The integration of Betty Harrington into Simon West's life wasn't just a bedroom revolution—it was a full-scale lifestyle upgrade that seeped into every corner of his empire. What began as explosive threesomes quickly evolved into something deeper, richer, and far more addictive than any of them had anticipated. Betty didn't just "join" them; she arrived like a missing puzzle piece that suddenly made the whole picture make sense.
The first real test came two weeks after their initial night together. WestTech was hosting a high-profile investor dinner at a private venue in Tribeca—black-tie, high-stakes, the kind of event where deals were whispered over $500 bottles of wine and alliances were forged or broken. Simon had always attended these solo or with a decorative plus-one who understood the rules: look pretty, don't speak unless spoken to, disappear before dessert.
This time, he wanted both women on his arms.
Lily was instantly on board. "Hell yes. Let's show these Wall Street dinosaurs what a modern power trio looks like."
Betty was more hesitant. "Are you sure? I'm the new CFO. People will talk."
"Let them talk," Simon said, pulling her close in his office after hours, door locked, her back against the glass desk. "I'm tired of hiding the best parts of my life."
He sealed the argument by sliding his hand under her skirt, finding her already wet, and making her come with his fingers while whispering exactly what he planned to do to her later with Lily watching. By the time she was trembling against him, Betty was breathlessly agreeing to anything he wanted.
The night of the dinner, they arrived separately to avoid immediate gossip—Simon first, then Lily twenty minutes later, then Betty as the "professional colleague." But once inside, the magnetism was impossible to ignore.
Lily wore a backless gold gown that shimmered like liquid metal, hair swept to one side, diamonds at her throat that Simon had gifted her "for being a very good girl." Betty chose deep emerald velvet that hugged her curves and made her warm brown eyes glow. Simon, in classic black tux, looked like every woman's fantasy and every man's nightmare.
They converged at the bar like planets aligning. Simon's hand found the small of Lily's back, then Betty's, guiding them both through the crowd. Heads turned. Whispers started. Simon's intuition registered envy, curiosity, and a few calculating glances—he filed them all away for later.
Dinner seating was strategic: Simon at the head table with key investors, Lily and Betty flanking him on either side. Under the tablecloth, the real game began.
Lily's heel slid up Simon's calf first, teasing. Then Betty, emboldened by Lily's encouraging smile across the table, joined in—her stockinged foot tracing patterns on his inner thigh. Simon nearly choked on his foie gras when both women synchronized their movements, stroking him through his trousers until he was rock hard and gripping his wine glass like a lifeline.
He shot them both warning looks that promised delicious retribution. They responded with innocent smiles that fooled no one who was paying attention.
After dinner, the trio escaped to a private balcony overlooking the Hudson. City lights reflected on the water like scattered diamonds.
"You two are trying to kill me," Simon growled, pinning Lily against the railing and kissing her hard while Betty watched, biting her lip.
"We're succeeding," Lily laughed breathlessly when he released her. "But wait till we get home."
Home that night was Betty's loft—their new favorite neutral territory. The moment the door closed, clothes started flying. Simon pushed Betty against the exposed brick wall, hiking her dress up while Lily knelt to taste her. Betty's moans echoed through the open space as Simon entered her from behind, Lily's tongue working magic below.
They migrated to the bedroom, a king-sized haven with industrial windows. Round two: Betty on her back, Simon between her thighs, Lily straddling her face. The sight of Betty's tongue disappearing into Lily while Simon thrust deep pushed him over the edge faster than usual. Lily came seconds later, grinding down with a cry that shattered the quiet night.
Round three was slower, sweeter—Simon on his back, both women taking turns riding him while kissing each other above him. The intimacy of watching them together—Lily's hand in Betty's hair, Betty's fingers tracing Lily's breasts—made Simon's orgasms more intense than ever.
They collapsed in a sweaty, satisfied heap, Betty in the middle again.
"I can't believe this is my life now," Betty whispered, tracing lazy circles on Simon's chest. "CFO by day, this by night."
"Get used to it," Lily murmured, kissing Betty's shoulder. "We're keeping you."
