of it, it’s just the circumstances that – but no time to think about this, because she’s up on her feet, and as you rise slowly to your knees she’s turned around to present you with your prize.

Rhea pulls her sports shorts down to the shelf where her thighs begin, and there it is, looking you right in the eye, the gorgeous rounded form of her rump which is painfully arousing to you even when you try to think of it with a profoundly unsexy term like ‘rump’. A gleaming bead of sweat rolls down it – no, around it, it struggles over the upper curve before it succumbs to gravity and goes in freefall the rest of the way.

“I hope I’m not too sweaty,” Rhea halfway giggles, while you restrain yourself from instinctively licking clean the imperceptible trail that droplet has left down the right cheek of her glorious ass.

“No,” you manage in response, that low-lying musky smell already invading every orifice in your head, by no means appetising but it makes you hungry all the same. You can already feel the cage pressing in on all sides.

“I mean, I wasn’t really working the glutes – alright, biiig whiff,” she says, encouraging, as she reaches back and puts her hand on your head. But she doesn’t pull you in, she couldn’t, because her mere touch is all the prompt you need to dive right in there. And you can’t take that huge inhalation because your nose is clogged up by her ass, the softness over that steel-hard muscle underneath moulded so naturally to your face.

She doesn’t smell the way you would after a workout – she smells the way her abs shone. There’s a moment of shock when she doesn’t let you go, of course there is, the panic as you realise just how short of breath you are. But this lightning sensation gets re-routed straight to your dick. It’s not even that you want to be inside her because you practically already are, and you barely even want to escape.

When she lets you come up for air she looks back at you, no, down at you, peeking from the corners of her eyes over her shoulder, and says “You didn’t take a whiff” with the faintest disappointment. So you breathe in greedily, while the cage wobbles around in your underwear, and all you can think of is how every lungful of her essence will be a further mindbending factor in how intense your eventual orgasm is going to be.

And when you’re finally out of breath and have to back off, the taste lingers, floating on your palate, in through the nose and into your mouth. Rhea turns around quickly and drops to her knees to face you, and gives you a long, gleeful kiss. All you can think is that you wouldn’t have the stomach to do this if she’d been sniffing around your ass, and how very, very grateful you are to her.

“I hope this was okay for you,” she says, cheek to cheek with you. “After that – I really am worried about accidentally pushing you into something you don’t want to do.”

“No,” you say, a choice word for this moment, “it’s fine. I like your ass.” And you can feel her giggle at that.

“What else do you like?” she husks, and the cage clinks audibly.

“I,” your mouth is dry, “I’m really not in the mood for a blow job. Not right now.” Now you feel her face change again, you can sense the expression of surprise and disbelief, because, yes, why would anyone say such a thing?

Rhea backs off, she doesn’t look sad, but even the little curl of disappointment in her mouth twists your heart in knots. “Alright. If you’re sure.” Perhaps it’s not even disappointment, perhaps it’s concern, it’s a bit of a giveaway when she squeezes your hand and gently adds “Is something wrong?”

“No! No, it’s not – you’re great. You know that.” You can’t put the same poundage into squeezing her hand back, but she still brightens up a little when you do. And you love her, so you kiss her, with the taste of her body still on your tongue, and she kisses you back with a relieved enthusiasm while you try not to think about the metal pressing into your cock.

Is it the way you feel so safe that makes you reach blindly out for her, to touch her stomach, touch her breast, and make her giggle again? It must be, and the cage is so tight on you now that when she starts curling her fingers down your chest you almost let it happen, for what little comfort that will bring. But eventually you have to pull back, and when you do you try your very best to make it seem natural.

“I used to be so insecure about my butt,” confesses Rhea, a warm glow in her cheeks.

“Come on,” you scoff.

“Well, I get sweaty around there. And, I get all this fan mail,” when she brings this up you’re already giving a little oh of mea culpa, but she continues, “a lot of it gets incredibly graphic. I even get people writing elaborate fan-fictions about me, and usually about people I work with as well, and, fuck, then I have to look them in the eye on Monday. Do you know what it’s like, trying to keep that kind of filth out of your mind?”

Your hand finds hers. “Yes,” you say, entirely truthfully, and it sets her off laughing, a low-level amusement that she cannot possibly stop.

“Alright, alright – stop looking at me like that!”

“I know. I’m sorry. Christ, maybe I don’t know, I know I don’t know what it’s like being a WWE megastar. I just, well, I hope beyond all that, I can make you happy. We can make you happy.” That’s a rhetorical flourish, you want to add, not an afterthought.

“That’s it, though, that’s why you guys – I just want a safe place where I can get away from everything. Where I can be with people who really matter to me.” When Rhea leans forward again this time it’s not simply her lips on your lips, this is deeper, this is something primaeval, and you let her force you onto your back and climb on top of you. “It’s just so much fun.”

“It sure is,” you enthuse weakly, the cage itself strangling your voice. Even with Rhea straight up on her arms over you, it’s somehow like she’s pressing right down on you. And before long, it is exactly like that, as she sweetly kisses all around your mouth.

“I want to make you feel good,” she continues, and now her lips walk their way down your chest, even over your shirt it gives you cold thrills. You grab at her, your hands on her shoulders, it’s to try and stop her inexorable move down your body but it just seems like a loving clutch, even to you. “I want to make you feel the way you make me feel,” and then she has hold of your waistband and pulls, sharply.

The sudden chill of open air is nothing compared to the way your blood freezes when Rhea does too – gaping at what she has found in there, struck dumb completely.

“What is this?” she asks finally, and immediately plays with it, bouncing it in her fingers, which makes you tilt your head back and gasp.

“Jen was – she didn’t want you to be able to make me go with you again,” you stutter out, what an interesting way of saying it.

“She did this t-” Rhea begins, shoulders squared, full of fire and outrage and for a moment so unbearably sexy you try spiritedly to clench your prostate and burst the cage from the inside. Then she slumps. “Yeah. No, I, I understand. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be bundling you to the ground like this.” You nearly cry out but yes! You must! when she says that, you nearly do, before she takes your arms and sits you back up. Again, a wave of desire that feels like it’ll have the metal cut through your skin and turn you inside-out. You rest your head on her shoulder, and she rests her head on you, and sits with you, troubled. She sounds utterly wretched when she confesses “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” falls from your mouth, and you do, but more than that you do not want her to feel bad in any way.

“And I love Jen, too – I don’t care if she wants to stop me fucking you, I still love her, I love you both so much I think my heart’s going to…” You hear her choke back the tears.

“Oh, Rhea,” you don’t have the words but you wrap your arms around her and squeeze, as if you don’t want her to get away. She could break your grip and throw you off in a second, instead she passes a hand over your elbow, and grasps you too – hard, maybe it’ll leave a bruise, you shift uncomfortably, there’s the cage again.

*

You do the dishes. It is the distraction of the task, combined with the comfort of the warm water, that makes it appeal to you in this moment. Then Rhea creeps up from behind you, and holds you lightly in her arms, and suddenly the idea of warm water being in any way comforting seems profoundly stupid. You wish you could quite literally melt into her grasp – life as a liquid strikes you as so much simpler.

“I don’t even know how to feel about this,” she says, and you can feel the pain in her voice. “Part of me wants to get Jen in an elbow lock and then chokeslam her through the drywall, and I hate that this even occurs to me.”

“I know what you mean,” you say, “I used to be terrible for bringing work home with me.”

“I wish she was here,” Rhea muses, setting her chin down on top of your head. “We could just talk things through instead of getting wound up about it.”

“She did say her aunt was really ill.” At the time she left, it didn’t occur to you how long she might be gone for, and it seemed uncouth to ask about the key. But at that point you’d had the cage on less than four hours. “I keep thinking I should have gone with her.”

“But then I’d be on my own,” and Rhea hardly needs to inflect that to make it sound like flirting, “all alone, in this big house.” If it was uncouth to ask about the key then there’s no way in hell you can ask her to stop being sexy so the cage doesn’t get wedged into your tender skin.

You finish the dishes and go for a walk together. The tree on the horizon seems like a natural goal, and as you cross the grounds arm in arm with Rhea, the grass – her grass – wetting your ankles and everything looking beautiful you wonder how it is that you seem so desperately unhappy.

Rhea leans against the tree. She might be looking out into the distance, over the unspoiled land and light forests, a lot of which are also now hers – but her eyes are filled with tears. “I thought we’d be happy here,” she says, and for want of anything you can say to try and make this come true you hold her around her middle. “I thought we’d never have to worry about anything ever again.”

“We don’t,” you try desperately to reassure her, the sight of her even mildly upset like a dagger in your guts, “we’ve got everything we want here.”

“I wanted to make you happy.” No emotion to the words as she looks down at you, you feel about half her height and this is incredibly exciting in your hips. “That’s why I let you win at arm-wrestling.”

“You made me win.”

Through those tears Rhea gives a little hiccup of laughter. “I did, didn’t I? It’s because I wanted to get you off, I love doing that, I love how nervous you get,” and she’s grabbing for your waistband again, but she doesn’t pull it down this time, her eyes are clear as they look into yours and she asks “please?”

And how could you say no?

Rhea drops to the ground, on one knee like a soldier, and takes the whole cage in her mouth. You don’t much like thinking of yourself as bite-sized in that way, perhaps that’s what gives you a chill and makes you worry, makes you say “Rhea, anyone could see.”

“They could,” she muses, with her lips against the metal, “and I bet they’d like it, too.” She is after all a stage performer, you think to yourself, she will have thoughts and opinions with capital letters on this sordid business of being watched, then as if she’s read your thoughts she continues “No, what I like best here is that nobody’s going to be watching us, nobody’s going to be glup anywhere near, this is just for us.” She opens her mouth again and touches her nose to your stomach.

“Oh fuck, Rhea,” you breath, she holds you by the balls and the gnarled bark of the tree is pressed into your back. Even through the gaps of the cage you can feel how warm and wet her tongue is, and then she wriggles it in, she actually touches you with it…

“Mmph!” she yelps, and you cry out too, now you feel the metal on all sides – except where your expanding cock has trapped the tip of her tongue in there with it.

“Fuck – I’m sorry – I’m sorry!” Eyes wide, you look about for help which, as Rhea has firmly established, is not there. And she gazes up at you with her mouth up against you, she pleads silently. You bite your own tongue, hard, to try and quell all that sealed-off arousal, but it’s down the other end of your body, it might as well be a thousand miles away. “I’m trying not to get hard, I’m so sorry,” you splutter, and she whimpers in reply, soft muffled moans that you’ll never forgive yourself for making things worse.

You close your eyes, grit your teeth, and rake your hand down the bark of the tree. The pain cuts through, for a moment it seems to work, you want it to work. Then Rhea chokes her mouth off the cage, her tongue still pinned in place by your cock, and she gets her fingers in there, she fiddles blindly and ends up touching your already-tender skin and now it is pain at both ends.

The bark tears through your knuckles, you swipe up and down unconscious to the pain now, and still it is no help. It is finally Rhea who solves this, roughly pulling herself free with a “Blah!” with such force she falls on her back. Frantically you help her back to her feet, though it’s more like you guide her rise, and she nurses the end of her tongue.

“I’m sorry, Rhea,” you repeat.

“I’m thorry too,” and when she hears herself she scowls in amused frustration. “I hope you’re thatithfied.”

“Obviously not,” you say, and mercifully you can both laugh at that, even as your balls throb and the blood trickles down your fingers.

*

You wake up from a wonderful dream of you and Jen and Rhea all happily naked as the days you were born, and you wake into a sting of pain, the curse of morning wood. You writhe, you breath sharply, nothing you seem to be able to do can make your cock go down. Then your noises of pain must wake Rhea, too, because she muzzily says “My poor boy” and wraps her big arms around you.

Despite everything, even when she brings one thigh up over the offending area, this is better. For sure, the cage is cold and hard, but everything else is warm and soft.

By the time you are up and have finished making breakfast, Rhea comes through the front door, flushed and pink from her run. “Only ten miles today,” she observes, “I’m being very lazy.” And yes, once she’s eaten, she flops on the couch and snuggles up under a blanket. “I hope you’re sleeping okay,” she adds, the fabric up to her chin, only her face peeping out.

“Most of the time,” you say, truthfully, between those painful interruptions you do manage to get in some shut-eye. “I hope I’ve not been disturbing you.”

“Take a look in the ice box.” When you do, Rhea has topped herself, she manages to melt your heart a little without even being in the room, because she’s made you an ice-pack, an old-fashioned cartoon ice-pack of the kind that’s usually meant to soothe a sore head. The frosty feel is a thrill all of its own, and one that doesn’t immediately bring you into conflict with the cage.

You go back through with a suspicious bulge in the front of your trousers, and kiss Rhea on the forehead, adding “You’re precious and perfect.”

Rhea smiles sunnily and brings an arm out from under the blanket, a flash of fear and arousal that she might touch you – but instead, she pushes the blanket in between her thighs. “There we go…” she murmurs, and then explains “I’ve always found this really comforting.”

“You want comforting?” Without waiting for a response you sit alongside her to stroke her hair, and she wriggles with some glee.

“Actually,” she wheedles, blinking her summery eyes up at you, “my feet hurt.” Her gentle smile turns into a grin. “So long as that isn’t going to cause you any little problems.”

You rearrange yourself at the other end of the couch and start working her soles. Of course it turns you on, but realistically just being around her was going to do that. You try to stay detached, and to look her in the eye while you’re doing it, but as the scent of her run rises up into your face you find yourself thinking how lonely her toes seem outside of your mouth.

“I’m sorry,” she wheedles far above you, what can only be the lead-in to a request or perhaps a plea, “but having you here like this caring for me – loving me – it makes me, oh God, so fucking horny.”

She just has to edge her running shorts down with her thumbs, over the curve of her hips. You are all too happy to take it from there and strip them off completely. Then you bow your head, and as you lap at her labia, already flushed and excited, yes, there’s the taste of her run. It feels as if you have to eat your way through it to even get to her vagina, though you treasure every mouthful.

This is more the scenario you’d had in mind, where just because you are sexually restrained is no reason for her to go without. You do not feel her pleasure in some second-hand voodoo transfer, but you feel everything else, you feel her heart beat faster and her juices flow. And you definitely feel it as her hips shift to invite you in further and her big thighs tighten around your head. She squeals, and giggles, and tells you what she wants to do to you, and the cage gets you like a snare.

*

Before you’re in too much of that permanent intimate pain, the call finally comes, and you drive to the airport to pick up Jen. As you wait in the short-term parking you wonder just what it would be like, trying to get through security with the cage on. You play it out in your mind, they take you aside into a sterile-looking back room, of course they do, but then the guard looks like Rhea, all buttoned up in uniform, and the jab of pain between your legs brings you back to the real world.

When she comes through baggage claims she looks dreadful. You go in for a hug and she almost collapses into your arms.

“So, how’s your aunt?” you say, with that slightly breathy sympathy, the voice that is already fortified for the worst.

“They were lying,” Jen sobs, “they made it up to hassle me about Grandma Barbara’s will.” Jesus! This really gives you pause, since she was only left a china hutch. No wonder she never goes back home.

You carry her suitcases, then you sit her down in the car, to give her a moment’s respite, before you load them into the boot. You’re not good with these types of situations, you never have been. Before you can even start the car she’s thrown herself across you, arms draped round your neck like a feather boa.

“I missed you,” she says, voice steadier, as if you have administered relief from a deep-seated pain. “This,” you keep your eyes on the road but hear the jingle of the keys around her neck, “was the only thing keeping me together.”

“Jen,” you say, at least you know where to begin, “sometimes I get worried that, since, you’re coming from that background – I’ve read some stuff on psychology, that, people who have a history like that, they end up understanding that kind of abuse as a kind of affection in and of itself. If you know what I mean.”

“Well, I get that,” she says, “but I don’t see how it’s really relevant to – I’ve got you and Rhea. I got away from all that horrible shit. I’m happy with you guys. I’m safe with you guys.” And when she says this, it twists the ventricles of your heart, you think you might need to try not to cry. Then she holds up the key and adds “You want road head?” all smiles now.

“Oh no,” you say, “I’ll go off the side and over a cliff if you do that,” and she laughs, and squeezes you.

When you get home, Rhea’s nowhere to be seen. The lobby’s empty, so’s the atrium, the swimming pool lies silent and still. You slog Jen’s cases up the split staircase, along the balustrade and into the master bedroom, these are all deserted too. It’s just you and Jen, alone in the house.

“Did you want something to eat?” you ask her. “Coffee?”

She still looks downcast until she crashes into you, face smashed against yours, arms wrapped around you so you can’t balance, and you topple down onto the bed as she gives you rough mouth-to-mouth. You squirm in her grasp, it’s not like being with Rhea, you could definitely escape here, but obviously you don’t want to, you’d never want to.

“Come on,” she says, when her mouth finally leaves yours and you crane your neck trying to get it back, she tugs ineffectually at your clothes, “I want you to fucking stick it in me.” So you undo your trousers, and try not to shudder-moan when the cool air kisses your cock inbetween the metal spokes.

Jen leans down to open the cage – and there behind her you see the door open and Rhea framed in there, lit from behind and shadowy, but you can still tell she’s in her work clothes. The spikes glitter and her eyes flash fierce white out from her black makeup. For such a big, muscly, glorious woman she moves so silently. Then Jen straightens up and refills your view, holding the padlock.

“There we go,” she halfway giggles, and sets it aside. “Now let’s get this off.” You’re already semi-hard, so she has to give the cage itself a bit of a tug. “I’ve missed this, I was imagining finally getting you inside of me the whole way home.”

“Jen,” you breathe, not able to muster a real warning with your cock flapping free.

“I was shaking just thinking about-erk!”

Rhea’s grabbed her, one thick arm under her shoulder and curled around her neck, and Rhea brings her face right next to Jen’s and says “Welcome home.” You want to intervene, but Jen’s flash of untrammelled delight makes you want to see where this is going. “You wanted to get some, did you? Yeah, I bet you did.”

“Uh-huh,” Jen nods frantically.

“Did you consider, for one moment, what it’s been like for us? I have been aching to get at his cock, but oh no, somebody decided to put it in a cage. What the fuck was that, anyway? Where’d you get a sick idea like that?”

“I thought it was kind of kinky,” says Jen, still slightly choked.

“You think something that degrading was kinky?” Rhea’s teeth touch Jen’s earlobe as she growls that, and she delivers it with conviction, but a small mad part of you seizes that little hope, the idea it is all okay and she’s just putting it on. “It hurt. Obviously it hurt him. And you didn’t care.”

“Unnh,” is Jen’s response, probably because Rhea’s other hand is jammed down her trousers.

“You went off to who knows where, and you knew he’d be in pain,” Rhea snarls, the muscles in her arm like hydraulics as she works Jen over, “and you knew we wouldn’t be able to fuck… you’re a shit fucking girlfriend.”

“No, Rhea, come on,” you say, you try to prop yourself up a bit. “This isn’t exactly-”

“Come on,” Rhea echoes you, while Jen whimpers in her arms, “say it.”

“Oh-hh, I’m sorry,” Jen husks, snatching big preorgasmic breaths, “I’m a shit girlfriend, I’m sorry I locked up your cock.”

“For – sound like you mean it, don’t do a stupid little rhyme.”

“I’m so mmnh sorry, really, I’m sorry,” Jen jerks about in Rhea’s arms, almost trying to get free, but Rhea’s fingers have her hooked firmly in place, “fuck, Rhea, let me kiss him, please.”

Rhea tightens her grip around Jen’s body, you almost feel her bones creak. “No,” goes Rhea, cruel and taunting, and follows it with a long lick up the side of Jen’s mouth. You flash Rhea a look, she replies with an expression that makes you want to marry her. You flash her another look, and another, and she bobs her head this way and that, showing you that perfect full-cheek smile from every angle, until finally she has a little laugh and lets Jen free.

