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i.
Most people buy chocolates or flowers for their lovers when anniversaries roll on by, but Max wants to try something different. Honestly, she would never of guessed she'd get this far, with both Chloe and Rachel seated, or slouched in their respected kitchen seats. They're expectant, waiting. Perhaps even predicting what's about to happen.
"Alright Maxi-Pad," Chloe teases, and she produces her signature cerulean-blue lighter and a creased cigarette from the depths of her pocket. The pad of her thumb flicks against the metallic coil, and she guides a petite, flickering flame to the tar slipping from the rollie's edge.
"I really hope this ain't an intervention, because if it's about me stuffing 2 tons of mashed potatoes in icky Vicky's locker, then I'm sure my mom and I covered everything."
Rachel, always the closeted introvert, rolls her pretty hazel irises at the punk's remarks. She's clamped a strand of mousy-blonde hair between her digits and has begun to braid it, perfectly, no less. That familiar and dangling feather slips out from behind her curtain of a mane, and she hoists both legs up onto the chair for better leverage.
"Yes, Maxine, enlighten us," she says with a roll of the tongue that she knows full well will drive Max insane. "What are you to present us with? Have you stooped too far with something? Gone too low? Or do you need my superior intellect to solve a puzzle you cannot fathom?"
Max hates this. How she sometimes, rarely, but sometimes, cannot fit a word in edge-ways. To outsiders, Rachel Dawn Amber may seem like a sweet and angelic young woman, who's only goals were to model and to be photographed. In reality, she could be extremely sassy and difficult to tame. In one manner of another, she adored and lusted after this side to Rachel. However, the more logical part of Max would prefer otherwise.
It doesn't help that Rachel has the wonderful ability to go from sounding like an English teacher who regularly reads an upper-class newspaper to a bratty teenager who thinks they know it all.
So, Max runs a sweaty palm through the fringe of her russet-strands, traces soothing lines over the back of her hand, and shuffles in place ever-so-slightly against the sea-foam tiles beneath her sneakers. Then, as her legs clack together comically, and lukewarm droplets of anxiety form on the creases of her brow; she inhales, exhales and eyes both of the girls from head to toe. "I want to give you both your anniversary gifts."
Chloe, fitted with her two-headed snake tank top, ripped denim jeans, and strewn boots in which she'd failed to tie; takes a deep drag of her cigarette, and lets the cloud of processed nicotine flutter and disintegrate through the stuffy air; like pollution was beautiful. She lets her baby-blue eyes fall lidded, and opts to peek right around Max's quaking frame -- just for some kind of comic relief.
"I don't see any presents, Caulfield. This is pretty disappointing."
"No," Max interrupts, whilst Chloe has only just finished her condescending sentence. She's stood in the middle of the ivory-painted door-way, fingertips curling over the bend of her palm, toes padding against one another; as the hot gaze of both of her partners are scorching on her skin. She was burning a fever, but chills still managed to run laps up and down her spine like it were a marathon.
Max's fingertips curl over the rim of her Portal tee, and she manages to peel it off in one, slick movement. Albeit, it makes her tawny bedhead stick up at all angles, and she's quivering with both fear and raw determination; but she still manages to look oddly alluring.
Rachel halts, and stops braiding that particular loose strand of sugar-cookie blonde hair, and lets it swing from her digits for a moment or so. She stares on ahead in awe, with a perfectly-raised eyebrow, and a smug smirk.
Chloe falls silent, and her cigarette stalls between her hand, a thin grey trail leaking from the edge.
"I don't care if it's with both of you, or only one of you," Max murmurs, quiet, voice wobbling. "but I want to sleep with at least one of my girlfriend's on our anniversary."
The tense aroma shifts, and for a deadly and frightening second -- none of the girls try to move by the slightest of an inch. There she is, a sheepish and terrified Maxine; cowered in only her rouge-pink bra and generic jeans; lightly-freckled flesh on show for the both of them to see and enjoy. She figured that, by Rachel's personally dominant side, and Chloe's thirst for sex -- that neither of them would pass up an opportunity to ravage her and make her rut with pleasure.