The professional integration was just as seamless. Betty's financial acumen was transforming WestTech—streamlining costs, charming investors, preparing flawless IPO paperwork. In meetings, she and Simon were the ultimate power duo: he with visionary charisma, she with data-driven precision. No one suspected that the night before a big presentation, she'd been tied to his bedposts while Lily used a vibrator on her until she begged.
Lily's role evolved too. She'd been freelancing, but Simon offered her a contract to redesign ErosAI's entire user interface. "You're the best," he said simply. "And I want you closer."
She accepted, negotiating hard for creative control and equity. Their "contract discussions" involved multiple orgasms on his desk.
With Betty's arrival, the dynamic balanced perfectly. Lily was the spark—the bold, playful instigator. Betty was the warmth—the gentle, nurturing counterpoint. Simon was the center, his intuition guiding them through potential pitfalls like jealousy or burnout.
They developed rituals. Wednesday nights at Betty's loft for "decompression"—wine, massages that always turned sexual. Friday penthouse sleepovers with city views. Sunday brunches where they cooked naked and fed each other strawberries dipped in chocolate.
The sex remained incendiary. They explored kinks safely: light bondage (Betty discovered she loved being restrained), roleplay (Lily as demanding boss, Simon and Betty as eager employees), sensory play (blindfolds, ice, feathers). Toys became staples—vibrators, plugs, straps that Lily wielded with wicked expertise.
One memorable weekend, they rented a house in the Hamptons. No work, no interruptions. Three days of sun, sand, and nonstop sex. Poolside oral while the sun set. Kitchen counter quickies between meals. Midnight beach walks that ended with Betty on her knees in the dunes while Lily held her hair.
By the end, they were sun-kissed, sore in the best ways, and closer than ever.
But Betty's full arrival wasn't without challenges.
About a month in, Betty had a rough week—board pressure, long hours, a family call that left her emotional. She withdrew slightly, canceling plans with excuses about fatigue.
Simon noticed immediately—his intuition pinging concern. Lily did too.
They showed up at her loft unannounced with Thai food, wine, and zero expectations.
"We're not here for sex," Lily said firmly, pulling Betty into a hug. "We're here for you."
They spent the evening on her couch—Betty curled between them, talking through her stress while they listened without judgment. When tears came, Lily wiped them away. When Betty apologized for "being a mess," Simon kissed her temple.
"You're our mess," he said. "We've got you."
The night ended with gentle lovemaking—no toys, no intensity, just slow, tender connection. Simon inside Betty while Lily held her, whispering affirmations. Betty fell asleep between them feeling safe for the first time in weeks.
After that, vulnerability became easier. Betty opened up about past relationships—how she'd always felt like the "smart one" men tolerated but didn't truly desire. Lily shared her fears of being seen as just the "fun one." Simon admitted his terror of losing control—not in business, but emotionally.
The emotional intimacy matched the physical. They became each other's safe space.
At work, Betty's confidence soared. She negotiated a crucial funding round that valued WestTech at numbers that made headlines. Simon watched her present with pride swelling in his chest—later fucking her against his office window to celebrate, Lily joining via video call to direct the action.
Socially, they navigated carefully. Close friends knew—Simon's assistant Mia raised an eyebrow but said nothing. At public events, they appeared as colleagues/friends, but stolen touches and knowing glances fueled private passion.
One night, after a charity gala, they returned to the penthouse buzzing with champagne and adrenaline. Lily orchestrated a fantasy Betty had shyly mentioned—being "taken" by both of them.
Simon carried Betty to the bedroom while Lily followed with silk ties. They bound her wrists to the headboard, blindfolded her, then spent hours teasing—feathers, tongues, fingers, denying orgasm until she was sobbing with need.
When Simon finally entered her, Lily straddled her face. The synchronized rhythm—Simon thrusting deep, Betty's muffled moans against Lily—sent them all over the edge in waves.
Aftercare was meticulous: untying her gently, massages, water, cuddles. Betty fell asleep with tears of release, murmuring "I love you both" before drifting off.
The words hung in the air. Not scary—inevitable.
Simon and Lily exchanged a look over Betty's sleeping form.
"We're in deep," Lily whispered.
"Yeah," Simon agreed, pulling them both closer. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."
Betty's arrival wasn't just an addition.
It was completion.
With her fully integrated—heart, body, and future—their unconventional empire was stronger than ever.
And the best parts were still to come.