Jen explodes down onto you, she locks you to her with her tongue alone. She grabs at you, too, her arms scrabble around yours like she wants to be rescued. But then you feel Rhea’s greater weight on top of your little pile, along with the shuffling of her hand around your midsection that is still making Jen whine directly into your mouth.

Rhea finds your cock and takes hold of it and lines it up, right where the squeeze of Jen’s thighs meets her pussy. You’re not quite certain if it’s Rhea hauling Jen up and down, or Jen herself shifting her hips, but either way you’re going for it too, you poke yourself in the only direction you can.

“You like that, huh,” Rhea says more softly now, as she keeps your cock clamped in place along Jen’s labia, while making wide swirling circles against you with the back of her other hand. “You want it.”

Whoever that was meant for, it’s Jen who says “Yes, yeah, yes I want it,” her hands smear all over your chest, “yes, yes I want it, I want it, yes yes yes yes-”

For a moment Jen convulses on you, before Rhea peels her off and throws her aside. It’s not a violent act, she’s not hurled against the wall, just further along the bed, but at a distance from you both – and it’s there she thrashes, she clutches at her pussy in a vain attempt to keep it under control while her legs point out like scissors, beyond words as that last ‘yes’ goes further into the same primal cry of pleasure. She’s so wet she’s left a trail of dark droplets along the sheets.

“Ha ha!” Rhea lays her head fondly on your chest, turned to one side to gaze on as Jen still writhes her way through an orgasm. “Was it good for you too?” Rhea asks, and plants a little kiss close enough to your left nipple to make you shiver. After the days of buildup, you’re amazed you weren’t the one to come from all that.

“Rhea,” you say, you struggle slightly for breath under her lovely bulk, “I really don’t like you talking to Jen like that.”

“I thought it was better to address it like this,” she says, looking winsomely up into your eyes, “in the context of a loving, satisfying sexual encounter, rather than it be in anger.”

You look sideways at Jen. She adores you with her eyes, tongue out of her mouth, sweaty and panting, her whole body heaves with each ragged breath. “Maybe,” you say, “but-”

It’s drowned out completely when Rhea hoists herself up over you, and grabs your cock again. Before you can do anything she’s got you inside her, she bounces playfully on you as you twist your tongue trying not to come already.

“I guess, ah! I see what she means,” Rhea reflects, “the wait kind o-of makes it better.”

“I’m really sorry if I come too soon,” you squeak out, and she laughs a knowing, conspiratorial laugh that is somehow reassuring. Then she kicks out a leg and rolls onto her back and brings you with her, all of a sudden you are on top of her and Jen looks up at you from right next to her breast.

“Now fuck the fucking shit out of me,” Rhea warns you and it’s all the stimulus you need, you pump into her with all your might, you grab her arms to keep them there where you want them and she lets you do that. Jen’s tongue drools onto the bedsheet. Rhea moans for more, she turns to jelly under you, she clenches her fists and her leg jerks violently.

Miraculously, you do feel as if you’re in control, more in control anyway, like riding a large and powerful horse that is no longer actually trying to buck you off. Rhea certainly isn’t doing that, the spasms in her legs have calmed down enough that she’s wrapped them around your back.

“You like watching this?” Rhea throws out this jagged little aside in Jen’s direction. “You like seeing your boyfriend’s cock going in and out of me?”

“Uh-huh,” Jen hazes.

“Really?” you add, though you don’t stop.

“Uh-huh,” she says again, and she projects such warmth toward you that you immediately resolve not to let her down on this score. She reaches flimsily out towards you, and Rhea grabs her and pulls her in under her arm, all while you keep right on fucking.

“I’m glad,” you tell your girlfriend, although it might get lost in all the action, underneath Rhea’s cries of pleasure and Jen’s little moans. It makes your heart beat out of control, all this feminine pleasure and love, but you deliberately try not to focus on it, because every fresh husky gasp brings you perilously close to coming, you might actually bite through your tongue if they carry on like this.

But before too long, something gives way inside Rhea’s magnificent body, she throws her head back in one silent cry and her muscles relax. And it’s not a moment too soon, because then all the fluid in your body spurts unstoppably out of you and into her vagina.

You collapse, sweaty and shaky, onto her, and her big arms thump onto your back as she gives you a clumsy squeeze. “God that was good,” she sighs, and cuddles you harder and realigns your spine. “Alright, maybe she has a point about deferred pleasure.”

“The chastity cage wasn’t her idea,” you admit, “at least not originally, it was mine.”

“You kinky little beast,” rumbles out of her chest, and she kisses you tenderly on the crown of your head.

“He just gave me the idea, but it was me,” insists Jen, slithering sluglike up the side of Rhea’s body. “He was just showing me some kinky porn, he wasn’t the one who wanted to do it for real.”

“Well, I hope you’ve learned your lesson. In fact-” With the same sort of sharp little tug Jen used to pull the cage off, Rhea pulls the key from around Jen’s neck, the chain snaps and she yelps. Then Rhea sits up, possibly not meaning to throw you aside but it happens either way, and grasps Jen by the back of the head to look straight into her eyes while she protests feebly. “I’m going to go out there tonight, and I’m going to win, with this key around my neck and your boyfriend’s come inside of me.”

For a few moments, Jen is lost for words. Then she simply says “I’ll get horny watching you.”

“Is that so?” Rhea turns back to you with the deranged grin of a woman with a plan. “In that case, maybe we ought to teach our pretty girlfriend a little lesson.”

You’ve just come, you feel empty between your stomach and your knees, and yet she simply has to say this to fill you up with lust again. “What sort of a lesson?”

And Rhea raises the cage. “Maybe, if you want, we can show her what it’s like.”

*

Jen nestles in your lap as you both watch the TV. Rhea has won, like she said, she’s been cheerfully clear that it’s arranged well in advance but still, to see her triumph, she looks so profoundly sexy. There again, if she lost, then of course you could be there to comfort her.

“I love how tight her ass is,” says Jen, initially it seems apropos of nothing, but then, you figure, you were both thinking it.

“She said – I shouldn’t say, she said she was insecure about it, if you can believe that,” you say, though you artfully leave out how this came up.

“We ought to help her feel more secure about it.” There on the screen, your mutual girlfriend throws her arms wide and wriggles her shoulders, it’s probably not even meant to be sexy but Jen stiffens up and you do too. “And I love how her pits taste.”

You nod along, because yes, you do too. “I love how strong she is.”

“I love when she shoves me around.” A cold sweat of relief there, that had really worried you.

“I love when she’s on top.”

Jen starts to laugh, and you do too, and she adds “I also love her tits” before you kiss, and roll on the couch, and kiss. The cage becomes very present inside your underwear. Everything’s alright, you think. It’s all going to be alright.

#rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley x you #rpf #rhea ripley fanfiction #rhea ripley smut

[ynmnrmt]

You & Me & Rhea Makes Three: Chapter 7

rhea ripley x m!reader x m!reader's girlfriend

word count: 3,803

warnings: explicit sexual content, themes of domination/submission, dubiously consensual nonmonogamy, relationship drama, violence/threat, noncon fantasy

a/n: Our heroes deal with the fallout from what happened last chapter - which, I'm warning you now, I continue to deal with in an incredibly blithe way.

(The story so far: chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six)

“She did what?” Jennifer is white with fury.

“I really think it was just a misunderstanding.” You certainly feel confused about it, anyway. “We were – uh – talking about fantasies, and one thing sort of led to another.”

“You said no. Repeatedly.”

“Yeah, but, the thing is, that was sort of on the subject-”

Jennifer storms from the room. You follow her into the kitchen just in time to see her draw the biggest knife from the block. “I’m going to kill the bitch,” she says, quite simply, and as she advances you do too, into her path, you take hold of her arms, somewhere between trying to prevent a murder and trying to prevent any more talk or what might or might not have been done to you.

“Please,” you say, without the stomach to shout, “put it down.”

“Why?” Jennifer roars at you. “Why the fuck are you defending her? Why are you doing that?”

You still have hold of her arms, the blade of the knife wavering too close to your wrist, but now you are frozen. You genuinely do not have an answer, not one you can bring yourself to tell her. But then you both hear the door close. “Hey!” Rhea’s voice floats through, bright and cheerful. “I got us sushi!”

Through in the front room there are three punnets of sushi side by side on the table, chopsticks and all. Rhea bustles up from behind and kisses you both on the cheek. If it really had been rape, you tell yourself, you wouldn’t have welcomed that then. Then she says “Come see, come look at this” as she spreads a magazine out next to the sushi. It shows some tasteful, panoramic shots of what looks like an Italian palazzo.

“What’s this?” asks Jennifer, fragile like glass.

“I figured, we don’t want to live here forever,” smiles Rhea. “It’s got three bedrooms, one for each of us, and also one very big bedroom.”

“Look, Rhea, never mind this, we need to – is that a corner bath?” Jennifer sets the knife down on the table, and leans over the glossy spread in the magazine, immediately hypnotised by all those columns.

“Yeah, they were going for some kind of neoclassical, but they did it right, not just slapping on a cornice here and there.” You squeeze in between them, looking at what apparently might be your new home. “And it’s got acres of space, it’s even got a stable if we want to up and turn into horse people.”

You look sideways at Jennifer. You had never in your life thought she’d be able to fulfil that childhood fantasy, or more pointedly, that you’d be able to fulfil it for her. “What’s the price tag on this?” you ask.

“Oh, fuck that,” says Rhea, as if that’s an afterthought. “I can put down twice the deposit tomorrow.”

“Can you?” You have never been too clear on how, exactly, being a WWE superstar pays.

“It’d clean me out a bit – but I don’t care, I don’t give a shit about the money, I just want to be with you guys and make you happy.” Rhea has no interest in the mansion she’s apparently willing to drop her life savings on, she only has eyes for you and Jennifer. She lowers her voice and adds “I want to break in every one of those beds.”

“I’m sure you do,” you say, and try to sound casual with it, as if it doesn’t still make something bloom in your heart, as if you don’t wish with every fibre of your being that you could all just go off to bed together, right now, and everything could be alright. And now Jennifer looks at you, this is unmistakably your cue to say something beyond a wafer-thin pleasantry over your real feelings. “Rhea, that time, the other night, before Jen got back-”

“I hope I wasn’t too rough with you,” says Rhea fondly, and touches your chest.

“Rhea, I-” Did you really say no? Did you even, actually, say that? “I asked you to stop.”

“That,” what crosses her face now is the kind of horror you have become so familiar with, and now greet as an old friend, “I thought that was part of the game.” No, this is past whatever petty guilt you ever felt over betraying Jennifer, she looks distraught. And then she looks at the knife Jennifer set down on the table, and as Jennifer squirms she breaks down in tears.

“Rhea…” begins Jennifer.

Rhea reaches out for her hand – but then, as if struck by some fresh pang of pain, collapses and sprawls on the floor, face screwed up. She sniffles for a moment, then cries out again, hardly even words, just grief. When she finally struggles up off the carpet, all she can say is “I’m sorry.”

“You raped my boyfriend, Rhea,” says Jennifer, but with none of the fury she’d had about it only minutes ago. Now it’s like she’s trying to get the facts down.

“I – oh, God – I didn’t mean to,” Rhea insists, voice shaking, still looking at the floor. “I genuinely thought that it was – I never meant to hurt you.” She’s found your hand, she clutches it, tight, it does hurt slightly. And as she does, you see Jennifer look down at her, with a little smirk of satisfaction.

“It’s like I say,” you say, trying to get some circulation back into your fingers, “we were talking about rough sex, and, and that as a fantasy, and stuff.”

Rhea tugs your arm, now you are down on the floor with her. She stares into your soul with red eyes and commands you “Do not make excuses for me. Do not do that, you have done nothing wrong, and, and I…” She wails again, and buries her head in your shoulder. Because she is twice your size this quickly ends up with you on your back, and her on top of you, again. “Please don’t,” she’s saying now, “please don’t.”

“Rhea,” Jennifer attempts, “Rhea, get off him.”

Rhea gets clumsily to her feet. “Maybe,” she snuffles, “maybe you should. I don’t even understand whether…” She presses her fist to her mouth – then throws her arms wide. “Go ahead, stick me. I want you to do it.”

From down on the floor, you do see Jennifer look at the knife. But she only says “Rhea, come on.”

“No! No, do it! I don’t want to hurt you any more, I don’t want to do that! I don’t want – fucking stick me!”

You manage to stand up. You take the knife from the table – and, trying desperately to ignore the shouts and tears swirling around you, you walk it back into the kitchen and put it firmly back in the block. Then you rejoin the two women in your life, and say “Sit down.” It’s quite a relief when they do. Rhea’s still sniffling, wiping the tears from her face, and by now Jennifer is as well. “Look. I’m glad we’re taking this stuff seriously. But,” you haven’t prepared for this, you can feel the wing and the prayer, “we can’t – we’re waving knives around, something has gone wrong.”

“I’m sorry,” repeats Rhea, doubled over in her seat, clutching at Jennifer, the woman she’d asked to plunge a knife into her chest seconds earlier.

“I’m sorry too,” says Jennifer, and squeezes Rhea’s hand. “I just got so angry.” It comes out of her mouth as a bubble.

“Alright,” you nod. “In all honesty, I didn’t really mind. I just think we all need to be a bit more...a bit more careful, and a bit more considerate, of each other.” They nod at you, gazing at you with their big, puffy eyes, and that breaks your heart a little, so you sit down between them and say “Come here” and hold them both close. You can get your arm the whole way around Jessica.

“Thank you,” whimpers Rhea, so near to you it rustles the fine hairs in your ear. “I,” she swallows in the way of desperately trying to keep control, “really didn’t realise you wanted me to stop. I thought we were just having fun.”

“Well, I have to look at it this way,” you say, “if there’s anyone in the world I’d rather be raped by, she’s right here.” You give Jennifer a squeeze. There’s some gasps and then some laughs, and you thank God you got the tone right on that one.

*

Before long Rhea is on top of you again, her tongue down your throat. When she pulls it back to bite at your lips you manage you blurt out “Rhea, I’m going to come.”

“Oh, cool!” she says – and she tightens her grip of Jennifer’s hair, and pulls the smaller woman’s mouth free from your cock. Then she grabs you and starts working you over, you imagine yourself as a cow being milked. “What do you think?” Rhea asks Jennifer, as she gasps for breath. “You want his come in your face?”

“Yes,” she gasps, strings of drool hanging from her lips, “oh fuck, yes” and so when Rhea twists her hand around the head of your cock you give it to her, not able to help yourself, you hose her down. A jet across her cheek, into her mouth, then in her eye, and she tries to turn away, spluttering. Then Rhea forces her back onto your cock, or at least towards it now her mouth’s closed a bit, and you see the struggle there, and then she rests against you with a contented “Mmm.”

“Good girl,” says Rhea, and gives Jennifer’s head a little shake before pulling up to her feet. But this isn’t by the hair, she’s still holding Jen’s hair but the hand you’ve just defiled is on Jen’s arm as well, bearing her weight. Rhea gets in close, holding Jen tight, and whispers to her “One day I’m going to make him take your cute little ass”, then takes a long lick of her face, where your come landed, halfway cleaning her up. “How’d you feel about that?”

Jennifer’s head lolls back, she looks sideways at Rhea, unable to form words. When they finally come out it’s “That sounds really exciting”, and it’s coupled with a hopeful glance towards you, “you talking about that makes me wet.”

Rhea laughs, and throws Jen down on the couch beside you. Immediately she wriggles into your grasp, happy. Then Rhea swears. “Is that the time? Ah, God, I’ve got some promo or other in an hour. Amuse yourselves, won’t you?” She ducks into her room. You’ve hardly got your breath back when she re-emerges, now in black latex from thigh to chest. Jen stiffens up at this striking sight, and so do you. Rhea dips her head shyly. “Don’t wait up. Actually, do.”

And then the door closes, and then you are alone with your girlfriend.

“Are you really okay with that?” you ask her.

“Sure,” she says, and nuzzles into your bare chest, sticking only slightly.

“I wasn’t sure if that was something you’d like.” What is the polite way to broach the subject of anal sex, anyway?

“I don’t know. Might be fun.”

“If you’d like we could try it right now.” The way she smiles up at you forces you to offer the pragmatic adjustment of “Well, in ten minutes or so.”

The time passes quickly. In lieu of real lubricant, you steal one of Rhea’s watermelon-sized tubs of body oil. And although it seems more traditional to do this from behind, you lay Jennifer down on her back, so you can see her face, because you love her.

“Should I wash up first?” she asks, and she must be nervous, because you see her clench.

“I figure we’d wash afterwards anyway,” you shrug. God, she is nervous. She’s trembling as you take a handful of lube, before you’ve even touched her, you say “I’m going to put it on you now, okay?” as if this will somehow make it better. It seems somehow mechanical when you spread it over her ass, though this is partially you working up the courage to put it where it actually needs to go. When your slicked-up finger touches her there she gasps, so it’s very gently that you work it inside, barely even past the tip. “How’s that?” you ask, looking anxiously down at her.

Jennifer is biting her lip, and just nods, all wide-eyed.

You assume the position, and grease up your cock, so thoroughly that you get the tops of your legs too, it all looks very shiny between you and Jen so hopefully this will work. You read in a book once that one of the biggest pitfalls is to jam up against the perineum, so you are careful to avoid that, and aim directly into her ass before you start to push.

It’s not the way you imagined. Once you’re in past that initial tight spot it’s not the clenching all-encompassing core of her being you’d faintly imagined it would be, as you poke around that softer tissue it really does seem like all those vulgar sayings about rearranging your partner’s guts. You work yourself in slowly and awkwardly, and say “I hope this doesn’t hurt for you.”

Jen looks up at you winsomely, your come dried up on her face. “The thing is I – ah – hoped it would, not bad or anything, not like that. But, to sort of, make it a sacrifice, a sort of ultimate gesture of…” She trails off as her hand drifts in towards you and she starts to masturbate. “I hope you make it hurt just a little more.”

So you squeeze yourself inside, the way you would trying to resist the urge to use the bathroom, and push harder. It seems self-defeating, you don’t want to hurt her, and it doesn’t seem like you do, she just squirms and makes little noises that might be faint discomfort but are more likely desire.

It feels, and you are revolted at conceiving of Jen in such a manner, like the time you tried to masturbate with a plastic ring when you had not long discovered the practice. But you were a young boy, and that was more than enough, and here, with your pretty girlfriend splayed out in front of you this is more than enough to have you dancing on the point of orgasm already.

You bring her left leg up, against your chest and your face, and you take hold of it. It’s for greater leverage, you tell yourself, she said she wanted it to be forceful, as you cling onto her thigh like a bush baby and rest your face in the softness of her calf.

“Oh yeah,” she says, in a low guttural way you’re surprised to have conjured, “yeah, keep going, rape my virgin ass.” Should this stop you in your tracks? Because it doesn’t, it makes you go at her harder, she’s prompting you, she must be, when she adds “keep raping my fucking asshole” you slow down and lean past her leg.

“Is – is this okay?” you ask.

“Yeah,” she says, her eyes glitter at you.

“Alright, I’ll go a bit rougher, I just don’t want to hurt you,” and you don’t, of course you don’t, but when she grabs your arm and pulls you see the shock cross her face as you fully enter her. For a second you really are worried, before her wide-eyed alarm melts into hazy bliss. And you find yourself going all the way in and out, so her tightest spot will squeeze around the head of your cock, it’s selfish but you still give her what she wants, exactly what she wants by the sounds of it.

