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“I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong,” Sandrone said, her chin propped heavy on Arlecchino’s thigh. She had slick all over her face, but had made no move to wipe it away.
Arlecchino leaned her head back into the pillows and sighed, satisfied, as Rosalyne—without bothering to turn around—reached out and stubbed her cigarette out on the edge of her areola. The room smelled faintly of burning skin.
Grabbing Sandrone by the undone coils of her braid where it had half fallen from its pins, Arlecchino pulled her close, pressing her clit up and into the metallic warmth of Sandrone’s mouth. It wasn’t wet, not properly, like a human; instead, Sandrone was warm like the machine she was, a steady, mechanical heat.
Sandrone did as she had been bid, and immediately put her tongue back to Arlecchino’s clit.
The flicker of flame as Rosalyne lit another cigarette was the only sound but for Arlecchino’s rough breathing and the wet, slick, sloppy noises from between her legs. Arlecchino watched, eyes lidded, as Rosalyne rolled over and reached to grab Sandrone’s head, pulling her away from where she had been happily lapping up the remainders of an earlier orgasm to, instead, turn her attention to Rosalyne’s always-boiling cunt.
“Your problem,” Rosalyne said, with a long breath of smoke, “is that you keep letting your little girl sleep in your bed, rather than fucking her in there. She’s got the purpose all wrong.”
Arlecchino couldn’t help but laugh, pulling Rosalyne’s hand over to take a long pull off of the older woman’s cigarette. “Signora, I think our Marionette’s problem is that she’s useless at asking for what she wants.” Sandrone’s glare at this was mutinous. “She’s only good when you tell her what to do.”
Sandrone pulled back, leaning up on one elbow. “I am not—“ she began, only to cut off in a sharp, choking noise as Rosalyne knotted her hand up in Sandrone’s hair and put her right back down where she’d been.
That Sandrone didn’t fight it was answer enough.
Arlecchino took another long drag from the cigarette and bent to kiss the heat against Rosalyne’s breast, sucking one hard pink nipple into her mouth and feeling the way the other woman arched. “Just kiss her,” she said, when she pulled back. “It’ll save us a lot of time and trouble.”
The wet sucking sound as Sandrone pulled off of Rosalyne’s cunt a second time was loud. “What if she doesn’t like it?”
Arlecchino rolled her eyes, grabbed Sandrone by the back of the head, and put her back where she’d been. “Useless,” she muttered, and, too, returned to what she had been doing.