After a long and painful pause, the bluenette reaches forward and stubs out the nicotine-stick against the oak-wood table, and it shifts upon this action. She's still slouched, one knee wound over the other; and her folded beanie covering her aqua-magenta hair; but Max had always found her childhood friend attractive. So, when she was introduced to a gorgeous and insanely-intelligent Ms. Amber, it was no surprise that only a couple of months later -- they had begun a relationship.
Between the three of them.
Chloe's eyes had widened, but yet she seems only slightly shocked, uttering out an unsatisfied "Oh."
That's when the most unpredictable thing occurs. Rachel, who had remained observantly quiet over the course of the past few seconds, not even muttering tumbleweeds -- pushes the back of her knees against the chair and shifts it backwards with an immense force, quickly and sudden. Her palms stay glued to the table; burgundy-painted fingernails chipped and torn -- which is strangely imperfect for such a perfectionist.
"Well, Maxie," She purrs, with a seductive grin. "I didn't think you had the balls to do this. But, since our good friend Chloe Price;" She pauses, to spare a pitying glance at the blue-haired girl, whose jaw is currently dropping."won't take up the opportunity to tap your ass -- I guess I will. And she can watch."
Max isn't even allowed a moment to think for herself or allow her head to stop spinning before Rachel's hot and encircling tongue is suckling onto her neck. She'd pushed herself forward, grasped the girl by her shoulders, and lapped her wet muscle against her vocal chords -- sending up a vibration that makes Maxine shudder. It's kind of strange, really, how all Chloe can do is slouch in her seat with a gawking mouth, as both of the girls of her dreams fuck one another.
Rachel glides the tip of her tongue over the shell of Max's earlobe, and grips her by the hips gently, and it's a strange kind of gentle; and the brunette adores it.
"Sit up against the kitchen sink for me, Maxine." She whispers, hot and bothered, and Max is in no position to object. She's hoisted up by the back of her thighs unto the slide of the metallic sink; tube pressing against her spine uncomfortably; but that's not her main concern. All she's focusing on with every inch of concentration possible, is the way Rachel presses firm and feather-light pecks to the side of her damp lips; trailing softly with her two front fingers over Max's denim jeans.
"Jesus fuck," Max chokes, voice raspy and desperate, when the girl's tanned hand reaches her womanhood; and begin palming over the rough material of denim; slowly and horribly teasingly. Albeit, she tries to grind against the friction, to manufacture even the slightest bit of pleasure from Rachel's deadly touch. It works, and the blonde chuckles at it solemnly; tucking a trailing strand of brunette hair behind Maxine's ear.
And Chloe, well, she just has to come in to exaggerate things; tearing off her navy hat and winding her toned and pale-white limbs around Max's waist -- much more heavy-handily than Rachel, but also wary of her bounds and limits.
"Save some booty for Captain Chloe, would you?" She hisses, tone demanding and hoarse, but still somewhat offended, as if she'd been internally killed by watching her girlfriend's get it on without her.
Honestly, Max was loving and desiring every second of this -- two beautiful girls looming over her with the smuggest grins and brightest sparkling eyes you've ever seen. Rachel sucked the top section of her thumb, and then rubbed circles over Max's clothed clit with it; and Chloe's pale-pink lips on the slope of her neck are driving Max mad with lust.
"Take off your pants," Rachel orders, retracting her digits away from the brunette's pants, to which Max whimpers and grinds for more.
Chloe helps her, of course; lifting the girl's backside upwards so she can wriggle out of her suddenly tight and unwanted jeans; chucking them into a useless heap somewhere in the corner of the kitchen. They both remain completely clothed; and as Max clambers back against the sink; they'll exchange nods and beckoning glances every so often -- or whisper an order that they knew would make Maxine beg for more from the both of them.