When you do it this way, even as slick and sloppy as you both are all lubed up, you find you need to really push, to put some force in your hips each time you penetrate her again. When you do, she takes short, sharp breaths of shock, it shouldn’t really be a surprise by now, but still you worry she won’t like it. And she, in her turn, puts a hand on her pussy and starts scrubbing away at her clit. This time, as you dive back in, she gives a little mewl, almost of pain, and to your horror the sound nearly gets you off there and then.

*

Later, Jennifer comes up behind you in the kitchen, and hugs and squeezes you, and says “I’m still really worried about Rhea raping you.”

You find her hand and squeeze her back. “God, you break my heart sometimes. We’ve talked this through, we know it’s not going to happen again.” Is this, you wonder somewhere deep and dark, a resolution to simply go along with it next time? Is that kind of what you wanted anyway?

“I know,” says Jen, sounding as if she might stamp her foot, “I know we’ve talked it over and we’ve set boundaries, and she is sorry, I know she is, but I just kind of – I find that – when you’re in the moment and things are happening, and when you’re turned on,” her hand drifts up your chest onto your neck, “suddenly the rules aren’t really there any more – do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” you say, faintly distracted. “Yeah, I do get that, and sometimes I get worried too, that I might be pushing you into something that you’d prefer not to do.”

“So I had this idea, for how I could keep you safe.” She puts something on the table in front of you, a metal device with a lock and keys dangling from it, which you know is a chastity cage. “I know we’ve talked about this before.” It’s true, you have, somehow it came up as a topic one long night and you sort of showed your hand by explaining what it is and what it’s for, and yes, you did tell her the idea excited you but you said it as a half-joke, like something you’d never do for real, and you both had some fun talking about how it would stop you from cheating on her. Which had seemed so unlikely at the time.

“I don’t think this is really necessary.” It excited you then, it excites you now, yet still you’re worried what she’ll think of you if you go for it. There’s all the associations, for one thing, all those fairly extreme and often quite racist things the pornographers throw in with it, that seem to have very little to do with the fun power dynamics of having a woman lock your penis away. “Honestly, I think Rhea’s scared of what you might do.”

“I know, I still feel so awful about that, and that’s sort of played into this – it would really set my mind at ease, if I knew you were safe. Plus,” her voice turns lower and breathier, “it gives me a little thrill, too. I could, I could sort of tease you with the keys, and make you ask permission before you can even get properly hard. But obviously we could unlock it, whenever we...I’m sorry, that probably sounds so weird.” That is more or less what you’d hoped for as a wildest dreams best case scenario.

“I do worry about-” you stop yourself in your tracks. There is no way, in this context, to say you are concerned for how Rhea will feel about this. This is, after all, a throwing down of the gauntlet, a declaration that you’re not allowed to have sex with Rhea unless Jen says so, which, to be honest, also squares nicely with that best case scenario. “You’re not going to make me dress up like a girl, are you?”

Jen giggles, and grabs you. “You’d make a terrible girl.” You laugh at that too. “No, that wouldn’t be any fun, and besides, we’ve already got two mixed up in all this, that’d just be more of the same.” This is, though you couldn’t bear to admit it, a big relief. “And obviously I’d let you have the key any time you wanted, all else being equal I wouldn’t want to add another step into the whole process. It’s just a precaution, but it’s one that – well, that I hope we could make sexy and fun.”

You smile, even if only to yourself. Not for anywhere near the first time, you reflect that you don’t deserve her. “I hope we can too.”

“So – so you’re alright with this?” Yes, Christ, how will it have been for her, actually raising the question? She is, at least, clearly confident that you’re no domestic abuser.

“Sure,” you say, turning to face her, “anything to make you feel better,” as if you’re not into this too. She concusses you slightly when she jumps up to kiss you. Then she kneels, to pull your pants down, accompanying herself with little ‘ooh’s and ‘hee-hee’s which seem all too appropriate in the circumstances. It’s when she cups your balls, holding them and your cock in her hand, that you realise the gravity of it being a metal cage. A plastic one, you could find a way to break it if it came to it, and there was always the insane fantasy of being so penile-ly powerful that you could get an erection hard enough to rend it asunder. But there’s no arguing with metal.

The steel ring is the first part to chill your skin, neatly separating your genitals from the rest of your body. Jen looks up at you from on her knees, no words, just a look that threatens to break your heart again. You’ve already worked up a half-chub so she can’t simply slip the cage on over your cock, she has a bit of a struggle with it, you try desperately not to get any more aroused but she’s literally touching you there.

“Let me,” you say, and when you take hold of the cage yourself she rises gracefully and kisses you full on the cheek, you try your best to ignore that. It takes a minute or two, some deep breaths, some scatterbrain attempts to think of anything else and a firm bite of your own cheek, but yes, there it is, it’s on. Jen swoops back down again to loop the padlock through the two parts, and then there is a click.

“God, that sounded…” muses Jen, suddenly breathless herself. Then she kisses you again, on the cage, and you feel half of it. “I hope you feel safer.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Halfway confused, halfway horny, suspicious of her motives and guilty over the suspicion. But then, what’s new?

#rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley x you #rpf #rhea ripley fanfiction #rhea ripley smut

[ynmnrmt]

You & Me & Rhea Makes Three: Chapter 6

rhea ripley x m!reader x m!reader's girlfriend

word count: 3,831

warnings: explicit sexual content, themes of domination/submission, dubiously consensual nonmonogamy, nonconsensual sex

a/n: So, I could flannel and wring my hands here and claim there's a grey area, but I'm not going to - this chapter contains an explicit rape scene which I am presenting as erotic material. I'm not fucking around here, I'm stating this clearly for the benefit of you the reader, if you don't like the sound of that do not read on. If, on the other hand, you do like the sound of that, then SMASH THAT KEEP READING

(The story so far: chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five)

Jennifer is away for work. Another dreary training seminar in the middle of nowhere. She always apologises as she recounts it all for how boring it all is, be it a word association game about customer retention, or sitting in a circle to pass a ball back and forth which somehow represents customer satisfaction, or even attempting to collectively manifest customer relations.

“It’s the ball one again,” she confesses, framed awkwardly in your phone, so that it looks like she is looking up at you from the upside-down world. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take, I need to find something better than this.”

“You’ll be back by the end of the week,” you say, in a cheery hand-on-the-shoulder way.

“And I know we said we were going to have phone sex,” even having negotiated it at length you do have a little tingle of surprise to hear her say it, “but they booked us all double rooms. We’re all fucking paired up, I don’t have a minute to myself.”

“I wish,” you say, and mean it, “I could reach through the screen and hold you in my arms and make everything better.”

In the background as you say this, the door rattles and Rhea walks in, glowing from her run. “Is that Jen?” she mouths – then, without waiting for a reply jumps into view next to you. “Hey, sexy,” she waves hello, then sing-songs “missing you” and pulls your phone up to her face to give the screen a sloppy wet kiss.

“Hey, Rhea,” says Jennifer, still downcast and tired. “God, I wish you guys were here. We’d find a way to fit in a double room, obviously.” You and Rhea both chuckle at that. Her arm is pressed against yours, damp with sweat, it is all too apparent she has been for a run – and it makes your heart beat faster, remembering the long hot summer when the water and electricity were off. Then Jennifer is distracted. “Oh hell, I’m sorry, I have to go. The counting mung beans workshop just started. I’ll speak to you soon. Try not to have too much fun without me.”

“Love you,” you say.

“Love y-” adds Rhea, but then the call cuts off. “Oh, poor thing.” She plucks at her neckline, takes a whiff of herself, and jerks her head back. “God – excuse me!” And she repairs off to the shower, even though you don’t mind at all and tell her so, the dark stains on the back of her shirt define the muscles underneath so beautifully it doesn’t even occur to your lizard brain to look at her ass until she’s already out of the room.

Try not to have too much fun, the words rattle in your mind. Jennifer has gone off to this tedious seminar, leaving you alone with your other girlfriend, and worse still is being so impossibly nice about it all. You clench a fist and pound the couch – you don’t wish you were there with her, you wish she was back here, happy and safe. Yes, and you also wish you earned enough that constant horrible work outings didn’t have to be part of her life.

You resolve to have all the things she likes waiting for her on her return, a great elaborate gesture, anything to try and show the depths of your feelings. All the pillars and domed roofs of your grand design turn into fog when Rhea emerges from the shower, fresh and pink in just a towel, to skip through to her room. That image, her shy little smile as she clutches the towel to herself, remains burned into your consciousness long after she comes back through, dressed now, and flops on the couch next to you to cool off.

“I wish we were there with her too,” she muses, head back on the cushions. “We could cheer her up. Not like that,” she adds, and gives you a playful shove, even though you neither said anything nor changed your demeanour in any way.

“They don’t make you go on any awful training days, do they?” you ask.

“There’s enough health and safety shit. It’s not like it was.” Yes, there’s one you can nod sagely at, because nothing’s like it was. She’s spread out next to you, still warm from the shower, and you try not to let it distract you, but through the material of her quite conservative shorts, you can make out the shape of her vulva. “Ah, I can’t wait till Jen’s back – although I do like it when it’s just us. Sometimes, it’s sort of like we’re cheating on her.”

“Yeah,” you reflect.

“But we’re not, obviously.”

“See, sometimes I worry about where exactly the lines can be drawn, and-”

“Oh, I think I pulled something,” groans Rhea, and plops her leg in your lap. “Would you rub my calves?” It would be rude to say no, that’s what you tell yourself, but you barely need the prompt to put your hands on her. And when you do it’s not even a rub but more of a squeeze, a grope, hungry grabs at her body and her tattooed flesh – but this seems to do the job, because she swivels around in her seat to throw her other leg over you too.

“Look, Rhea,” you say, now doing something to the muscles of her calf that’s between a massage and a gentle pull, trying to get back to the point, “Jen’s really special to me, and-”

“And to me!” Rhea sits forward, in wholehearted agreement. “If she was here, you could take a leg each, instead of you having to do them both yourself.” You can’t even object to the simple purity of the idea. “You know I would never do anything to hurt her, right?” And you nod, there’s no polite way to question that. “So obviously I’d never cheat on her, just like you wouldn’t, but, um, sometimes it’s fun to pretend, you know? I hope she’s thinking about us right now, I hope we can at least cheer her up that way.” Her legs are like an unimaginably comforting blanket, right over your lap.

“I hope so too,” you say vaguely, as you try to shift so she doesn’t notice your hard-on, then you make the complete wrong move and bump it into her.

“See,” she says, as if she’s about to share a secret, “I know how much you love her, you’ve got a boner just talking about her.”

“She’s very special,” you reply, wanting to hang your head in shame.

“She’s perfect,” says Rhea, now she’s got her arms around you, she’s crept closer so it’s her thighs across you, but she’s not actually sitting in your lap and you really have your doubts that would work. As your erection tries to winkle its way between her legs, she muses on “I’ve honestly never been happier, than I have with you guys...and I was proud to wreck that guy who tried messing with you.”

Immediately you feel awkward, far more awkward than you did simply poking at her. Three of them, there had been, and Rhea went for them without a second’s hesitation. “I’m sorry I didn’t do anything there,” you say, and squeeze her thigh like a child, hoping for forgiveness.

“Oh, sweetie, no, you don’t need to be – look,” she says, she sweeps her legs down and comes forward to look you in the eye, “I know when most people say this stuff, they’re just saying it, but I genuinely don’t believe you’re obliged to act in a certain way because of your gender. I really don’t.” And she gives you the sweetest smile, for a moment you cannot bear to meet her gaze. “Besides,” she adds, “I get a bit of a thrill showing I’m stronger than men.”

“Oh,” you react, unable to even try and conceal your own excitement.

“And the thing is,” she says, gently taking your hands in hers, “it’s for exactly all those reasons that I say I reject, all those gender conventions – which I guess makes me the biggest hypocrite in the world.”

“No, you’re not,” you insist, for reasons that have nothing to do with the actual question. “And – and I hope you never feel anything less than perfectly feminine.” Which is probably the wrong thing to say, but you squeeze her hands, and she squeezes yours back and beams – and then she grips them hand and brings them up over your head. You fall back and now she’s on top of you.

“One of the things I always felt was really unfair,” she husks, the cloud of her hot breath making your head spin, as she gets both your hands gripped firmly in one of hers, “is how, in a lot of places, legally speaking women can’t rape men – which is just nonsense.”

“Yeah, i-it’s just stupid,” you agree too quickly, and it’s true, you always thought that was profoundly unjust on the face of it, though any outrage you felt was eclipsed by the little twinge it gave you imagining yourself in that scenario. Your cock is still pressed excruciatingly against her legs, but now it’s from the front, and again you squirm to try and make it better and make it a hundred times worse. It was a crazy thought anyway, it was hardly even a thought, obviously there’s no escape from her goddess-thighs – and if there was, could you bring yourself to take it?

“And I imagine the worst part is when they do get an erection,” she says in an irresistible, candlelit voice, “and they worry that on some level they did want it – which is bound to get really confusing if, like a lot of people, they have secret fantasies about someone they like doing that to them. I know I do.”

“I would be happy to help you with that,” you say immediately, any filter between mind and tongue long gone. She giggles affectionately.

“How about you?” she asks, as she dances from side to side on her hands and knees over you, swaying gently from left to right and back again. “What if Jen just grabbed you and held you down sometime?” You daren’t answer, but then you don’t need to, not when you dig further into her thigh. “And obviously, she,” Rhea’s lips brush along the length of your face, it seems like it’s random, yes, and your erection is probably completely random too, “if you really wanted her to stop, she would, because she loves you.”

“But I couldn’t bear to ask her,” you casually confess, “not by that point,” and Rhea laughs in understanding fashion in a way that makes you laugh along with her, yes, neither of you could stand to deny her, not in that situation. Then, showing amazing skill with her one free hand, she’s unzipped your trousers and takes hold of your cock. “Wait,” you say, not saying no, just asking her to wait, “wait, Rhea, Jen’s not here-”

“Oh, I know,” she sympathises, as she eases down her shorts that barely concealed anything anyway, “but let’s pretend she is.”

“Rhea, seriously, wait-” and now she kisses you, properly, not an ounce of force behind it, just her mouth against yours. You squirm, you burn internally, in this moment you don’t love anyone quite as much as you love her. You even try to break out of the iron grasp of her hand around your wrists, you know she’s stronger than you, and maybe you didn’t really want to anyway. Then she moves and then you are inside her.

“You make me so wet when you wriggle,” she says, and she’s telling the truth, all you can see is the devilish delight on her face and the halo of light around it. Her next forceful kiss is a lick at first, up across your cheek while she fucks you, but your lips end up locked with hers all the same.

“Please,” you say, when your mouth is free of hers, “stop – help -” and all the while her hips bang against you, as if drawing poison from a wound, you do not want to call it rape even in your own head because it feels so good. The way she presses down on you, the way she squeezes you, of course you don’t resist.

“Oh fuck – oh fuck,” Rhea wails, her lip draws against your face with the worlds, she’s hardly even holding your wrists any more. In fact, she gives up on that and just takes hold of your arms with both hands, because “I love holding you this way – doesn’t it feel so sensual?” As she keeps going you hear something break in the couch and her vulnerability makes your heart run liquid, you feel bad at having resisted at all.

“Rhea,” you try not to choke, “I don’t want this-”

“Oh sweetie, I don’t want it to end either, I’m so close already – please, hold out a little longer for me, please do that for me,” it seems like every word is punctuated with the light headbutt of her kissing you again. Because you love her you do hold on, as best you can without use of your hands, you bite your lip and project mental energy in any other direction, you feel your spine warp, and when she cries out with joy you can no longer resist and go off, torrential inside her. But her magnificent form doesn’t stop moving, the way she goes up and down your cock isn’t even slowed, perhaps it’s sheer momentum but more likely every lap she’s run and weight she’s lifted paying off. And as she keeps riding you and keeps enjoying it, the pain of her using a part of you that doesn’t want to be used, that, that is the finest feeling in the world.

*

You lie together afterwards, Rhea’s still on top, she sewing-machines the side of your neck with tiny pecks that are gentler than seems possible from her. “You’re perfect,” she confesses, in her post-sex flush that makes her seem flawless herself. “And the best part is, we know this is all okay. I know you worry about this, but Jen isn’t going to mind, not really.”

“Mm-hm,” you say, still not really convinced and muffled by Rhea’s hair anyway.

“I still feel all tingly thinking about it.” Yes, to be sure, you do too. “Obviously if we didn’t want it, that would be monstrous – but we did, so it’s just a fun, sexy thrill. I mean, if I thought I’d hurt you or something, I couldn’t forgive myself. Not for that.”

Immediately you conceive of this as the cruellest sort of manipulation. But deep down, you know it isn’t, not really, because you had wanted it, maybe not with a completely clear conscience, but you had, you’d burned for it. You squeeze her big, fabulous body, and for a moment you see her smile, as if she is blocking out the sun. Then she rests her head on you, between your chest and your shoulder, a gesture at normality that must have her long legs hanging off the end of the couch.

There’s a noise, a twinkle. It’s your phone. With Rhea on top of you, it’s some struggle to get your fingers into your pocket, but eventually you manage it. When you see Jen’s name pop up on the screen, there’s the familiar dread, the feeling that finally the other boot is about to drop. “What does our girlfriend say?” Rhea asks sweetly.

When you open the message, Jennifer hasn’t actually said anything. The message is a picture, her naked in striking moody light, the tangled bedsheet nearly covering one of her breasts. She hasn’t shown any of her face above the mouth, a sensible precaution, but at least now she looks as if she’s enjoying herself. You look at her arms, her stomach, soft and rounded where Rhea’s is hard, and not for the first time you wish she was here.

“Hello, hello,” says Rhea, you can feel the smirk twist her face. There’s another twinkle, and a text from your girlfriend pops up reading maybe you can pretend I’m there as well. God, how you’d love to. “Aww...she might just break my heart one day,” and Rhea’s lips are so close to yours that when she says it, your mouth moves too.

“She’s so pretty,” you say longingly, perhaps this moves Rhea’s mouth as well, and you want to cry but know you cannot show that weakness.

“Maybe, um, maybe we should go again? For her?” Her fingers rest lightly on your chest, but there’s no way in hell you could move them.

*

You had thought, an entirely theoretical but perfectly plausible grand plan, that you would greet Jennifer with a smorgasbord of all the things she likes. There would be the white chocolate cookies, and beer on ice – not wine, she feels faintly obliged to drink that on special occasions but you know what she’d choose given the chance. You’d have queued up one of those documentaries on Bigfoot hunters, yes, of course you and she would show up in the viewing figures the same as a genuine nut, but the craziness is still fun. And you’d have wrapped her up in a blanket and ordered in whatever takeout her little heart desired.

When Jennifer opens the door, she sees you on the couch, slimy with sweat and gasping for breath, wearing a t-shirt but no trousers or underwear, that least dignified form of nudity. She barely has time to put her suitcase down before Rhea creeps up from the side and snarls “You have no idea how much we missed you”, and grabs the front of her shirt. There is one sharp tug, the buttons spray everywhere, and for a moment she looks scared, horrified even – but that only lasts until Rhea bows her head and rubs her face in amongst Jennifer’s breasts.

“Oh!” flutters Jennifer. “Oh, Rhea…” And she shoots you the same sort of guilty glance you know you’ve given her more than once.

“And I missed these, too – come on, come sit with us,” though there’s no real request about it, Rhea scoops Jennifer up in her arms, and it seems as if they share a long slushy bonding look – but scarcely a second in Rhea throws her down on the couch, and you manage to scrabble out of the way just in time. Then you clutch her, protectively, though there’s no kind of protection you know how to offer that could stop Rhea as she flops her whole weight down on Jennifer’s other side.

