The morning after their groundbreaking night with Betty, Simon West woke to the unfamiliar but utterly delightful sensation of being sandwiched between two warm, naked women. Sunlight filtered through the half-drawn blinds, painting golden stripes across the tangled sheets. Lily was curled against his left side, her head on his chest, one leg thrown over his thigh. Betty lay on his right, face tucked into his neck, her soft breaths tickling his skin. Both women had that post-multiple-orgasms glow—hair messy, lips swollen, faint marks from his mouth and hands decorating their bodies like badges of honor.
Simon's intuition, usually the first thing to wake him with business alerts or gut warnings, was blissfully silent. Just pure, unadulterated contentment. He didn't want to move. Ever.
But biology demanded otherwise. Carefully extricating himself without waking them—impressive feat given the limb entanglement—he padded to the bathroom, then to the kitchen to start coffee. The machine's low hum felt like the only sound in the world.
He was standing at the counter in nothing but low-slung sweatpants, scrolling through overnight ErosAI metrics (record sign-ups, viral TikToks, one celebrity endorsement), when arms wrapped around him from behind.
"Morning, stud," Lily murmured, pressing her naked body against his back. She'd thrown on his discarded dress shirt from the night before; it hung to mid-thigh and smelled like all three of them. "You left us cold."
"Making coffee," he said, turning to kiss her. She tasted like sleep and sex. "Didn't want to wake you. You both looked… wrecked. In the best way."
She grinned against his lips. "We are wrecked. Happily. Where's Betty?"
"Still out. Think we broke her."
Lily laughed softly. "Poor thing. First threesome and we went full Olympic level." She reached around him to steal his coffee mug. "But she kept up like a champ."
Footsteps padded in. Betty appeared in the doorway wearing Simon's robe—way too big on her, sleeves rolled up, belt cinched tight. Her hair was a wild halo, cheeks flushed even now. She looked shy and radiant at the same time.
"Morning," she said, voice husky. "I smell coffee?"
Simon poured her a mug, handing it over with a gentle kiss on her forehead. "How're you feeling?"
"Like I got hit by a very sexy truck," she admitted, leaning against the counter. "In the absolute best way. I… wow. Last night was…"
"Life-altering?" Lily supplied, hopping onto the island stool. "Mind-blowing? Best sex of your life?"
"All of the above." Betty's smile was soft. "I was nervous. But you both made it feel… safe. And hot. Really, really hot."
Simon felt something expand in his chest. Pride, affection, lust—all mixed. "Good. Because we're nowhere near done with you."
Betty's eyes widened. "Already?"
Lily smirked. "He's got recovery time like a 20-year-old. Give him ten minutes and caffeine."
They migrated to the terrace with coffee and bagels (delivered, because cooking was ambitious). Central Park spread below them, Sunday joggers tiny dots. Conversation stayed light at first—work anecdotes, funny childhood stories—but inevitably circled back to the new dynamic.
"So," Betty said, buttering a bagel with deliberate focus, "what happens now? Is this… a one-time thing? Ongoing? Friends with benefits plus one?"
Lily looked at Simon, eyebrow raised. Your move, Oracle.
He set his mug down. "I'll be honest—I didn't plan this. But I don't want it to be one-time. I like you, Betty. A lot. And Lily does too. We talked about openness before you joined, but this feels… different. Better."
Lily nodded. "Way better. You fit, Betty. Like, scary good. The sex was insane, yeah, but also the vibe. You're sweet, smart, funny. I don't feel threatened—I feel… excited? Like we're building something cool."
Betty's eyes shimmered slightly. "I feel that too. I've never clicked with people this fast. But I don't want to mess up what you two have."
"You're not messing," Simon said firmly. "You're enhancing. My gut's screaming jackpot."
They agreed to take it slow—whatever that meant in this context. Dates, sleepovers, group chats blowing up with memes and nudes. Work stayed professional (mostly—stolen kisses in the elevator didn't count).
Betty left around noon with lingering hugs and promises of "soon." The door closed, and Lily turned to Simon with a predatory grin.
"Alone at last."
They didn't make it back to the bedroom. Kitchen island, round four—Lily bent over the marble, Simon taking her from behind while she described in filthy detail what she wanted to do to Betty next time. The sounds she made echoed through the penthouse.
After, showering together (round five, slower, against the glass wall), they collapsed on the couch in robes, ordering lunch.
"So," Lily said, feeding him sushi with chopsticks, "rate the experience. One to ten."
"Eleven," he said without hesitation. "You?"
"Same. But it's not just the sex. It's… her. She's genuine."