"You look so hot like this, Max." Chloe murmurs, shoving one side of her bra upwards and twirling a perk bud between her fingertips -- to which the girl lets out a feverish moan -- cheeks flushing crimson. The bluenette's eyes stay firmly locked on her, alluring stare held in place as she rolls the sore nipple around; just to see the faces and expression Max makes. And so she doesn't notice when Rachel spreads her milky-white thighs apart; freckles dotting a field of pale flesh -- and licks a wet strip up along the slit.
Max has been around Rachel long enough to know her like the back of her hand. She'll have her strange-bright pupils shimmering like a constellation of stars, baby-pink lips curled into an impish grin; and a familiar hum spiraling from the back of her throat to send vibrations along the hood of Max's clit. And when a quivering Maxine presses a boiling palm to her forehead and stretches out a long "Oh my God." after the girl laps hungrily at the wet, pink skin-- nobody is surprised at it.
"Oh, Chloe." Rachel nods; pulling away from between Max's legs with a loud smack.
"I'm terribly sorry we've been leaving you out," She adds, with a wide smirk, and runs the length of her tongue over the brunette's inner thigh just for good measure. "Max, eat Chloe out."
Chloe's not exactly one to argue, practically ripping off her thread-bared skinny jeans, tossing them over by Max's own denim ones; and hoisting herself onto the granite counter-top; placing her legs over Max's face and waiting for her own gift. It's rather strange, really, how Rachel could get off without even being pleasured herself. She loves observing others, and that's how she learns. Even as she pushes a daring digit into Max's entrance, wet and slick, thrusting it gently and scraping her fingernail against the walls.
Max's hand flies to her lips, and she squeezes her eyes shut tight. "Jesus Christ."
"Nope," Chloe chuckles, twirling the second nipple around between her fingertip. "Just me, babe."
She's quick and easy to shut up, though, when Max licks and bites aimlessly between Chloe's legs, earning her a number of steady and caved moans, groans and all of the sorts. She's noticing blurry edges to her vision sidebars, and the kitchen is quickly becoming filled with the sound of wet intercourse; as Rachel softly, so softly, pushes another finger inside of her and begins pumping like there's no tomorrow.
The blue-haired punk is panting against the wall, cold material soothing her fever as the girl below her sucks and grinds her teeth against throbbing skin, causing her to muffle a string of breathy yelps behind her hands. She's never had it this good, never in her life. Not even from a solo Rachel.
Max presses against Rachel's lapping tongue, outstretching her arms, everything becoming a blur; the girls around her all falling weak at their knees -- but yet Rachel still smirks, swirling a third digit around against Maxine's wanton heat; arm becoming sore -- yet it's worth it as she plants soothing kisses against her sternum and watches her reaction.
"You want to come, Max?" She whispers, voice low and breathy.
"Y-Yes. Oh God, yes."
She chuckles and speeds up her rhythm until Max swears she can see stars, jolting up off the sink; and her mouth pulling away from Chloe's clit for a fraction of a second as she groans.
"Come for me, Max Caulfield."
And she does, oh, she does. Her petite and freckled body wriggles, knees pressing together; and one final, forceful lick against Chloe causes them both to slump and waver in absolute ecstasy. The orgasm washes over her in calm and collected waves, but still has a sickly sour edge to it. She's feeling twitches of pure pleasure in her chest, albeit fading, as the bluenette groans into the wall; twiddling the first bud again. Rachel's mouth is heavenly and soft against her womanhood, and she pants against it.
"Holy fucking God."
"I know, Maxie," Rachel hums appreciatively, pulling her wet fingers out of Max's entrance and sliding them into her mouth with a short nod of the head.
"I think she delivered her anniversary gifts pretty weirdly." Chloe comments with a throaty chuckle, as Max falls limp with after-shock. "But it was pretty good."
Rachel only answers with a peck to Chloe's smirking lips, tugging the collar of her shirt further inward and tasting sweet on her tongue. "You betcha."
Some pleasures, Max thinks to herself with a sense of giddy sense of glee, are meant for special days.