“I’m glad you’re back,” you tell Jennifer, and for a while she doesn’t stop saying how much she loves you – pressing her face into your neck, as if something’s wrong. “H-” you gather yourself a little, “how was the – thing?”

“I’m fucking sick of it all,” she says, still nestled within you. “The whole time I was just thinking about being back here. With you.”

You find her hand and hold it tight. “You’re safe now,” you say gently.

“Yeah,” adds Rhea, “we’ve got you.”

“Have – have you two just been fucking, the whole time I’ve been away?” asks Jennifer. There’s no judgement in it, just curiosity, but it still goes straight to the black pit of your stomach.

“Not the whole time,” teases Rhea.

“You sent that picture,” you say, “it set us off,” and while this is true as you say it you know that it is a lie. And now you have the painful realisation that you never even sent a reply – but Jennifer giggles in response.

“There was one thing,” she adds, immediately you are in that intense, bottomless state of not knowing where this is going. “I did think – well, we’re not, Rhea, you don’t want children, right?”

Rhea runs a hand over her rock-hard stomach, as if imagining it swollen by pregnancy, and shrugs “Could be a novelty act, I don’t think it’s been done before.” Then she thinks, and says “There’s a reason for that, of course.”

“See, I just think,” Jennifer falters, she’s looking at you now, touching your chest, eyes full of hope, “I really wanted to – would you not come in her, any more?” And a nervous glance to Rhea with it.

“Yes!” you blurt out, faster than you’d meant to. “I mean, sure, if that’s what you want.”

Rhea gently takes Jennifer’s hands in hers, the muscles bulge in her arms but you can tell she’s not using any force here. “I have to ask,” she says, “is this about you wanting it all to yourself?” For a second, Jennifer is frozen. Then she nods, violently, all of her hair shaking with the motion. And Rhea’s expression softens, and she says “I’m so glad you said that. In fact, never mind that, I’m proud of you, I’m glad you’re setting a boundary. This whole time I’ve been worried that you’re just going along with all of this but really you haven’t actually liked it.”

“O-of course not!” insists Jennifer. Rhea smiles gently down at her, and kisses her gently on the cheek, another thing you really wish you’d done.

“Are you sure?” you ask her, and she gives you the same shaky, exaggerated nod she did before, but it’s the expression on her face that really gives you the answer.

“That’s good,” says Rhea, and brings her hands up to Jennifer’s shoulders, and starts to rub them gently. “Because in that case, I’ve got a surprise for you.” And she pulls Jennifer down, face-first, into her vagina, because of course she is not fully dressed either. “A nice sticky treat for you.”

Jennifer gives a little blocked “Hmph!” of surprise, but that gives way to the sloppier sounds of her tucking in to Rhea – and, yes, what Rhea took from you about half an hour ago. You goggle at them, not knowing what to think or do. Rhea looks fondly back at you, and with one hand in Jennifer’s hair reaches out to you with the other.

“I think she’d really like it-” Rhea begins – and then a little start, a flush, that shows Jennifer’s tongue has found a particularly soft area. She gathers herself and tries again, “I think you should do her from behind. Since she wants you so much.” And down between her thighs, there’s that frantic nod again.

You climb around behind Jennifer, and ease down her underwear – but before you do anything more you lean over her and whisper in her ear how much you love her, and how you want this to be good for her. Even when she says something that is of course muffled by Rhea’s vulva but sounds a lot like “fucking stick it in before I burst” it feels as if you are taking advantage.

#rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley x you #rpf #rhea ripley fanfiction #rhea ripley smut

[ynmnrmt]

You & Me & Rhea Makes Three: Chapter 5

rhea ripley x m!reader x m!reader's girlfriend

word count: 4,195

warnings: explicit sexual content, themes of domination/submission, dubiously consensual nonmonogamy, violence/threat

a/n: Despite the warning about violence/threat, this one is significantly more light-hearted than the last chapter. I mean, it's all fairly light-hearted, you should know that by know.

(The story so far: chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four)

You brush Jennifer’s hair – carefully, taking firm hold of each tress before you run the brush through it, so she won’t feel even the slightest tug. And even a little tug would be disastrous, when you consider that at the same time she’s doing her makeup, eyes flicking between the mirror and the tutorial on her phone. It’s supposed to be a natural look, and surely somewhere out there, there is someone who naturally has rosy cheeks and porcelain skin and eyelashes thicker and blacker than tar.

“Is it working?” she asks nervously.

“You look gorgeous,” you tell her, and you thought that all along but know this isn’t the time to say so. Buoyed by this, she takes the sponges to her face again with the delicacy of a safecracker. Even as the video squawks out exactly how to do it, it amazes you how she makes the tinge appear high on her cheekbones, maybe you were being unfair when you dismissed it as unnatural.

You decide to be good when you iron her polka-dot dress, you give it your complete and undivided attention even though she’s putting on her fancy lingerie somewhere in the background. Yes, you’ve seen it before, it doesn’t matter, it’s not as if it’s a sight that gets old. It seems there are so many ways for her to work the stockings up her leg, or to slot her breasts into – no, you tell yourself, you’re being good, focus on the ironing.

When the dress is as straight-line as it’s possible to be you bring it up and over her head. For a moment you worry this is going to ruin all the time she spent on her makeup, but when her face pops back out and smiles at you, it’s still the same immaculate construction she worked so hard on and you breathe a breath of relief you haven’t just smeared it all down her chest.

Jennifer seems about to say something, but it catches in her throat. You reflect that with her careful, natural makeup, it’s impossible to tell if she really is blushing. Without a word she passes you her ruby-red hairband, and when you take hold of it, her fingers touch yours, it’s the same thrill, the same electricity there was the first time. Carefully you fit the band around her head, letting two inky curtains of hair fall around her face, and she looks up at you and glows.

“Do I look like Bettie Page?” she asks, twirling round to see the whole effect in the mirror, and then just twirling.

“Yes, but significantly sexier,” you say, and mean it. When Jennifer showed you her reference pictures, sure, you could see the appeal, but at the same time you found yourself perturbed at all the ribs on show. She laughs, softly. You go down on one knee and kiss her hand, from her fingertips up to her wrist, then back again.

“Thanks for doing this with me,” says Jennifer, as she fumbles on the spot, not quite knowing how to receive your affection. “I just, it’s stupid, I’ve felt really unattractive lately.”

And now you’re on the back foot, desperately unsure what the right thing to reply is. “You should never feel like that,” you attempt, and it just sounds so empty.

There’s Rhea’s key in the door. You scramble to your feet, as if you’re worried about being caught in the act again. Surely, you attempt to delude yourself, with Jennifer made-up and perfect Rhea’s mere presence won’t distract you too badly. She comes in fanning herself, wearing jean shorts and her novelty ‘get down with the thickness’ shirt, clearly without a bra underneath it, and asks “Will this heatwave ever end?” - then she looks up and blinks and goes “Who is this?”

Jennifer giggles. “You’re not the only one who can wear a costume,” she says, far too delicate to be competitive.

“Jesus Christ, you look divine.” Rhea comes shoulder to shoulder with you, to adjust some imaginary fault of Jennifer’s dress, then she leans forward and moments before she would make contact, softly adds “I want to kiss you, but I wouldn’t want to muss your lipstick.”

“I don’t think it would,” Jennifer pushes back, “not too bad anyway.” She’s right, too, it’s neutral enough nobody would notice it was smeared, if it even did smear – it certainly doesn’t when Rhea swipes her thumb across it.

“You are so cute.” Rhea glances sideways at you with a smirk. “God, look at us next to her.” You hardly even need to look. The day’s effort, the warmth outside, rises off Rhea like a heat haze, you can feel the film of sweat on her arm, and it transports you to back to the half-light of the bedroom. And it’s not even as if she’s distracted you from Jennifer, it’s not that, it’s that both these women are here around you warping your mind with thoughts of all the things you’d like them to do to you.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” you tell Jennifer, and she wriggles in place as you go through the same bob towards her, wanting to kiss but not able to bring yourself to ruin her makeup. But you do stroke her hair, and hold her, too, with one arm, because Rhea’s in the way of the other one and you’d just end up holding her as well.

“Oh God – I’m sorry, I can’t resist-” Rhea manages before she’s grabbed Jennifer too, and kisses her, hard, one hand up behind her head so she couldn’t get away even if she wanted to. But you’ve been in that position and know she wouldn’t – the little yelp she produces is familiar aroused shock, not real objection.

When they break apart Jennifer’s makeup is mussed, her lip-toned lipstick is patchy and a little red spot of her blusher has ended up decorating Rhea’s smirking face. They both need to take a moment to get their respective breath back, and the sight makes your heart sing. But then Jennifer turns to look in the mirror, to see what damage has been done, and protests “No, you’ve ruined it now – you’ve messed it up, anyway – we were meant to be going out!”

You hold her from behind, and say “I can fix that,” and she hangs loose in your arms. All up the front of her dress you can feel, very faintly but present, patches of what can only be Rhea’s sweat.

“You,” adds Rhea, as she looms up on your shoulder, “shouldn’t have looked so sexy.”

“Yeah, but,” Jennifer attempts and tails off. She brushes a hand across her cheek, and admittedly the rouge is now dangerously mismatched. It’s still a look, but now it’s a dramatic statement of some sort. Then, as if a dam has broken quietly in her chest, her face screws up and she starts to cry. You just see the black lines start to trickle from her eyes before she spins back around into you and buries her face in your shoulder.

“Jen – hey, hey – come here,” again you want to slap yourself round the chops off the back of these flimsy platitudes. Still you do your best to soothe her. “It doesn’t matter. You still look gorgeous.” And yes, even the running mascara doesn’t put you of, though you wonder what exactly that says about you.

“I’m sorry,” she snivels, and you shake your head, aghast, what could have prompted this? “I’m sorry, I – when Rhea kissed me, I got wet.”

“Well, I mean,” you glance over at Rhea, who has the decency not to grin, but nowhere near the decency to look ashamed, “that’s alright, I don’t mind.”

“I betrayed you,” Jennifer insists, halfway into a bawl, as she pulls away you see there’s now multiple trails of mascara coming down her cheeks.

“No you didn’t,” you tell her firmly. Because surely, surely, if she has not betrayed you by enjoying a kiss with Rhea, then you could not have betrayed her. “Seriously, you didn’t, you have done nothing wrong. We’re in a kind of menage situation, and,” a motion at your elbow makes you cut yourself off with “Rhea, this really isn’t the-” but when you see she’s proferring a box of tissues you feel like the lowest sort of dirt. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” says Rhea, as you pluck out a tissue and try to mop up the worst of Jennifer’s rivers of mascara. “You were being all cute and I just barged in, like I always do. You shouldn’t need to feel ashamed of any of this. Ever.”

“S-so,” Jennifer says, and it’s some effort for her to say it, as she swallows hard you feel yourself well up a little too, “I think – I think we’re all sorry.” Now you laugh, you can’t help it, and when Jennifer grows a small smile you laugh properly, without any reserve or guardedness. Next to you Rhea laughs too, and you can feel the same sort of relief slough off her, that everything is alright again. “All this, when you’re both here and both, um, coming at me, it really turns me on. And, sometimes I don’t know what to do with all the feelings.”

This time you really think you have something. You step up and hold her close, and gently tell her “I’ve got you.” And you feel the trill of her wordless response on your next – just before Rhea comes up from behind and squeezes you both. With her pressing Jennifer into you, and her thick arms around you, inevitably you start to get hard. It rubs up against Jennifer through her clothes, the vibration of her giggle makes it strain. Then Rhea moves her arms down, from the way Jennifer moves her hips you can tell Rhea’s touching her ass, and for one terrible stomach-lurching second you dance on the edge of coming in your pants.

*

Luckily, you cool down a bit when you all sit down on the couch together. You’re still in the middle, but without anyone pressing up against your erection, it’s all a bit less knife-edge tense. Even if you did embarrass yourself in front of your girlfriends – yes, both your girlfriends, it’s still strange to think – they’d probably be nice about it, Rhea might laugh but there’d be no venom to it, poor Jen would blame herself if anything. But there’s still that horrible possibility.

While Rhea gets her tongue around the back of your teeth, Jennifer kisses her way up your arm. When she gets to your watch she stops suddenly, and says “Now we’re definitely going to be late”, in tones that might have been a warning or even a complaint if she wasn’t foggy with desire.

“You could still go like that,” says Rhea. Jennifer’s lipstick is now smeared halfway to her ear, but her mascara may yet beat it there. And her dress may be dark blue under the polka-dots, but the sweat stains from where Rhea held her are alarmingly obvious – with just a little imagination you can actually make out the outline of Rhea’s breasts. “You look irresistible.” Jennifer flushes, and stutters, and hardly gets part of a word out before Rhea goes in for a deep, hard kiss and ruins her makeup even more.

“Rhea’s right,” you say, consciously trying to get on the bandwagon, “you don’t need to be perfectly made-up to look beautiful, I never want you to feel like that.”

“Anyway, never mind your fancy-pants restaurant, I’ve got something you can both eat,” gloats Rhea, as she thumbs open the top button of her shorts. You reach for the next one, and when you find Jen’s hand already there you share a shy, nervous, pure smile.

“We’ve, um, had the reservation for months though,” Jennifer mumbles, mainly to herself, as she pulls at that second button.

“We,” repeats Rhea. “Oh, I – no, I get it.” And the bottom drops out of your stomach, she’s not even particularly upset, but even that is a spanner in the complex mechanism of your life.

“Oh Rhea, I didn’t think,” says Jennifer, guilt pouring from her as she sits up. “It really has been months, it was before, you know, us – we booked it in that period when you were barely here because you were on tour.” It comes gabbled out like a lie, but it’s all true, you remember all too well, Rhea sending friendly little messages along with her share of the rent, and how you’d felt guilty about that.

“You two should go,” you find yourself saying, it’s hardly a sacrifice anyway, and you want, oh how you want them to love each other the way you love them. “I don’t mind.” And you squeeze their hands – a hand each.

“No, come on, I,” Rhea’s actually slightly flustered by this, and seeing her get too warm, there’s your erection again, raising its head, “I know I’m the interloper here. You guys go, it’s fine.” Jennifer’s mouth opens and closes, and she looks helplessly between you both.

“You know the riddle with the grain, the chicken, and the fox?” you say, which at least makes them laugh. “Look, what about this, what if I call them and see if we can get another seat at the table?” It’s another of those brilliant ideas you find coming out of your mouth without much thought beyond it being a solution, and when they agree you find yourself actually having to face the horrendous ordeal of making a phone call. No, it’s alright, you tell yourself, and only sweat slightly as you listen to the ringer. “Hello, I’m – have a reservation.” And a cockle of your heart slams shut.

Rhea cradles Jen lightly in her arms as they watch you flounder. It’s not too bad, really, that is to say you do eventually manage to get out your name and the reason why you’re calling.

��No, I appreciate that it’s a small table, we’d be happy to just pull up an extra chair. Alright, in that case, fine, we’ll take the bigger table. I see. To be honest, in that case I don’t know why you’d suggest it in the first place. Would there be a bigger table available later on? Alright, I’m not trying to tell you your job, but in the course of your career you may well run into customers who for whatever reason it might be want to rearrange-” It’s at around this time the line goes dead. You turn to the girls. “I don’t think we still have a reservation.”

“You were very forceful,” says Rhea, and squeezes your hand, at once you feel like a flimsy little goblin and a world-beating he-man, all at the same time. “Although, where are we going to eat now?”

*

You go to the taco place you and Jennifer went to all the time when you first started dating. Somehow, you all manage to enjoy an evening that’s a quarter of the price.

“Well, cheers,” you say, raising a glass of the red that you suspect Mr. and Mrs. Salazar will refuse to accept a corkage fee for, and look between Jennifer in her smeared makeup and Rhea in her sweat-stained novelty shirt, and wonder, realistically, how any sort of fine dining experience is supposed to top this.

“I’ve never eaten these before,” Rhea insists, and presents her taco platter in much the same way a magician presents the right card, “I don’t know how.”

“I don’t believe you,” you tell her. But for all that you still end up feeding her, gently sliding a taco bit by bit into her mouth.

“I don’t know how to eat them either,” pipes up Jennifer. This quickly ends with salsa smeared all around her mouth, and Rhea laughing, what could have been a petty cruelty, what maybe really is, but what right now is just fun and happiness.

“Oops,” smirks Rhea, “you’ve got something there,” and she doesn’t even point, she simply pokes Jennifer in the face, and Jennifer laughs too. You roll your eyes, and huff in exaggerated fashion, and take a napkin to her mouth, which is made difficult when it just makes her laugh more.

You let them calm down. You take enough time for it nearly to be silent, apart from the faint sound of the radio piped through the restaurant. Then, you pick up a taco and say “I think I’m the only one who knows how to eat these,” and they fall about in their seats. Jennifer recovers her dignity just enough to take another bite of taco, but then the aftershocks get her, she laughs again and starts to choke and you have to give her a quick Heimlich manoeuvre, and even this doesn’t stain the mood.

When you go up to pay, cash of course, because you’re not going to let the card companies know what you’re up to and you’re certainly not going to stick the Salazars with the transaction fee, Mrs. Salazar looks you dead in the eye and says “Be careful.”

“What?” you react.

“This isn’t a judgement, modern times and all, and two girlfriends, good for you, none of my business really. Just, be careful.”

“Oh. Yeah, I know what you mean, it’s a tightrope walk.” Mrs. Salazar cocks an eyebrow at you, but says nothing, which in truth you are a little grateful for. And, you figure, God only knows a happily married Catholic will not want you to go into details about your own arrangement. You leave her a large tip, and also leave hurriedly.

On the way home three men lurch from an alley. One grabs your shirt and snarls something that sounds like “Leave some for the rest of us”. You have half the bottle of wine inside you, and the bottle itself in your hand. But before you can lift it, Rhea has turned the man’s wrist through a full circle – then she bashes his head against the wall. For a second you see blood before he crumples to the ground. His friends take a moment to compute this, then run for the hills.

Jennifer clutches you, frozen. The adrenaline in your veins spikes now, long after it would be of any practical use. Any shame you feel at having not defended her personally is outweighed completely by the arousal you feel when you look at Rhea – a step ahead of you, hands on her hips, not even breathing harder.

“You always say your day job is just showy glamour stuff,” you tease her.

“It’s like I say, it’s kayfabe,” she says. “It’s still throwing people around and hitting them very hard.” Even that gives you a twinge. One day you must learn what, exactly, that strange-sounding term actually means.

When you get home, you want to show your appreciation, so, feeling like the stealthiest and subtlest creature in the world, with your voice thick with wine you propose to Rhea “You know you said you had something else we could eat?”, and immediately her expression is one of delight. In your mind, you are expecting to be immediately manhandled to your knees and told to get to work, which you’re all too happy to do. Instead, she takes you by the hands, and for a moment dances with you, she steps back and forth and you follow. As you turn you see Jennifer over her shoulder, wearing an excited smile of her own.

You start to slump into Rhea’s embrace, and it’s now she physically sweeps you off your feet. She holds you out, horizontally, and as you begin to wonder how many women she’s done this to in a professional capacity she dumps you on the couch. Is it your imagination, or does she seem surprisingly clumsy as she pulls off her shorts, like her hands are shaking a little?

“God,” she mumbles, touching her stomach as she kneels across your face, “I can’t believe I ate so much cheese,” which isn’t necessarily the image you want going into this – but then, it’s been a full evening of eating tacos, and despite the popular euphemism already this is absolutely nothing like that. Never mind the taste, the texture...and now you really see what she meant about the heatwave. Still, looking up between the cleft of her thighs, up along the length of her stomach and her breasts since she has of course stripped off her shirt too, and finally to where she looks down on you from far above, you’ve never had an after-dinner treat quite this nice.