"Yeah." He paused. "You okay sharing me? Really?"
She considered, head on his shoulder. "Surprisingly, yes. Seeing you with her was hot as fuck. And she looked at you like you hung the moon. Made me proud, weirdly."
He kissed her temple. "You're incredible."
"Duh."
The week blurred into a delicious new normal. Betty joined them twice more—once mid-week for "dinner" that turned into breakfast, once for a weekend sleepover that involved silk restraints, toys, and so many orgasms Simon lost count.
At work, the tension was electric. Boardroom meetings where Betty presented financials in power suits, Simon struggling not to remember how she looked riding him reverse cowgirl. Quickies in his private office bathroom—her on the sink, him muffling her moans with his tie. Lily getting play-by-play texts and demanding videos (which they obligingly sent).
One Thursday night, after a particularly grueling day—competitor rumors, server issues—Simon came home exhausted. Lily and Betty were already there, having plotted via group chat. Candles, massage oil, his favorite playlist.
"We're taking care of you tonight," Lily announced, pushing him toward the bedroom.
They stripped him slowly, hands everywhere—kisses on his neck, shoulders, chest. Betty's mouth on his cock while Lily kissed him deeply. Then switching, Lily deep-throating him while Betty licked his balls. He came hard down Lily's throat, groaning their names.
They didn't stop. Turned him over, massaged his back with warm oil, then Lily straddled his face while Betty rode him slow and deep. The sensory overload—tasting Lily, feeling Betty clench around him—was transcendent. When he came again inside Betty, Lily was grinding against his mouth, coming with a muffled scream against his thigh.
After, they lay in a sweaty pile, Betty in the middle this time.
"I needed that," Simon admitted, voice rough. "You two are… everything."
Betty kissed his chest. "We've got you."
Lily smirked. "Always. But next time, we're using the swing."
The physical intimacy deepened with every encounter. They learned each other's bodies like maps—Betty loved having her hair pulled gently, Lily needed clit stimulation to come from penetration, Simon went feral when they both called him "sir" in unison.
But it wasn't just sex. Movie nights curled on the couch, Betty's head in Simon's lap, Lily's feet in Betty's. Cooking disasters that ended in ordering pizza and laughing till they cried. Late-night talks about dreams—Betty wanted kids someday, Lily wanted to start her own agency, Simon wanted WestTech public but not at the cost of his soul.
One Saturday, they spent the entire day in bed. Started with sleepy morning sex—Simon waking to Lily's mouth on him, Betty watching and touching herself. Then breakfast in bed (literally—whipped cream involved). Shower orgy. Nap. Afternoon delight with toys. Dinner delivered. Evening round with Betty on her knees for both of them.
By night, they were boneless.
"This," Betty whispered, tracing patterns on Simon's abs, "feels like a dream I don't want to wake from."
Lily, spooning her from behind, kissed her shoulder. "Not a dream. Just us."
Simon's intuition pinged—not warning, but confirmation. This was right.
But the outside world wouldn't stay out forever.
Monday brought trouble. A major investor meeting—rumors of a hostile takeover attempt from Nexus, Simon's biggest rival. He walked into the boardroom with Betty at his side, both in sharp suits, looking every inch the power duo. No one knew she'd been screaming his and Lily's names forty-eight hours earlier.
The meeting was brutal—grilling on numbers, strategy, defense. Betty shone, presenting contingency plans with calm precision. Simon's intuition guided rebuttals, spotting bluffs, turning doubt into confidence.
After, in his office, door locked, she straddled him in his chair.
"That was hot," she breathed, grinding against him. "Watching you command the room."
He pushed her skirt up, finding her bare. "You were brilliant."
Quick, desperate fuck—her riding him hard, his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. Coming together with stifled groans.
Later, group chat exploded.
Lily: Heard the meeting went well. Celebrate tonight?
Betty: God yes. My place this time?
Simon: On my way.
Betty's apartment was cozy Soho loft—exposed brick, art on walls, massive bed. New territory added spice. They christened every surface: kitchen counter, shower, living room floor. Betty shyly admitted a fantasy—being watched. Lily and Simon obliged, making her touch herself while they kissed, then taking turns with her until she sobbed from overstimulation.
By morning, the sheets were destroyed.
"This is sustainable, right?" Betty asked over coffee, half-joking.
"Absolutely," Lily said. "We'll just need stronger furniture."
Simon laughed, pulling them both close. "And bigger beds."
The intimacy—first tentative, then explosive—had become the foundation of something profound. Three people, one connection, infinite possibilities.
Simon's golden intuition had never been clearer: this was the jackpot.
And they were just getting started.