It must be only your eyes peeking out from under her, and she gazes dreamily down into them. But all the while underneath the surface you probe and prod in amongst the folds of her cunt, and watch carefully to see where gets the reaction – when you find a spot that makes her gasp you zero in on it like it’s the box with ten thousand dollars in – a description you immediately resolve to never, ever try using out loud. You suck at her, she squirms and her thighs press in on you from all directions, fuck ten thousand dollars, this is better.

You feel someone fumbling with your zipper, it can’t be Rhea, not unless her arms have suddenly turned three times longer. You couldn’t see Jen from down here anyway, but there is no other logical conclusion. Off come your trousers in one sharp sweep, then your underwear, which are more of a struggle as they negotiate your erection. Then you feel her mouth, soft and wet on your cock, and sincerely hope yours feels like this for Rhea.

Jennifer’s fingers curl around Rhea’s hips, you can feel it on your face. Rhea wriggles a little, and looks over her shoulder – the hard line of the cord in her neck is yet another detail that would be irresistible all on its own – and declares “Oh my God, look at her go!” over a background chorus of the sloppiest sounds Jennifer can possibly make. Rhea turns her gaze back onto you – but with one sculpted arm she reaches back, and when Jennifer slurps you up faster than before with a little squeak of surprise, you know Rhea’s got a hand on her head. It is immeasurably wonderful, being here helpless at the bottom of this ouroboros, but in the back of your mind is the thought that the ring is almost wholly completed by your body, Rhea’s body, and Rhea’s arm, with Jennifer only getting a look in.

For all your paranoid fantasies, though, she doesn’t feel like a lesser participant – her throat around your cock, your mouth on Rhea’s cunt, beyond those hot points nothing else in the world seems to matter. Much of your body floats in a void. You can get a glimpse out into reality, between Rhea’s thighs, but inevitably you prefer it in here.

With them on either end of you, perfect and lovely, you feel yourself reduced to a tube or conduit for sexual energy. It flows out of Rhea and into you, and then out again into Jennifer, that process doesn’t quite seem to track logically in your mind but it does not matter. That’s just a distraction, anyway, you focus, like you should be, on doing the things with your mouth that make Rhea make the most noise. Then Jen brushes you with her teeth and you cry out – it comes out “Mmmm!” - and Rhea writhes on top of you.

The soft touch of Jennifer’s tongue replaces the edge of her tooth, she laps and whirls and you do your best to replicate this for Rhea’s benefit until finally it pushes you over the edge. You cry out a warning, you try to be a gentleman about it, it comes out “Rhmmmf!” against Rhea’s pussy and you fill Jennifer’s mouth in a burst of passion.

Rhea must feel you unstiffen as the waves of release wash over you, because she climbs off, and then she grabs hold of Jennifer just as her lips leave your cock – one hand hard across her face, as if to stop her talking. But there’s nothing she can say, because her cheeks are gerbil-bulging with your sperm, she looks frantically between you both before her eyes soften and she gives one loud and pronounced gulp. When Rhea lets her go, she licks her lips.

“Your girlfriend,” says Rhea casually, as she squats next to you, close and intimate, “said she’d never really liked doing that. I told her she hadn’t found the right guy yet.” A part of you tenses up, the way you were before you’d come. It’s true, blowjobs haven’t been a big feature of your relationship with Jennifer, and that was the reason she gave.

“When,” you can’t put much force behind the words, but then you have just come in Jennifer’s mouth, “when were you talking about this?”

“When you were paying up,” says Jennifer. As she says it she’s gone back to your cooling cock, to nuzzle at it and give it warm-down kisses.

#rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley x you #rpf #rhea ripley fanfiction #rhea ripley smut

[ynmnrmt]

You & Me & Rhea Makes Three: Chapter 4

rhea ripley x m!reader x m!reader's girlfriend

word count: 6,348

warnings: explicit sexual content, rough sex, themes of domination/submission, dubiously consensual nonmonogamy, domestic violence, foot stuff, armpit stuff

a/n: Unlike the jokey viewer discretion warning over the last chapter, if you are disturbed or upset by any of the subjects mentioned in the warnings - and here I'm mainly thinking about the DV, not the paraphilias - then please, seriously consider whether you really want to click that 'read more' or not.

(The story so far: chapter one, chapter two, chapter three)

You are in the fully equipped home gym which was installed at great expense in a formerly unused annex of the apartment, lifting hard. It has been a journey, but you finally think you’re doing it right, these days you do not view the motions as something detached and external to you, but instead have your mind go out to the muscles, there and conscious as the weights go up, and still there as they go down too.

You check yourself out in the full-length ballet mirrors in what might be described as gender euphoria, and smile slightly. There is some muscle to your body, and noticeable, too, noticeable for other people and not just from the inside. Certainly you could do more, obviously you could, but still you think this is progress you can be proud of. And you do want to look good for Jennifer, not to mention keep fit enough for her.

A grunt from next to you makes you turn your head. Somehow you’d missed this while gazing into the mirrors, but now Rhea’s in the room. She does curls, and each of her huge biceps manages to hoist about the same weight you’ve just been benching. The veins bulge in her arms, she puffs out the effort as the weights go up again, and you gradually realise the inescapable fact that you’re staring.

With another grunt she lets the weights fall, not to the floor, just hanging in her hands. She glances at you and says “You can go another set.”

It’s not an order, not even a suggestion, just a statement of fact, because yes, you could definitely do another, and of course you want to look good for Jennifer, that is the goal here after all. So immediately you’re back on the bench and your arms tremble as you thrust the bar upward. It quickly returns to the state of mind when you bargain with yourself, this is enough, you can stop after this one, but then with a glance at Rhea you’re suddenly inspired to keep going to the end.

You emit a few undignified grunts of your own when you finally bring the bar back into rest, and then sit up slumped on the bench. Rhea turns her head to you, each curl an effort but still she manages them comfortably, and between breaths she says, slightly musically, “You can do another one.”

“No I can’t,” you gasp, and she chuckles. The sweat lashes off you as if you’re in a thick winter coat. You can practically feel it as a miasma that extends two inches from your actual body. Meanwhile the slight sheen on her neck and shoulders simply looks appetising. And much as you’d like to get in another set, with the vague idea it’d impress her even as she makes the same thing look easy, you could feel your arms ready to give way with that last press, that was definitely your limit.

“I just find it’s nice to have someone encouraging you, and spurring you on,” Rhea smiles. Maybe it’s this that inspires you to shift over to one of the machines, you can at least not have to be one of those people who skips leg day. And now Rhea does squats, which turn her already spectacular ass into a vision from God, even with your blood rushing to your legs you’re getting a hard-on. She glances at you, as you watch her, and chides “Not now!”

“I couldn’t help it,” you protest. “Also, I don’t know what you mean.” She laughs away, still going, you don’t have the breath to join in. A string in your thigh has started to feel like piano wire. Meanwhile Rhea glows in front of you, she moves as if it’s nothing, and there in the mirror she shoots you the same little smile of encouragement, you half expected a superior smirk, she’s earned it after all, but no, she’s silently willing you to keep going.

When you finally crawl off the machine, that wired-up leg halfway buckles underneath you. You weren’t going to fall over, probably not anyway, but you’ll never find out – Rhea has moved fast to support you, one hand up behind your shoulders and her other in the small of your back, like she’s dipped you in the ballroom. Your erection had basically subsided, you’d dared to dream you could stop thinking about it, now it’s twitched curiously to life again and the swell in your shorts is dangerously close to brushing up against her.

“That,” she says, in close like she’s sharing a secret, “is how you know you’ve earned a break.”

“And, and I started before you, anyway,” you breathe, the words go straight into her mouth. Then she lets you hang a bit looser.

“You’re not about to get all competitive, are you?”

“I’m trying to push myself,” you gabble, suddenly the sweat on your brow has nothing to do with the workout and she doesn’t look convinced, “I don’t know about competitive – you’re stronger than me, that’s obvious.”

Rhea relaxes, and now sets you on your feet. “Sometimes men feel a bit, like, it’s upset the natural order, and-”

“Oh, come on,” you scoff.

“I know! I know, I know. I’d wanted to think better of you, I promise.” She’s let you go now, but when you brushed against her chest you felt her nipples point at you through the thin material of her tank top.

“It’s not that I’m worried about feeling emasculated,” you say, where’s this come from, you’re letting it out as if you can say absolutely anything, “just that it would, well, make me less attractive. I don’t know.”

“Some people like that stuff,” she says with a dismissive shrug that makes you feel better even though you’re clearly one of them. “And, besides, I’m sure you’re very strong.”

“Ah, stop,” you say, and wave her away. Before you can bring your arm back she’s caught it and squeezes your bicep.

“See, you’re putting in the work,” she tells you, almost dreamily now as you dangle in her grasp.

“You don’t need to – I appreciate this, really, but let’s be realistic, you would destroy me.” And at that, she cackles in a way that could have been pointed, but when she’s finished rolling her head around she looks at you with nothing but fondness. “Which I do not have a problem with, I mean, that really doesn’t bother me at all.” As you say it, your eyes rove up along the scenic vista of her arm, then back up onto her eyes, into her eyes, while her cheeks flush further than they already were.

“You,” she says, to break the spell, “are distracting me.” With one last, lingering, beautiful grin, she turns away and picks up where she left off. But the feeling’s mutual, because the way her clothes cling to her body, and the darker patches outline the sculpted shape of what’s underneath, distracts you so badly you walk into the doorframe.

*

You hit the shower – not with a closed fist, just a tap of your palm, in the vain hope it will knock some cog or valve back into place. It doesn’t, though, the head offers one spatter of rusty water then sits there, taunting you with every drip. You figure you can at least splash down the main danger zones, so you go over to the sink, but when you turn the tap that’s dry as well.

Locked in now, not physically in the bathroom but with this one last hurdle to vault before you can have a shower, you start to follow the pipes around as best you can, and have to open a few cupboards to do it. Yes, the shower and the sink do seem to be coming off the same branch line, so you fiddle with that, and then from behind you there’s the fresh burst of a running shower. But you’ve hardly even gotten your sodden shirt off before the head gives up again.

At the moment it dawns on you to try the sink in the kitchen, Rhea walks in with a towel over her shoulder, glowing and gorgeous, and says “Fuck! Have you not finished yet?”

“Haven’t started yet,” you say, and turn the dial on the shower to demonstrate. It would be awful, wouldn’t it, if it chose now to start flowing like Niagara Falls, but no, it offers up another cough of water and then nothing.

“Aw, man…” Rhea reaches out to jiggle the dial as well, and it’s surely not because she’s put more power behind it, but it does now produce a thin, unhealthy, trickling stream. “I’d – God, it sounds silly – gotten all geared up for a shower, now I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“I could,” you suggest, “fill jugs of water in the kitchen and pour them over you?”

“Forward,” she smiles, in a way that makes it clear she’s as eager about the prospect as you are. But then, moments later, you discover the kitchen sink’s given up the ghost as well.

“For Christ’s sake,” you mutter, as you give the tap another shake, “of all the days for this to-” And then the power goes out as well. The faint breeze of the air-con vanishes completely. Rhea slumps forward and laughs, because what else can you do, but then she starts to fan herself, and her look of amusement fades into a little frown of genuine concern.

“It’s alright,” you say, half-exhausted, the air in the room hotter and stickier already, “we can crack a window.”

“Yeah,” she muses, distracted, still trying to waft the temperature lower. Even when you’ve opened every window available, and you’ve both flopped down on the couch in what little air flow there is, her long, leonine face still looks more downcast than you’ve ever seen her before.

“It’s okay,” you reassure her, and touch her arm – not the one that’s fanning her, whose movements grow yet more frantic as the pink glow spreads further across her cheeks. “Probably the whole city’s like this, stewing.”

“I’m just sorry you have to see me like this,” she says, a shaft of light illuminating where the translucent material of her tank top adheres perfectly to her flawlessly wrought stomach.

“Don’t be,” you say, and mean it. “Anyway, I’ve seen you after working out before.”

“It’s just, it’s different now. If I’m going to make this work, with you and Jen, and I want to, I really want to, then I want to look sexy for you. In the makeup, with the costume on, that’s fine, of course it is, I knew you’d be into me then, but now I’m all sweaty, and,” she lifts her arm and sniffs, “oh my God, I reek, too.”

“Rhea, you’re gorgeous,” you insist, you take your hand in both of yours as if to declare how serious you are.

“You’re just being nice,” she flutters, but at least your touch, that point of contact, has stopped her sudden spiral of despair. Then she pulls her hand from yours, folds her arm behind her head and goes “Seriously, smell me”, with a nod towards her armpit.

You don’t even need to lean in. She’s right, the thick scent of her exertion is very prominent, and when her heavy, sexy aura fills your nostrils, it’s the 1960s and this is your first puff on a joint, first civil rights rally, and first ride in a supersonic aircraft, she transports you in a moment to a place you hadn’t known existed but already feels like home.

You look up at her, feeling your face slacken into an expression of dazed hunger she really doesn’t know what to think about. Now you do lean in, and reach out too, past the iron ridge of her pectoral to that softer glade where the muscles of her arm all meet and end, she giggles when you touch her damp skin and the thought of having made her feel good in any way is one more pulse-jumping thrill in this long and unending series.

“I told you, I reek,” she says, this time not quite able to keep the smile out of her voice. You take a deep whiff and fill your lungs, the word ‘pheromones’ flashes in your mind before the edge in the air arouses you far past the level of conscious thought. Your eyes meet hers again, she’s all fascinated confusion, the same way as you really, and you leap in and kiss her there on her underarm, not a light kiss either, you suck greedily on her darker, textured skin while your mind whirls at this new vista you have discovered quite by chance.

Rhea squeals with laughter. Did you know she was ticklish, had you even considered such a thing? Her arm flails and the weight of her tricep brains you, which might have been nasty if you were using any cognitive functions other than lust and kissing. Even as she thrashes about with all her might, never does she threaten to pull free of your mouth, and one shining golden thought bounces through the echoing space inside your head, she likes this too.

Eventually you must come up for air. She looks at you in a way that seems just as intimate all on its own. “I don’t think it quite replaces a shower,” she says softly, and runs the tips of her fingers behind your ear, along your jaw.

“No,” you agree, “I suppose I won’t need to do your other side, then.”

Rhea’s grin spreads until you think you see all of her teeth. She leans in, ever so slightly, then raises her other arm and with a thump lets it rest along the back of the couch. It’s probably only the lack of blood in your brain that makes it seem a heat haze rises around her shoulder. “I’m just going to sit like this,” she whispers, “and we can see what happens next.”

You chuckle, and you lean in too. The brief chill when you think she might not kiss you back, not after where your mouth has been, melts on the warmth of her tongue – and Christ, when she takes hold of you, your lungs skip a breath and you have to shift sharply to avoid pulling something.

Outside the safety of Rhea’s grasp, somewhere far far away and probably quite meaningless, you hear the door open. Then there’s a gasp, a gasp you know, and you jump like you’ve been found in a bank vault.

“Rhea?” demands Jennifer, framed in the doorway, awkwardly carrying two big bags of shopping.

“Yeah?” says Rhea, quite casual, as if this could be a question about anything.

“Are you wearing my tank top?”

“Yeah,” in the same easy tone as before. This does explain why it’s that tight on her, she bulges out from inside it, the damp material taut across her chest.

Jennifer’s about to say something. Then the bags in both her arms split, almost simultaneously, and she shouts “Fuck!” as the groceries spill all over the floor.

“Oh no!” cries Rhea, and she leaps up, you follow clumsily in her wake, immediately she moves to gather up the fallen perishables. But Jennifer steps forward, into her path.

“Can I not,” says Jennifer her jaw tight, “come into my own fucking house without finding you fucking my boyfriend?” And in one thoughtless motion, her arms empty now, not much power behind them beyond simple rage, she gives Rhea a shove.

Now you have a real chill. Rhea is frozen, stock-still. Jennifer clearly already regrets it, and the colour trickles out of her face, as if she now remembers that Rhea is twice her size. “That was not okay, Jen,” you say, you step forward, ready to throw yourself between them if you need to. Then Rhea staggers back, her eyes turned glassy, she drops back onto the couch and hides her face in her hands and weeps.

Immediately Jennifer looks wretched – she flings herself to the floor in front of Rhea and reaches for her, but in one jarring movement Rhea throws up a hand. Not a blow, just to keep her away, quietly Rhea says “Please don’t. Not,” she chokes on her tears, “not now.”

“I’m so sorry,” pleads Jennifer. “I should never have done that.”

“No, I – I’m sorry,” sniffles Rhea. “You’re right, it’s a fucked-up thing to walk in on.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Jennifer insists, clutching Rhea’s hand. “I just get so jealous, because you’re pretty and sexy, and those aren’t the same thing but you’re still both, and it’s too hot today, and,” now she’s on the verge of tears too.

“If you’re jealous,” you say, crouching next to your girlfriend, no clue what kind of depths this might open up “then I don’t know if this whole, this dynamic, is really healthy.”

“Maybe you’re right,” she says while she looks at the floor. It’s not as bad as you expected, just a little disappointing that you won’t get to – well, that doesn’t matter. “I’m sosorry, Rhea. I never meant to hurt you.”

“You,” Rhea’s eyes are still red-rimmed, but now she manages a little chuckle, “you didn’t really hurt me.”

“And I wasn’t jealous like that, either, I was jealous because, because you’re everything I want to be.” The sentiment seems eerily familiar. “I was the one who wanted us to be a thing in the first place, and – please don’t let me have ruined it, please let me make it up to you.” By now she’s favouring Rhea’s hand with tiny, penitent kisses. Rhea looks a bit alarmed at how quickly this has turned around, or maybe that’s simply how you feel.

“Clean up the groceries,” she finds herself saying, “and I’ll think about it.” Jennifer springs to her feet in delight and gets busy. You’re about to help her, but Rhea has a finger hooked around your collar, there’s no realistic way to resist that, so you end up back on the couch with her. “And you’d better not stay on your high horse about me wearing your clothes,” she calls over, as Jennifer scoops up some battered fruit and shoots you both a fragile, tentative smile. “Remember, I know what you were doing with mine.”

“How’d you know about that?” you ask Rhea, trying to keep it good-humoured, and she just laughs. Then you add, “Are you okay? I figured you weren’t physically hurt, but, still.”

“It just caught me by surprise,” she says, and you can see that beneath the veneer she’s still shaken. “Like, I didn’t expect that, at all. You – you wouldn’t do anything like that, would you?”

“Of course not.”

“Promise?” A winsome little smile, that seems too small from anyone her size. You give her a hug, you want only to reassure her and make this better. But when you break apart, she’s giving Jennifer a wicked glance, and you see, and she sees that you see. “I think she’s learned her lesson,” says Rhea, her eyes still puffy and pink. “How about you?”

“I-” Your voice catches in your throat. “It’s not up to me.”

The groceries on the counter, Jennifer now approaches nervously. “I don’t mind you wearing my clothes,” she says, softly, not willing to get too close as if she doesn’t trust herself, “not really.”

Rhea arches an eyebrow. “You don’t mind that,” she says, and slips a beefy arm around your shoulders. “Do you mind me kissing with your boyfriend?” Before you can react or protest she bangs her mouth against yours. Now you definitely can’t say anything about it, there’s not even that much tongue, but she has your lips completely occupied.

When Rhea finally releases you, and moves her head away, Jennifer’s unbroken gaze is there to meet you. Her expression is one of longing, you hope and pray not longing for revenge. Then she looks to Rhea and shakes her head.

“See, I don’t believe you,” says Rhea, not accusatory, if anything slightly sad. “I really think on some level this still bothers you.”

“I think I still feel a lot of shame around sex,” Jennifer blurts out.

Rhea nods sagely. You’re just appalled, not with Jennifer but for her, and stutter out “I had no idea you felt this way.”

“It’s not your fault, it’s...being caught on the horns of being pushed into it but also being shamed for even thinking about it,” she explains. Maybe you did have some idea she felt this way, the residual background radiation, you’re slightly disappointed with yourself when you think how the other half live. “And then there’s the whole business of what to wear, and – oh God, this is no excuse, I’m sorry, Rhea, really.”

Rhea extends a hand, the one that isn’t resting by your neck. Jennifer kneels again to take it, and smothers herself against it, and mouths slightly at Rhea’s fingers. “You only hurt my feelings,” Rhea reassures her. “I’m glad we can talk through this stuff.”

“You don’t need to feel any shame about this situation,” you add, and she grabs for your hand too. “Not with me. With us.” That hasty correction came out sounding oddly poignant.

“I still want to do something, to show I’m sorry - what if I kissed her feet?” Jennifer asks you. “It’s an internationally recognised gesture of supplication.”

And you look to Rhea, who just looks startled. “Interesting suggestion,” she says eventually. “I mean – you don’t have to, we were just,” she laughs a little, “we weren’t actually having sex when you came in, we’d just finished working out.”

“Oh yeah, also the water’s cut out,” you add.

“So we haven’t showered, but – should we tell her what we were doing?”

“Oh jeeze,” mumbles Jennifer, her eyes flashing from Rhea, to you, down to your mouth, as if she already knows.

“Come here,” Rhea offers, and Jennifer crawls up between you, along the length of your bodies, lower and closer than she needs to be or is really practical. Even after having struggled home with the groceries she seems fresh and unblemished, at least by comparison, as if the crawl up onto the couch will taint her as well. Then Rhea turns her head and whispers softly in Jennifer’s ear. Now it’s Jennifer’s turn to look startled, in fact her face twists through all kinds of conflicted feelings. Rhea lifts her head, and concludes “What do you think?”

“W-would that really make you feel better?”

“Yeah, it would.”

With surprising force Jennifer leaps forward, face-first under Rhea’s arm, the side you hadn’t gotten to yet. From the centre of this frenzy you hear loud sounds of kisses and smacks and slurps.

“Well! That solves that, then,” Rhea notes idly, as she turns back to you with a cheesy grin. When she shows her teeth like this, you don’t feel especially intimidated. She pulls you in close, this time there is some tongue, since you’ve been walked in on once already again you wonder how some stranger would take this, an established couple all over their pretty young roommate.

*

Initially this had seemed like a diversion waiting for the basic amenities to work again, but the lights don’t pop back on, before you know it the shadows are longer and it’s darker in the room. Jennifer wriggles up, she tries for a kiss too, but Rhea pushes her playfully away.

“You’re showing you’re sorry, remember,” Rhea chides her, and she nods in acceptance, she seems to bear it with the same playful spirit. Then she slips back down your bodies, and goes after Rhea’s feet. She peels one sock off, and takes entirely too long about it, it’s a sock, not a pair of handcuffs, but someone none of you seem to mind this absurd display of her clumsily rolling the fabric past Rhea’s ankle and then over her heel. Even though you’ve long since cooled down, at least from the workout, her skin is still flushed pink, it glows in the lower light.

Rhea’s sock is still halfway on her foot when Jennifer leans in to kiss her, aimed roughly for the centre of her sole. Then it becomes a lick, Jennifer’s tongue following the sock the rest of the way. It occurs to you the taste is probably like that of Rhea’s armpit, plus general foot aura, topped off with stray fibres from the sock.

“I think you’re enjoying this,” gloats Rhea. Jennifer mumbles something in reply rendered incomprehensible by now having three toes in her mouth.

“If this really is you wanting to explore, in, in ways,” you say, “then honestly I’m relieved. I know this is stupid but I was really worried there was some kind of unhealthy dynamic going on here."

Rhea’s toes pop from Jennifer’s mouth, and she tells you “Of course not, I’d have said.”

“Like, if you felt you were somehow obliged, or forced to do any of this-” Rhea thrusts her foot forward, and Jennifer parts her lips to accept it. “Yeah, alright, I get it.”

“She is such a sweetie-pie,” Rhea tells you, hanging on you with both arms now, her mouth perilously close to yours, when she speaks it grazes your cheek.

“I know it’s still ridiculously early,” you say, the hard-on in your pants really starting to make itself known, “but since everything’s off, why don’t we get an early night?” When she hears that, Jennifer trills with delight around the foot in her mouth.

“I thought you’d never ask,” intones Rhea. You rise from the couch and hold a hand out to help Jennifer up – but as she climbs awkwardly to her feet, suddenly Rhea has physically interpolated herself between the two of you, and she says “Well, hold on a second, if you were enjoying getting your tongue all over me, I don’t think we can really call that an apology, can we?”

You’re about to say something, to object, when in delicate tones Jennifer suggests “I could kiss your ass, too?” and then you can only think Christ, leave some for me.

“I don’t think so. I think your punishment is that you’re not allowed to sleep in your bed any more.”

“Oh!” Jennifer trembles as she tries to hold Rhea’s gaze.

“You have to go and sleep in my bed. And you just get to listen. That way you’ll know how it felt for me, all those sleepless nights I had to hear you two banging.”

Jennifer actually wrings her hands. She told you, if she was bothered by any of this, that she would say so. “I hadn’t even thought about that. You’re right. I deserve this. I’m trying to learn my lesson, I promise. I want to be better for both of you.” Then she bats her eyes at you, it’s a clumsy gesture but the meaning and sincerity are unimpeachable, and she adds “Will you at least tuck me in?”

“I love you,” you tell her, as you lay the duvet over her, despite how thick it is you can make out the shape of her body beneath it, yes, you really do still love her, “you know that, right?” You kiss her on the forehead, then she gives a sharp intake of breath as Rhea draws the covers tight across her.

“Do the other side,” Rhea tells you. You obey without thinking, and wrap the bedclothes around under the mattress, now you can definitely see the shape of Jennifer’s body with the fabric tight over her, now she really is tucked in.

“I hope Rhea makes you feel good,” Jennifer gently invokes, just a talking head on the pillow. “I hope you make her come, a lot.” By now you have no doubt at all she is enjoying this, but still it makes your heart ache a little. Then Rhea lends over and gives her a smack on the forehead too. Jennifer beams snugly up at you as Rhea links her arm with yours, and while she uses no force you can still feel her sheer raw strength when she leads you from the room.

Instinctively you move for the bathroom, only to remember that with the water still off you can’t brush your teeth. But when you say this Rhea just replies “Oh well” with a smutty smirk, and yes, suddenly it hardly seems like a concern.

In the bedroom, she strips off Jennifer’s tank top and then the rest of her clothes in neat and practised fashion, like she’s gone skinny-dipping, but it’s the bed, your and Jennifer’s bed that she dives into. Is it absurd to think of it as halfway to the marital bed, that this is some additional layer of betrayal on top of the already-complex levels of it you’ve racked up together? Rhea lies on her side in a pose more like a lingerie model, and pats the mattress, inviting you in. You fumble with your own clothes, and she stalks you with her eyes the whole time.

When you get under the covers, now it feels like a betrayal, Rhea lying there where Jennifer should be, smiling at you the way she would. “It was so sexy when you went right in on my pits,” she confesses. “I thought you’d be disgusted.”

“Come on.”

“At work, after – well, that is what it is, but I wouldn’t go out in public like that.” In the semi-darkness of your bedroom, the sheen of sweat that’s still on her skin glows with unlikely-seeming inner light, the kind of thing that could so easily be mistaken for angelic.

“Rhea-”

“If you smelt me fresh off a match, you’d probably never want to touch me again.”

“Rhea, you don’t need to give it the self-pity, everything about you is sexy.” For a moment you feel her hot breath in your mouth, then her lips are on yours. She didn’t seem to shift in the bed but suddenly you’re pressing against her belly.

“Do you think we could do something special, tonight?” she asks you, and glances away shyly halfway through.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Could we, um,” she swirls her finger cutely on the pillow, “could we have rough sex? Like, really rough, and loud, so Jen can hear it? I don’t want her to feel left out.”

Your mind spins, half of it trying to negotiate what ‘feel left out’ could possibly mean here, the other frazzled by the idea that some of the things you’ve done together didn’t count as rough sex. But she is here in your bed and so close, so you say “Yeah, sure we could.”

“Cool,” she glows – then rolls up on top of you and grabs you by the elbows. Immobilised completely, your cock ready to burst out of your underwear, you reflect she really knows what she’s doing.

For some reason you had been teeing yourself up to get on top, and to be the rough one. In a moment of the insecurity borne of being genuinely desired you ask, because it’s the kind of thing that you cannot shift from the back of your mind, “Would you like me better if I was stronger than you?”

“See, you assume that because I’m a woman, I naturally want to be in second place,” she says, with an air that demonstrates she’s thought about this stuff too. “Try to conceive of the fact that I might have exactly the same impulses as you do, and on some level want to be top dog.”

“Yes. That’s fair enough. Sorry.”

Rhea immediately turns playful again. “I forgive you,” she flirts, and squeezes your biceps. “And I understand that on some level, there’s more of an impetus for you to – well, never mind that. We don’t need to worry about that stuff.” She rolls her hips over you, and glides her pussy back and forth, over the flimsy cloth that’s all that keeps your erection out of her.

“Rhea,” you try to keep the painfully aroused whimper out of your voice, “if you keep hold of me like this, I can’t pull down my underwear.”

Rhea does not reply. She simply brings your arms up against the headboard, so gentle with that immense strength, then manacles your wrists together with one hand – and reaches the other down to your waist. You shiver when she takes hold of your cock, and then you gasp when she slips it into her.

“Oh, fuck!” she booms, and shakes dust from the ceiling. It’s exaggerated, you should know what noises she makes when she likes it by now, but your dick doesn’t know and finds itself buoyed by the sound. “Fuck, yes! Ngh! Fuck me harder!” But of course she’s the one who fucks you, propped up where she grasps your wrists while her hips slam down against yours.

Does the sound travel in here? Did Rhea really spend nights alone, listening to you, dreaming of this? Too hard to imagine now as she looms over you in motion, in her element, that one sculpted arm stretching over you like the vault of heaven, and there where it meets her torso the place Jennifer had kissed her what seems like only moments ago, you fancy you can still see the wet mark Jennifer’s lips left on her skin.

When you wriggle your hips, only to reposition yourself, she bursts out with “Yes, yes! Give it to me!” At this point you think the neighbours must be able to hear it too. So with nothing left to lose you now thrust up into her like you mean it, and prompt a “Yes, there, right there! Fuck!”

“Fuck,” you agree with what little breath you can exhale. She’s so wet, but so tight, if it was your throat she had a grip on you’d be going blue. And looking up at the undignified expression of pleasure on her face, her mouth hanging open, hair out of place over her eyes, you’d probably enjoy it, too.

When there’s a crack somewhere below you, you figure it must be a rib – but there is no pain, not beyond the heated pressure that surrounds you the way nature makes diamonds. It’s only when one corner of the whole bed drops that you realise it’s giving way beneath this onslaught.

“Fuck, ye-he-hes,” Rhea croons, spanning three different octaves. “Fuck, you’re so big, it hurts, but I want you to keep going, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.” No thought in your head that you would not obey. The wood splinters under you while you use any and all leverage you have to push back, every lunge of her body is like a punch in the face only you crave more each time. “Fucking-” She punctuates this with one of her fiercest kisses, even without any teeth it feels like it’s left a mark. “Come on, come on baby, I’m nearly there.”

“Mnuh,” is the best you can respond. Your mind is beyond any romantic witticism or sweet nothing now. You may even be beyond a mind, beyond a body, you float free-form in the shattered void of the bedroom, and all there is in existence is Rhea, every fibre of her body illuminated with that dark sheen, every motion irresistible.

Your orgasm streams out, and you barely notice – until the clutches of her vagina go past blissful to unbearable, all your nerve endings protest at the continued stimulation. You thrash about in an instinctual hindbrain attempt to get away and she laughs, her beautiful carefree laugh, which turns into a scream as she seizes up around you. Her movements get shorter, tiny little jerks, until with one final cry she freezes completely – then topples off you and crashes down onto the ruins of the bed.

When the blood rushing round your skull calms down enough for you to hear again, to perceive any of the world around you, Rhea is curled up around you, and she gently asks “Was it good for you, too?”

“Yes,” you whisper, spent in a way that makes you really understand the word. Even though you were hardly moving compared to her, there is no energy left in your body, and you are all ready to sink into sleep when you hear a tiny little knock on the door.

Jennifer peeps in, for a moment she just takes in the scene, the broken bed, the swirling mess of the blankets, then she asks “Can I come snuggle up with you guys?”

“Of course you can,” you say, before Rhea can start with any more business about punishment – but Rhea whisks the blankets aside, to let Jennifer get in on your other side. She settles in contentedly, Rhea sweeps the blankets back around you, and all the dark warmth suddenly seems perfect.

“That sounded so hot,” Jennifer secret-whispers to you, but there’s no way Rhea won’t hear it as well. She caresses your face and adds “I got turned on listening, and, um, I ended up, um,” as her fingers brush your lips you can tell that yes, she certainly did.

“In my bed?” Rhea responds in sleepy mock-outrage, that’s turned into a low chuckle before she’s even finished saying it.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it too,” you say, and immediately worry you’ve said too much.

“Of course, her punishment was to sleep in my bed,” muses Rhea. “And now she’s disobeyed.” You can feel her hand grip Jennifer’s arm. “So we’re going to have to punish you again tomorrow night, and maybe the night after that too, and maybe even all the nights after that.”

By now Jennifer’s kissing at your neck, at your jaw, and she lifts one corner of her mouth to dopily mumble out “Every night”. On your other side Rhea kisses you too, and before you know it this becomes you all kissing each other, and then you sink beyond the wall of sleep.

#rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley x you #rpf #rhea ripley fanfiction #rhea ripley smut

[ynmnrmt]

You & Me & Rhea Makes Three: Chapter 3

rhea ripley x m!reader x m!reader's girlfriend

word count: 2,450

warnings: explicit sexual content

a/n: Warning! Contains enthusiastically consensual heterosexual sex between two people in a committed relationship. Reader discretion advised!

(The story so far: chapter one, chapter two)

Rhea holds the pot upside down over the sink to scrape at the rice that encrusts the inside from a different angle. "This would really piss me off," she says lightly, "but that was a fucking beautiful risotto."

"I love him for the sex," says Jennifer, as she dries off the plates, "but I'm going to marry him for the cooking."

"I am here," you say, and as you reach for the forks to put them away Jennifer rests her head lovingly on your shoulder for a moment. "If I said that about you they'd put me away."

"Alright, there's the ass, too," she shoots back, ribbing you physically, she presses up against you as much as she can while side to side. Rhea laughs at that.

"I think I'd love you for the cooking," muses Rhea fondly, distractedly, while she chisels a long curl of solid rice off the pan, "but marry you for the sex...alright, why would you marry Jen?" she asks you.

"Legs," you say instantly, which is not the real reason.

"But Rhea's are bigger than mine," whines Jennifer. "And stronger, too."

"So what? I still like them," you say, and favour her with a kiss, right on top of her head.

"I could be maid of honour," suggests Rhea, "although I could also be best man."

"I sort of pictured you as the officiant," says Jennifer, "because you'd tell us to kiss and then we'd do it, and, now I'm just thinking about you in a tux, I hope you're happy."

"I am," you supply, raising a hand with a cup still in it, and then you all laugh, and as you do Rhea flicks some soap suds at Jennifer, and they splatter on your hands too. Somehow the gentle rattle of the washing-up in the sink seems deeply nourishing to you.

Then Rhea’s phone rings, she wiggles one hand from its glove to answer it, and she says nothing, just listens. When she hangs up it is with a sudden look of disquiet. She turns back to you and Jennifer and says “I’m sorry, I have to be somewhere very soon and – could you guys oil me up before I go? I know this is really awkward, and-”

“No, no problem,” you hear yourself say.

“Yeah, I don’t mind,” adds Jennifer at practically the same time.

“Really? Aw, you guys are the best,” declares Rhea, and immediately pulls off the other glove before stripping off her shirt, and it turns out you were right, she wasn’t wearing a bra today. It’s only when Jennifer plops the tub of body oil down on the table that you realise you’ve been standing there, completely hypnotised by Rhea’s immaculate torso. She giggles at that – then shuffles out of her cargo pants and underwear, too. You want to be blasé and casual about this, you’ve seen it all before after all, but it’s just as exciting as it was that first time. But the faint lustful tremors in your muscles, the lingering arousal, that was all already there while you were washing up.

Jennifer takes a palmful of oil, and you do too, and you both approach Rhea in a pincer movement, coming in on both sides of her as if to surround her completely. And you do, eagerly greasing all the way around one powerful arm, one long sweep from her shoulder to her wrist – then you take your time about it, to make sure you didn’t miss anywhere, and, yes, to spend a bit more time touching her. By the time you pass her shoulder and get onto the taut musculature of her back you start to worry she’ll be late.

But it turns out that Jennifer’s lingering even longer over her task, because you’re the first to sink to one knee and start on Rhea’s legs, those thighs that seem to fit so naturally in your hands even though you can hardly take hold of them. Is it that, or is it that your hands crave the warmth of being against her fine inked skin? As you swish oil up the inside of her thigh, without meaning to, you brush her pussy and she yelps.

“Oh! Sorry, Rhea, I didn’t mean to…”

“I don’t mind,” she shrugs, that initial shock given way to her now-familiar warmth. “In fact,” and Jennifer looks between you and her, horror and lust rolled into one, “why don’t you do it a little more, and charge me up a bit? Give me something to look forward to? I did think that since you’ve been so nice oiling me up, maybe when I’m back you could oil me down as well.”

“Well, um,” Jennifer chokes, her fingers wavering on Rhea’s sculpted abs, “yeah, maybe that would be nice?”

So you give Rhea a brisk rub, pretend even to yourself you haven’t just pawed at her legs like you were trying to soften them up for dinner. You cannot bear to meet Jennifer’s eyes, even though she gave you the go-ahead. When her hands touch yours, to ease Rhea’s booty shorts over the lovely swell of her ass, you sigh with relief that this has not gone too far, that you have not revolted her with your own desire.

As you wrestle the buckles of Rhea’s bodice into place, you cannot quite avoid touching her some more. There is no clear delineation between the corded muscle of her pectorals and the softer tissue of her breasts, and you do not care. At least Jennifer is here next to you and clearly enjoying the process too.

“Thank you,” says Rhea, sweeter than should be possible for anyone wearing that much black leather. “I think this is my favourite part, when I’m all sparkly and shiny like this…” She wiggles slightly and Jennifer’s nails dig into your palm, you gasp, more from the thrill than the pain. Then Rhea’s phone jingles again and she swears incredibly loudly before she rushes out the door, promising as she does that she’ll be back soon and blowing you several kisses each.

Your gaze slides sideways to Jennifer – but you cannot meet her eyes, because she’s rested her head on your shoulder. “Well,” you attempt, “that was-”

“We ought to finish the washing-up,” she says quickly, and she’s probably right. But instead of moving back to the sink, she casually takes out another gob of oil. “Would you do me, too?”

“Yes!” It comes out like a confession, like a cry for help. As your slippery fingers undo the buttons of her blouse you find yourself gabbling “I’m glad you understand, I wouldn’t do it if you weren’t okay, I only want to make you happy,” and you splodge greasy stains onto the material of her bra.

“Do my legs, like,” Jennifer’s voice catches for a second, “like you did hers.”

“You don’t need to compare yourself to her,” you insist, back on your knees, undoing her zipper. “Rhea’s sexy, fine, I love you.” For all that you feel guilty about everything you’ve done with Rhea, when Jennifer’s pants come off there’s a darker stain down at the very tip of her underwear, it’s not as if you were the only one who enjoyed it. You blot it out with the oil as your hands ring around her thigh, this way you don’t have to think about it – and as you go up and down her leg you feather it with kisses, wanting to make it somehow more special for her.

*

You lie alone on the bed, and worry that this is how it will be when the other shoe drops, for there must be another shoe, somewhere, then Jennifer’s voice floats in through the door “Okay! Ready!”

So you cover your eyes, there’s her soft footsteps, and when you look again you gape, you nearly laugh, but that couldn’t possibly be appropriate. Jennifer’s posing there with her body wrapped up in spiked black leather that doesn’t come close to fitting properly, she’s wearing one of Rhea’s outfits.

“What do you think?”

“I think,” you say, rising from the bed to take her in your arms, “it looks even better on you.”

“Don’t lie,” she insists, and rests her head on your chest. The outfit pokes you a bit, now’s not the time to complain though, so you lay her carefully down on the bed. She pulls at your clothes, and you fumble with Rhea’s, not exactly sure how to get them off Jennifer or if they’re even the right way round.

While Jennifer’s far from naked, you can see a lot of her skin, and that excites you the same way as the first time, too. Perhaps that’s why your hands fumble, why this buckle is getting away from you. “Didn’t these have a zipper?” you ask, and have to reposition yourself to get the shorts past Jennifer’s knee. With them confined to only one ankle, you settle down again, but things keep going wrong – you accidentally trap a strand of her hair, and then as you’re still partway through the muffled apology she manages to poke you in an especially sensitive area.

“I want this to be good for you,” she protests limply, in such a way to break your heart a little, and, less pleasantly, put off your erection. “That’s why I wore this stuff, I wanted…”

“You didn’t need to,” you insist, trying to get some life back into it, “you are good for me,” and in tribute to that fact you kiss her, touch her in special places where you’ve shared many happy hours before, somehow it all seems wrong, as if it bounces off the black leather armour she’s inexplicably brought between you.

“Please fuck me hard,” she whispers, and with your blood flowing again, you do, you’ve found a position where you’re hardly being poked by the metal studs at all – a little poke about the entrance, she’s sopping wet, which is a relief, and then in with all your might. For a few strokes of steadily mounting pleasure it seems like it’s going well, Jennifer gives out her breathy squeaks of enjoyment – but then it turns into a squeal, her hand is on your chest, you back off instantly and in a wretched voice she says “Too hard.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, not sure how best to comfort in this situation, “I should have-”

“No, I’m sorry,” she shoots back immediately. “I said to go hard, and then – oh God, I’m sorry, I’m no good at this.”

“Hey, hey, come here,” and you hold her, firmly ignoring the twenty-seven different places the spikes have got you. “You don’t need to be sorry. I don’t want to hurt you, I just want...what if we tried this?” As she feels your mutual centre of gravity rotate, she giggles nervously but excitedly, and when she eventually winds up on top she does look a lot more cheerful. “This way, you can decide how hard we go.” And you try to ignore the valence of a woman in black leather riding you, perhaps you both would have arrived here anyway, without any kind of outside inspiration.

Jennifer takes hold of your cock and hovers about over it, trying to get everything lined up like she’s parking a car. Then she drops, and thank God, it goes straight in rather than taking her whole dead weight on top of it. It still knocks the wind out of you, but the noise of delight she makes, the way she convulses inside, you don’t really mind.

You grasp her hips, help her to bounce, your touch hungry for her skin and only slightly distracted by the feel of the black leather along the edge of your finger. This, you decide, is just for you, you and Jennifer, nobody else, and when Rhea returns that will be something completely different.

Before long she flops down over you, and there again the sting of the studded outfit, which in fairness to Rhea wasn’t really meant for a performance like this. You rub your cheek against Jennifer’s, too close for eye contact. She still wriggles about with the back half of her her body, around the immovable rod of your cock, and whimpers and moans out her response as she does.

Normally, you think, you would have come by now. You’d at least be in the region, but as Jennifer shifts up and down you find yourself just lying there like an inanimate object. She still excites you, of course she does, there is still the amazement that she’s letting you do this to her – so why does it not feel the way it used to?

Still wary of being too rough, of doing anything she might not like, you start to thrust as well. She trills like a bird, and breathily in your ear splutters out “Oh fuck – oh fuck – I want you to come, please come” before she degenerates into meaningless noises of relief while her pleasure spatters in droplets on your thighs and stomach.

You clutch her to you, the black leather warm in your hands over the little body inside it, and as one long gasp emanates from the depths of her throat there it is, the inescapable tipping point, she is pressed into the bedclothes but you see her face in your mind’s eye, and you see Rhea’s, too, the darkly made-up smile, the whole orgasm squirts up into Jennifer as for a second you waver between who exactly it is you’re fucking. She comes back into focus with the tail-end spasms of her own climax.

“I love you,” you tell her – too hastily, as if you have something to hide. Her mouth is wet on your neck, either the tenderest kiss or just a bit of dribble.

As you lie there, cooling on the bedclothes, Jennifer snuggles in very close to confess “I thought about Rhea, a little bit, not the whole time...I’m so sorry.”

“That’s okay,” you say, thinking back on how this was meant to just be for you and her, so much for that. “I’m glad you think she’s sexy. It would make all this very awkward if you didn’t.”

“I really liked it, when we all went to the supermarket together the other day,” she drowses, no, not upset now, not that, “because it was sort of that thing, the thing of the everyday, with...I really want this to work for us.” You give her a little squeeze, and then a lot of a squeeze. “I mean, you want Rhea to be part of this relationship, don’t you? You’d like that, right?”

“Well, yes,” you begin.

“Then that’s good, then.”

#rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley x you #rpf #rhea ripley fanfiction

[ynmnrmt]

You & Me & Rhea Makes Three: Chapter 2

rhea ripley x m!reader x m!reader's girlfriend

word count: 2,629

warnings: explicit sexual content, themes of domination/submission, dubiously consensual nonmonogamy

a/n: More fun with WWE superstar Rhea Ripley and her hopelessly wet roommates. Comments and feedback welcome, fawning praise very welcome.

(Chapter one here)

You arrive home late, delayed by picking up a bundle of flowers and a bottle of Jennifer’s favourite wine, with the vague thought you can actually give her the romantic night you’d intended this time without getting distracted. When you get through the door you catch a flash of studded black leather in the corner of your eye, it’s Rhea wandering into the kitchen, and maybe it’s best she doesn’t catch you with a bag full of date-night. But then she leans on the doorway and grunts in pain-

“Rhea, are you okay?”

She jumps a little, and turns to face you, saying “Didn’t hear you come in”. You drop the bag when you see the purple bruise spreading off the corner of her eye.

“What happened?”

“It’s alright – someone at work hit me with a chair and a ladder.” You’re too outraged for words, the fury goes straight to your head before you remember what, exactly, it is that Rhea does for a living.

“I,” you chuckle at yourself, “I’m sorry, for a second there I was about to swear revenge on them.” And Rhea laughs aloud.

“You’re so sweet. No, it’s alright, I’m fine. It’s just-” She swallows casually from a bottle of pills, easy as breathing. “It’s the nature of kayfabe, it’s all fine, but there’s only so far you can pretend to be smacked with a folding chair.”

“Your poor face, though.”

Rhea laughs again, but this time it has an edge to it. “I’d forgotten about that part.” Before you can react – cry out to stop? No, surely not – she’s popped open her bodice, and you don’t even have the flush of desire that goes with a woman pointing her breasts at you, not faced with the livid purple bruise that stretches from her hip halfway up her ribcage.

“Jesus!” From the regular diamonds of unbruised skin, you figure this was the ladder.

“Don’t worry, I got them back, although,” and there’s a barely-perceptible shift in her register, a sudden slyness in the way she looks at you, “I am very sore. And it hurts to walk. Maybe you could help me shower off?” Now she’s opened her top, it hardly even seems like an odd thing to say.

“I – it’s not that I don’t want to, but, stuff like that, I wouldn’t be comfortable without Jen here,” you say, trying not to let your gaze slide down to Rhea’s chest.

“Aw, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. In fact, you saw how she was, she’d probably get off on it if she knew that we...no, you’re right, we shouldn’t. It’s nice, the way you think of her like this.”

“Right, so, unfortunately I won’t be able to help you shower off.”

“No. Sure. I think we’re in complete agreement.”

The first burst of water from the showerhead catches you full in the face, but you blink it away quickly, a significant part of you not wanting to miss a single glimpse. You rub the soap in your hands fruitlessly, and start to sweat, not wanting to look a fool in front of Rhea, but then as the water gets hotter the bubbles start to come. When you’ve worked it up into a decent lather you run it up Rhea’s torso, over her bruises, gently at first but then she puts her hand over yours and presses it down just a little more, her wince doesn’t kill the warmth.

“I was so worried, when you said – and when you showed me-” you gasp, in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with the heat of the water running across you both. You’d be gaping anyway, putting your hands all over her chest. “If you quit, we’d understand. We’d take care of you.” God, where did you pull that from? It sounds too much like her little fantasy of you and Jennifer being a couple taking advantage of her.

“I had,” confesses Rhea, “thought that – I make enough money, if you guys quit your jobs then you could take care of me.” She clutches lightly at your hands as they rove around her waist. “I’m sorry, that’s just, like, some fantasy I had, the kind of thing that would never happen in real life.”

You need absolutely no prompting to kneel and start going up and down her thick, tattooed thighs. Having her standing over you, as the water trickles through the soap suds, feels faintly like it shouldn’t happen in real life either. “Well, um, you have to dream.” The feel of the muscles in her leg makes you dream right here.

“I don’t care about the other stuff, it’s just the being taken care of I’m really interested in,” muses Rhea, now running her hands through her hair. “I do feel very lucky. Having someone to wash me up...and wash me down.” And yes, your hands have slipped round the back of her legs now, you don’t grope, you don’t squeeze, but it’s impossible not to feel. She fits nicely in your hands, big and powerful back there, the way she is everywhere else, it’s so exciting you could almost forget you’re face to face with her pussy.

"Wait, Rhea," you say, quickly, to cover the fact your tongue had started to stick out all on its own. "I can't - I want to make you feel good, I want to do that for you right now, but I can't. Not without Jen, I should at least talk it over with her if we're going to do anything."

"Oh God, I'm so glad you said that," exhales Rhea, and drops down to her knees to join you. This bends your erection down when she catches it between her legs, then it pops back up to rest against the edges of her abs, for a second you feel you might come from that alone. She doesn't seem to notice or care. "This whole time, I thought I should, but I didn’t want to, but still - I couldn't do that to her, she's been so nice about all of this." And her grin returns, straight back from that expression of genuine worry and relief. "And so have you." Down here, she doesn't seem so massive. You kiss as the water streams over you.

Jennifer finally arrives as you're working the knots out of Rhea's sturdy shoulders while she lies topless on the couch, which had initially seemed like such a chaste thing compared to what you did in the shower. You leap up and take Jennifer in your arms and kiss her, half guilt, half desire. She keeps kissing after you break apart, eyes closed, lips still moving.

"I'm sorry," she says, dazed, "it's been a long day and I really just want to jump in the shower. Oh my God, Rhea, what happened?"

"Hit by a ladder," shrugs Rhea, looking up with her chin rested on her hands. "Happens all the time."

"I think I've got some pills in the bathroom."

When she leaves, Rhea says "Come on, finish me off."

"Don't say it like that," you say, mounting her again, and she gives a quiet cackle.

"You know," she adds, with a dark bloom, "you'd probably be better getting at some of the muscles from, um, the front," and before you can think she has corkscrewed her way over to lie on her back, and now she blushes up at you, breasts aimed at you again.

"I really don't think-"

"Rhea!" Jennifer's standing in the doorway.

"Yeah?" asks Rhea, in the way she might while fully clothed, without you on top of her grasping the meaty parts at the base of her neck.

"Did you use my towel?"

"No!" All girlish outrage, an obvious lie, even before Jennifer holds up her towel to show the three black stains of makeup that even damp and smeared still look like Rhea's cruel grin.

"You did! That's clearly your makeup on it, and it even smells of you, and-" To demonstrate, Jennifer actually lifts the towel to her face, over her mouth and nose, and then she goes "Oh..." through the material.

"Alright, you've got me," says Rhea. "I'm sorry I used your towel."

"And - and I don’t appreciate you showing off your tits around my boyfriend, either," insists Jennifer, outraged herself now in a fragile sort of way. "You cover up." She lays the towel across Rhea's chest in such a way that her hands are on Rhea's breasts.

"Well," breathes Rhea, her eyes flicking between you both, "full service, huh?"

"I bet you like this," Jennifer husks at you, while Rhea clasps her hands behind her head and enjoys the show. "I bet you're hard for her, I bet you're getting harder for her than you ever have for me."

"No! I-" You lie out of love for her, but there's no point even finishing the sentence when she reaches out and grabs your cock to see for herself, because pressed up against Rhea you are of course rock hard.

"Oh, come on," says Rhea, master of all she surveys as she lies beneath you both. "Don't stand there and try to pretend you're not enjoying this too."

Jennifer hangs her head. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"No, that's okay - to be honest it does add a bit of a frisson, you being all infuriated like that." And this brightens Jennifer's mood a little. "Now keep working my tits."

And she does, massaging them through the towel, the same way you go over the muscles around Rhea's shoulders, even up onto her immense biceps and triceps, the full weight of those incredible arms. Then, blushing and stammering things that were never words in the first place, Jennifer takes her hands away, and gently moves yours onto where they were.

"Could we just go to bed? Please?" she asks, lightly grasping you as you squeeze Rhea's breasts. "Would that be okay? I want to fuck, and then, then I want to sleep..."

You try not to glance down at Rhea. You try not to seek her permission. And maybe it's not her little nod that prompts you to say "Of course we could, I'd love that." And she blows you both a kiss, one each, as you leave the room.

Jennifer fumbles with your clothes, her cheeks flushed and her breaths heavy. It does things to your heart when she's like this, of course it does, same as it always did. And her soft, little body still turns you on, it still excites you to lift her bra from her chest. But now you have visions of Rhea dancing in your head, like a force of nature, irresistible.

"I love you," you promise Jennifer as you lay her down on the bed, and it's true, you do, you care for her and want her to be happy.

"It turned me on seeing you with Rhea," she confesses, vulnerable amidst the bedclothes. "I liked it."

"I would never do it, not if you weren't okay with it," you say.

"I bet you would," she fires back, and lifts her head for a badly aimed kiss that catches the corner of your mouth. You unzip your trousers and her glow of excitement grows. You lie down on top of her, and enjoy this for a moment, still in this position before you start. And then, without hearing the door, you feel weight on your back, arms like sculpted pink-marble pillars slam onto the bed on either side of you, and Jennifer's eyes turn wondrous.

"I was thinking about you two," Rhea husks, the words warm in your ear. "And I couldn't resist."

You penetrate Jennifer and when you do Rhea's hips move too, driving you forward with more force and more urgency than you could manage on your own. Jennifer squeaks and claws at the bedclothes as if she is hanging on for dear life. You pull back, drawing yourself out, and Rhea retreats too, to let you do it. But then the next bump of her hips takes you completely by surprise, and Jennifer squeaks and nearly crosses her eyes.

After a few more thrusts like this Rhea drops her weight onto you and makes Jennifer squeak again. It knocks the wind out of you but simultaneously, to be sandwiched between the two of them, it is fulfilling in a way you had never even conceived of. You keep shoving with your hips as best you can, these little movements seem pathetic and insignificant but Jennifer kisses at you with more passion than ever and tells you not to stop.

Rhea brings her arms into play, even with their mass between you and Jennifer you feel closer to her than you ever have before. One gropes at Jennifer's trembling little breasts, but the other, it reaches down and makes you nervous for where it could possibly be going, with the other she grabs your balls and starts jerking you back and forward that way as well. With three hands all over her body Jennifer pulses on your cock in a way that's unimaginably pleasurable.

You pulse back, to do anything you can to be in sync with her trapped here so helplessly, clenching tight to rush the blood in your cock and get deeper inside her. She’s losing her grip on the bedclothes, her hands flail about madly, and she bites her lip as if trying not to scream.

"Keep fucking her, make her feel good," Rhea snarls, as she rams her body up against yours, "and Jen, you take his cock like a good girl-"

"Ahhh!" Jennifer's cry is so quiet, she hardly has enough breath to give it life. But she herself jolts as if she's got a live wire in her back, and you feel her wetness all over your belly and down your legs. Rhea holds you in place as she sprays you.

Every inch of Jennifer's body still quivers when you feel yourself slip over the edge, and with your face pressed into her shoulder you try to stagger out a warning "Rhea, wait - Jen, I'm going to - please, Jen - Rhea -" Then you explode right there inside her, and the come keeps coming longer than feels possible. All your limbs stiffen with such unwilling force it even makes Rhea loosen her grip a bit.

"Ahh," she sighs, and rolls off you quite casually. "I don’t know about you guys, but I loved that."

"I did too!" Jen follows suit, gazing up at you with hooded postorgasmic eyes.

Rhea shakes her shoulder. "You should really go pee after sex."

"But, but that means you'd still be here and you'd get to snuggle up," Jennifer protests. Rhea shakes her shoulder again, in no way aggressive, in simple friendly fashion, and that's enough to make her wriggle out from under you and skip off to the bathroom.

"She did have a good idea, though," Rhea draws you in. You hang off her side, softening cock pressed to her hip, not much you can do with that. When you touch her stomach, you meet her wrist there already, and with one flash of that smile you follow it down and help her masturbate.

With your fingers entwined in hers, you rub her softest places until she starts to moan. Jennifer crawls back into bed behind you and you roll over to give her some attention, but you do not stop touching Rhea.

"I love you," you say, "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to be," Jennifer whispers. Behind you Rhea grunts and gasps out her climax. "I like it when you come in me."

"Yeah," agrees Rhea, and the feeling of simply being in bed between them gives you a warm tingle.

#rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley x you #rpf #rhea ripley fanfiction #rhea ripley smut

[ynmnrmt]

You & Me & Rhea Makes Three

rhea ripley x m!reader x m!reader's girlfriend

word count: 4,471

warnings: explicit sexual content, themes of domination/submission, intoxication, dubiously consensual nonmonogamy

a/n: There's more chapters if you like this. What is 'wrestling', anyway?

You are on the couch with your girlfriend Jennifer. It has reached that special time of the evening when the lights being down this low makes sense, and you have just opened a second bottle of wine. Jen drains her glass, nearly hiccups, then fixes you with her big blue eyes and asks “Could we make love tonight?”

“Of course,” you say brightly, and feed her a chocolate from the heart-shaped box that lies open on the table. As she closes her mouth around it, her lips take hold of the tips of your fingers, and for a moment do not give them back. Then she feeds you a chocolate, and you grimace at the flaky taste of coconut inside but try not to let it show, this is not the moment for that.

“It’s been so long,” she complains, “I know it’s not your fault, but all those trips away – and, alright, this isn’t my fault either, but I’ve had all those night shifts, so whenever we do get a moment together and I’m actually awake I wish I wasn’t.” She tails off, and reaches for her glass again. “I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry it’s taken so long to just have a moment like this.”

“You,” you say, taking her little hand in yours, “have nothing to be sorry about. Come here.” You lean forward, and she leans in too, and when you kiss it does feel somehow unfamiliar, maybe she has a point. For a moment you break apart – then go back in, hungrier than before, the burst of oxygen fuelling the fire. She grabs for your arms and shoulders, takes hold of you, reluctant to let you go, and it makes your underwear feel tight and swampy.

As she mouths as your face, you hold her too, of course you do, one hand on her back to pull her in closer and the other on her hip. And before you know it the hand on her hip strays upwards, it slips its way in under her shirt and along her flat tummy, when you grasp the material of her bra she giggles.

“Let’s,” she slurs, all flushed with affection and wine, “turn things up a bit.” She clumsily pulls at her shirt, it comes up over her head no problem but then she is stuck with her arms tangled in the air, and you have to tug it free from the points of tension where it resists. Then it comes off, flies off to one side to be forgotten, and Jennifer sits pleased before you, panting for breath already and bare from the waist up except for the purple bands of her bra.

“You’re making me so-” you say. But then the door opens and your roommate, WWE superstar Rhea Ripley, comes in at a rush. It’s a small door, she has to turn to get through it, and then she slams it shut again after her and flashes you a wicked grin.

“I won,” she whispers, and gives the championship belt that hangs from her shoulder a little waggle.

“You did?” says Jennifer, delighted.

“Brilliant, that’s brilliant! Well done!” you tell Rhea as she throws out her magnificent arms and wiggles her shoulders, exulting in her own glory. It’s a shame to be distracted when you’re about to have sex, but you can still be polite. Rhea steps neatly around the room with her face lit up with joy, still celebrating, she poses for an audience of two and in her black leather bodice that has every inch of the muscles in her arms on show she hardly looks any more dressed than Jennifer. Then in one careful movement she throws herself in the air – and lands with a crash on the couch, between you.

Now you and Jennifer are both in her arms, an arm each, she has you secured in the kind of headlock she probably does professionally all the time and kisses you both with some force on the side of your heads. You shift about awkwardly in her grip, trying not to let her see how turned on you are.

“You must be so pleased,” gushes Jennifer.

“Yeah, I know how hard you’ve worked-” you’re saying, when Rhea finishes punching the air with glee and lands one hand down in your lap, and you jerk to a halt when she touches your erection, not just a touch, the full span of her hand across it.

“Oh my God!” exclaims Rhea – and only then snatches her hand back. “Oh my God, you two were getting sexy and – did I walk right in on you? Oh God, I’m sorry.” Rhea’s back on her feet, and it breaks your heart a little to see the happiness that beamed from her long, lovely face replaced by sudden concern. Somehow the dark makeup around her eyes makes it seem more sincere. “I didn’t even realise. Oh, and you’ve got the chocolates and the candles and everything. Hey, look, ignore me, alright? Pretend I’m not here, I’ll leave you to it.”

“No, come on, you ought to celebrate-” insists Jennifer.

“No, really, it’s fine. I don’t want to get in your way,” says Rhea. As she’s wearing tight PVC shorts, it’s hard for you not to look at the swell of her ass as she crosses the room. But then, framed in the doorway, she regains her fully-costumed majesty when she turns to look back at you and asks “Could I get a chocolate?”

You expect Rhea to just reach in the box and take one, but then Jennifer’s picked up the box – and out of this confusion Rhea drops to her knees in front of you and opens her mouth like a baby bird, and you can’t not then pick out a chocolate, one of the ones with the darker drizzle on top, and slot it in her mouth. Her lips close around your last finger just like Jennifer’s did, and for a second she sucks down the length of it, your hard-on nearly pulls a muscle. Oblivious, Rhea kneels there, chocolate in her cheek, look of satisfaction back on her face.

“We, uh, we might go off to bed – you can have the room,” says Jennifer.

Rhea lifts her eyebrows, and swallows. “No, no, it’s all yours, don’t let me stop you. I mean, I know how you feel, after a match like that I’m in the mood for a good lay.” She smacks her lips at Jennifer, and as if in trance Jennifer feeds her a chocolate too. You want to say something, because when will this kind of opportunity possibly come along again, but you cannot possibly imagine the words for it. “But maybe, you’d like to make this a bit more of a party. I’ve got champagne in the fridge, we can see what happens.”

“This was meant to be our special night,” insists Jennifer, slightly wounded, but then she glances at you and adds “but, it could be fun?”

“Yes,” you say, throat dry, “maybe it would.” Rhea is back on her feet and out of the room, you hear her rattle about in the kitchen. “Why do you have champagne, Rhea?”

“I mean, I knew how it was going to go tonight,” her voice floats through. She comes back with the bottle, shredding the foil over the cork. “Let’s go-” and she rips the cork out, too, then with the practised thumb of a woman who’s done this a lot spritzes you with the spray of foam. It catches you off-guard, it soaks your shirt and makes you laugh out loud. Rhea swings the bottle about, the stream of bubbles blast Jennifer squarely in the face – then, as she splutters, Rhea douses her own chest, as if to cool herself down. With her head back and her eyes closed and a little smile playing on her dark lips she’s clearly enjoying it.

“Oh my God,” gapes Jennifer, liquid running down her cheeks, “you soaked the couch!” But when Rhea motions her over to get some, she springs right into action, and drains her wine to have an empty glass. You quickly do the same, not wanting to be left out. Then, standing together, your head and your erection wavering dazedly between these two wet women, you toast Rhea, clinking your glass against Jennifer’s, as well as the bottle in Rhea’s fist.

“Well, here’s to us,” you say, after a swig that feels like harder liquor.

“Jesus, this is tight,” says Rhea, and thumbs open the first buckle of her bodice with a climactic-sounding grunt of relief, to reveal the beginnings of her breasts. Jennifer clutches at you, but she looks at Rhea’s chest. “I’m so glad you guys were up for this and didn’t go eurgh or anything, you’re such a cute couple and I’ve really wanted this for...and of course, I knew you’d be into it.” You tense up, thinking she could somehow tell, even though the bulge in your pants makes it shamefully obvious just how into it you are – but her dark-lipped, knowing smile isn’t towards you, it’s towards Jennifer. “Can I tell him?” Rhea adds.

Jennifer flushes, suddenly worried. “D-do you have to?” she stutters.

“Oh, come on, we’re all friends – I walked in on your pretty girlfriend masturbating to me,” confesses Rhea, and Jennifer turns pale as if this hasn’t added an extra frisson.

“It wasn’t to you,” she protests. “I was doing it anyway, you walked in-”

“You didn’t stop,” gloats Rhea.

“I was – I was literally already coming at the moment you came in, and – I was thinking about you,” Jennifer insists, clutching at your arm.

“Hey, it’s alright,” you say, and clutch her back, stroke her, try to reassure.

“It was my fault anyway – I’m glad you didn’t think this was, like, a betrayal,” says Rhea, and now she’s stroking you, her hand curls on your back. “Please don’t be angry with her, if you’re angry with anyone it should be me.”

“Alright, I’m not.”

“I’m so glad,” says Jennifer, all breathless, and then Rhea kisses you both again – hard, on the mouth, when she bites your lip you yelp and pull away to see her looking distinctly predatory and unbearably sexy. With hardly a motion she throws you both back onto the couch, and again slams down on it herself, on top of you, hips rolling and grinding as if she’s fucking you already.

Rhea reaches down and pulls, hard, with both hands, the cords swell in her arms and you dance on the edge of coming. You hear the rip, for one crazy second you figure it must be your flesh tearing but there is no pain, only your erection bobbing free in the air, she’s actually torn your trousers open. Then, with a bit of awkward repositioning, she’s opened up the zip of her short-shorts, grabbed your cock, and with a wicked flash of her black-rimmed eyes worked it up inside her.

“That’s so hot-” begins Jennifer. Then Rhea’s solid arm shoots out to cover Jennifer’s mouth, leaving her making the kind of muffled little moans you feel rise in your chest. She reaches desperately for you, her hands flop over you while Rhea’s cunt takes hold of you and refuses to let you go.

Desperately trying not to come, you reach up Rhea’s muscular back, maybe you’d meant to grab her but it’s more like you’re holding on for dear life. And you try to thrust, too, as best you can with her magnificent body pressed down on you, but it feels like nothing compared to the way she moves, she arcs back and forth, hard and fast like a machine but warmer and softer than any machine could ever be. As you cling to her, her undercut scrapes your face, and in the moment that nearly knocks you over the edge.

With each slam of her hips the studs on her bodice bruise your chest, and each one feels like a kiss. But not nearly so much as it does when she gets one hand on the back of your head, so you cannot escape – as if you would – and bites your lip again. You whimper, but it’s through a twisted smile.

Rhea’s movements become more frantic, more jarring and less controlled. Something shifts in her face, not the smug grin of victory any more but her mouth hanging open in amazement, she was wet already but now she feels like a typhoon around your cock. With one final jolt of the hips she freezes, throws her head back and cries out and soaks you. Jennifer watches it all with big liquid eyes.

With the orgasm out, sexual release pouring off her like steam, Rhea collapses forward on top of you. Your lip is swollen, it may be bleeding, the pain might be the only think stopping you immediately coming inside her. Now she’s taking a break you thrust again, you jerk your hips as best you can in the limited space between the cushions of the couch and her powerful body, it feels like an empty gesture but she perks up and goes “Oh!” as you do your best to give it back to her. With this encouragement she gets right back into action, pounding down on your hips, her zipper rakes at some sensitive areas but it barely registers next to the way her cunt squeezes you, as if when she draws back she wants to bring you with her.

Your thrusts synchronise, you move together, though you feel more like you are clinging to her sculpted waist and trying not to be flung off while she does the work. But if it is one-sided, she clearly doesn’t mind, her dark lips still curled in that knowing grin, her eyes still flashing out from the hollows of her makeup with lust and joy. And when her black painted mouth opens it produces the kind of low moans that pull at your heart.

Jennifer whimpers next to you. By way of keeping her involved you reach out to touch her, you want to convey some of this supremely erotic encounter over to her, instead you squeeze her breast. All the while you feel as if you’re going to knock a hole in Rhea’s insides, but she clearly doesn’t mind, she bows her head and nips at your ear, you hear her hot breath loud and lustful.

Then it is you who gives a feeble little moan when the endless slick motion pushes you over the edge, and you pump out what feels like a gallon of come. Rhea gives a few more agonising, beautiful shoves of her hips before she tumbles happily off you and lands roughly on top of Jennifer.

“That was so good,” sighs Rhea, and nuzzles at Jennifer’s cheek.

“Yeah,” says Jennifer, breathless herself even though she was hardly involved. She still has the mark of Rhea’s black lipstick at an angle across her mouth. “That was really hot. I’d never even thought…” As if drawn by a magnet you flop down on top of them as well, and reach your head past Rhea’s to kiss your girlfriend. But Rhea is still there, and it is so easy for her to horn her way in, and soon you do not know who you’re kissing or why.

Then Rhea swishes to her feet and breaks you and Jennifer apart. She plants one big chunky boot on the couch, between you, and says “Unzip me.” Jennifer swallows down the rest of her glass of wine in a second, and wastes no time taking the zip between thumb and forefinger – but works it down slowly, her other hand behind Rhea’s calf as if she’s afraid of losing her grip. For a moment you feel displaced, there is no unzipping for you, but then Rhea catches your eye, and plucks at the buckles of her bodice, and immediately you rise to join her.

It is a fumbly experience, not because the buckles are hard to negotiate, but because your hands are shaking, you are still incredibly turned on and feeling the soft strength of Rhea’s chest under the black leather doesn’t help. When you get the garment open she sighs, long and low, like she can finally breathe properly and stretches in a way that sends her breasts up into your face.

“I hadn’t realised,” you say dumbly, dazed at the sight of her bare skin, “you were interested in anything like this.”

“I was worried you might not be,” she says, casual and lighthearted, half a giggle to the words as she stretches her powerful arms back and forth over her head. Then she sets them back, and allows you to pull her bodice off completely. You gaze dreamlike at how she tapers down from her broad shoulders to her tight waist, on some level jealous of her, unable to imagine anyone wouldn’t want to look the way she does.

Down by your hip, Jennifer still fumbles desperately at Rhea’s boot, and very nearly has it open down to the ankle. You kneel to help her, with a little tug the boot comes off, and Rhea wiggles her toes at you – then she tries to put her foot down, and nearly overbalances from the extra two inches she has from the other boot. You and Jennifer shoot upright with no conferring to make sure she doesn’t fall, and gently cradle her in your many arms, sit her carefully down, and in businesslike fashion get that remaining boot off, for her own safety’s sake.

“Aren’t you sweet,” smiles Rhea. She refills your glasses, puts them back in your hands. Jennifer sips nervously and loudly, she shakes even worse than you do. “I liked it when he gave you a honk,” she muses to Jennifer, and then drops a hand down on Jennifer’s breast to give it a little squeeze, just the way you did. “You know, a quick honk?” Jennifer giggles when she keeps going, nervous laughs around her glass. In what you bizarrely think of as some kind of retaliation then you reach out for Rhea’s nearest breast, you’re even rough when you grab it, she just looks back at you and flashes her winningest smile. She snakes one beefy arm around you and squeezes you right back.

Jennifer shuffles forward on the couch, sitting right on the edge. Her glass clacks down on the table and she nervously proposes “Um, could it be my turn next?” Her eyes, dazed with lust, focus on you and she smiles with nothing but hope.

Rhea leans forward, she does not completely block Jennifer from your view, but she is there. “Oh, sweetie...you’re drunk,” she says, as if explaining two plus two, while she curls a finger and tickles Jennifer gently under her chin. “I wouldn’t want you to do anything you might regret.”

“Oh!” replies Jennifer, suddenly short of breath, but not angry about it, rather as if she immediately sees the sense in what Rhea says. Her head bobs, following Rhea’s finger.

“I would never want to see you get hurt like that,” continues Rhea, as she refills Jennifer’s glass again. “Not that he would, I’m sure he wouldn’t dream of doing anything like that.” A warm glance to you, a stroke of your face, and then she’s put the glass to Jennifer’s lips and actually tilts her head back to send half the contents straight down her throat.

“You’re so considerate,” says Jennifer, all the syllables just about in the right order, then she licks her lips.

“Is – look, is this alright?” you advance, you’re trying to be authoritative and decisive except you’re also genuinely unsure.

“I hope so,” says Rhea, brightly. “I did worry about how this might come across from the outside, that it might look like an established couple taking advantage of their vulnerable single roommate.”

“We should keep this secret,” insists Jennifer, she grabs your arm – and puts your hand in Rhea’s. “A secret, special thing that’s just for us.” And her obvious enthusiasm, drunk though she may be, does make you feel a little less torn.

“I really don’t think we could take advantage of you,” you tell Rhea, and grasp her bulky, lovely arm to underline the point.

“Well,” her voice turns low and sultry, and she leans in close, “let’s pretend you could.” And then she sways back, lying down on Jennifer again which prompts a squeak, and she pulls Jennifer’s legs out under her arms to lie between them.

Part of you wants to protest, to say you’re not ready. But you are - seeing the woman you love most in the world encouraging you to go with the Amazon goddess who’s crept around your thoughts for so long, how could you not be? So you crawl on top of her and mount her, it seems somehow absurd to call it mounting her when you feel about half her size. You rub the end of your cock against her pussy, feeling the sloppy mix of wetness from last time, which hardly feels thirty seconds ago.

But you’re rock-hard again already, and you want it to be because of Jennifer, because of them both – but it’s not, it’s because of Rhea, like a classical sculpture beneath you except warm and breathing. Nothing in the world could make you not put it in her, as hard and fast as possible, strike blindly out for any spot that might make her feel half as good as she does to you, and when you go in she gasps and her face lights up.

You take her by the shoulders for greater leverage, you’re rough again, and it seems like nothing, like punching someone in a dream. The moans she makes, though, they’re from a different kind of dream altogether. You thrust like you have something to say, you catch Jennifer’s eye – I’m doing this for you! - and Rhea absorbs it all without complaint, but she pushes back, her heat, her wetness, oh God how she pushes back.

To start with it seems hard, the usual struggle of the second go-round, as if you have to fight yourself. But when Rhea has a full body-shiver of pleasure that you feel too, and Jennifer whimpers out “Keep fucking her, I want you to make her come” suddenly it’s not difficult at all. Any twinge or complaint from your body is just a distraction, and not much of a distraction, not at all compared to Rhea stretching out underneath you, and Jennifer underneath her.

With a lopsided lurch you realise that Jennifer’s wiggled herself around slightly, so that she can dry-hump the side of Rhea’s torso, you have mixed feelings about this but most prominent is the shard of electricity it sends between your heart and your dick. You drive yourself into Rhea with renewed energy and she cries out “Ah!”, the pleasure catches in her throat.

Jennifer’s eyes have turned completely liquid, dazed with desire. You crane out towards her and try to kiss her, if not her mouth then at least her chest, even her arm, any token affection to try vainly to show her she’s the important one here. But Rhea is in front of her, and is so much stronger, your tongue ends up in her mouth again and the sting of her teeth in your flesh feels better than any lesser kiss possibly could.

Now you’re pressed up against her, completely in her grasp, your bodies shifting and fading into each other. You see nothing but part of her shoulder, and even that’s kind of a thrill. You grasp and grapple at her, using your hands as best you can tangled up together like this, and manage to wriggle one down to get at her clitoris – yes, there it is, she yelps again and wraps her arms around you tight you might pop.

It’s just your hips you can still manage to move to keep fucking her, just the way Jennifer asked, you break a sweat and Rhea must feel your heart beating out of your chest, but you keep going, to stop now would take a minor miracle. You brush her clitoris again, not even managing to work it, only there next to it, but it’s enough, she opens her mouth and lets it all out in one low moan, the tension goes from all the stiff muscles of her torso – and she crosses her legs behind you in a last-ditch effort to bring you even closer. Barely able to move it breaks something in your mind and you come again, it’s not the explosion of the first time, it’s a relief to be done, you melt into a puddle on top of her.

Rhea gives you a shy peck on the cheek. “I want to do this forever,” she whispers, the flush in her cheeks obvious even too close. “I never want this to stop.” Then there’s some whimpering, and you realise the orgasm has short-circuited your mind to the point you forgot all about Jennifer.

You get up off Rhea, so she can get up off Jennifer, and you both help your girlfriend to her feet. She staggers, the look on her face could be one of distress, you open your arms and she halfway falls into them, then she says “Please touch me, I’m so fucking horny after that.” You glance at Rhea, immediately concerned you might go too far, but Rhea just smiles and inclines her head.

So you bring a hand down, the way you did with Rhea, to get at her softest parts – Jennifer rides your finger weightlessly for mere moments and in that time completely soaks it before she wails out a noise that really could be one of distress, as if she hadn’t meant to climax. She collapses forward again, this time she nearly takes you down with her. And you shoot another look at Rhea, worried this was all some test, but her look of delight is broader than ever, smug even, all you can see is the black jags of her makeup.

“Now let’s tuck her in,” she adds.

As you lie spooned in bed, Jennifer in your arms with her hair in your face, Rhea’s breath on the back of your neck, and entirely too hot, you wonder about the consequences of all this – what this means for your relationship, when the other shoe will drop. But the feel of Rhea’s hand on your belly, gentle, reassuring, just there, helps lighten the load. Very quietly, you lean forward a little and ask “Are you really okay with this?”

“Mm-hm,” mumbles Jennifer, with such enthusiasm you believe her instantly.

“Fuck yeah,” replies Rhea, and touches your neck with her lips.

#rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley x you #rpf #rhea ripley fanfiction #rhea ripley smut