11. Wren

I must breathein the time it takes for Katja to respond to us, but it doesn't feel like it. I'm only aware of my rough inhales and my heavy exhales when I hear Katja's soft accent fill my ears.

"Okay," she says, tentatively. "I'll stay."

I smile at the ground unsure whether it's okay to move yet. My body temperature has soared since dropping to the floor and I'm aware of a few beads of sweat slipping down my back, even though I'm not moving. My knees are already starting to ache against the hard floor and it feels impossible to keep as absolutely still as I'm supposed to be. I'm following Amara's lead as the more experienced submissive and I see she's not moving, not speaking.

"But first," Katja speaks again and her voice is different, more level and louder. "Dessert."

Again I glance sideways at Amara

"It won't taste as good if you eat it tomorrow," Katja's voice travels as she starts to move around the kitchen. I hear the fridge door open and close, the light clattering of plates on the marble counter of our worktop. "Also, I need you both to have your energy if we're really going to do this."

The noises stop.

"Do you really want this?" Katja asks, that confidence wobblier again. "You may speak to tell me so."

I stumble for the words, unsure what is the right thing to say. As it happens, Amara speaks quickly and competently.

"Very much so, Mistress," she says.

"Actually, it's Chef," Katja corrects Amara. "So let me hear you say it. Do you really want this? Do you want me to dominate you both tonight?"

"Yes, Chef," Amara says instantly.

"Yes, Chef," I add, and it comes out croaky and raw.

"Now, look up and turn to each other," Katja says, and Amara's head instantly obeys. By the time I'm looking at her, she's waiting for me, a coy smile on her face.

"You need to tell each other what you're comfortable with and what you're not comfortable with tonight. I'll be listening while I plate up your dessert, so it's important you are honest with each other."

"Yes, Chef," Amara says without hesitation. She's so good at this. I want to be as good as her.

"Yes, Chef," I echo.

"Good. Go ahead. Talk." Katja returns to the hob and retrieves a frying pan from her crate. I watch as she pours a generous amount of honey into the pan and turns the heat up high.

"Well, first of all," Amara begins, snapping my attention back to her. "Are you okay?"

Her smile is warm and her eyes sparkle under the kitchen's hanging lights.

"I'm okay," I say honestly. "I am totally unsure what to do with myself, with my body, but I'm okay."

Amara gives me a kind, knowing look. "That's the whole point. You don't do anything, unless you're told to."

"I think I'm starting to learn that."

"Get to the point. Do as I ask." Katja's edgy tone interrupts us and I'm aware of the sweet smell filling the space between us. It's sugary sweet and a little floral too. It must be wild honey.

"So, boundaries?" Amara prompts as I look back at her and she gives me a slightly guilty look that I strongly suspect I'm returning.

"Tell me yours," I say.

"I don't think I have any," Amara says and the guilt in her face deepens. "I want to experience as much as I can. With you. With Katja."

"Even if that means me fucking Wren?" Katja interjects bluntly.

Amara swallows. "Yes, even that." She shifts her weight back and forth a little. "In fact, I want to see that."

"Dirty girl," Katja says with a wicked smile and Amara reacts exactly how I expect her to with the bronze of her cheeks darkening. "What about you, Wren? Do you want to watch me fuck Amara?"

Honestly, my first reaction is my stomach flipping before it plummets through my body. It's been a long time since someone else touched Amara and even then it was at my behest, my ordering. Because I'd been in control then, I'd always felt more comfortable with it because I knew I could stop it at any time. But this feels very different. I'm not in control anymore.

Which is exactly what I wanted.

"That's okay with me," I say in a low voice.

"That's not what I asked you." Katja continues to stir the pan in front of her as wisps of smoke rise and uncurl in front of her. "I want to know if it's what you want."

"I want… I want Amara to feel good." The back of Amara's knuckles brush up against mine.

"And you don't think you can make her feel good?" Katja challenges me.

"No, it's not that," I say. "I just want her to get the most out of this experience."

Katja's movements slow to a stop. "Because this is only going to happen once," she says and I can't work out if it's a question or not.

"Yes," I say quietly, just in case it was.

Katja starts stirring again, and I am watching her so closely, I see her wrinkle her nose. "That's still not a good enough answer, so I'll check in with you later about this."

She reaches for a glass of orange juice and pours it into the pan as her other arm continues to move steadily. A few seconds later, she's grabbing a bowl of something and tips it into the pan too. It takes me a moment to realise it's the pulp of a passionfruit, all slick and golden yellow, studded with dark seeds.

The smell in the kitchen alone has me salivating but the sight of that juicy fruit sliding into the pan has me craving all kinds of textures and tastes on my tongue. God, I hope Katja makes me eat Amara.

"I also need you both to know that this is not the answer you are looking for. You still need to keep communicating and working on your relationship. One night is not going to fix anything. And this has to be only one night. I have a new life to start, tomorrow."

I feel a pang of sadness slice into the heady thrills I'd been feeling at the prospect of what is about to happen. I don't want to think about it being over.

"Stand up and help me," Katja says. Amara is the first to get up, but I am still quick to obey.

"Bring those plates over here." She nods at two plates that hold what looks like slices of cheesecake.

Taking one each, we carry them to where Katja is still stirring the pan although she has turned the heat off.

With the kind of grace that only a trained professional chef has, she pours the golden-brown sauce over the slices one at a time.

"Burnt honey and passionfruit and coconut cream cheesecake," she says once she's finished, placing the pan in the sink.

"It looks incredible," I say.

"Is there…" Amara pauses and bites her lip. "Is there enough for you to have a slice too?"

"Me?" Katja seems shocked.

"Yes, I'd love it if you could eat with us, Chef," she says in a shy voice.

Katja wipes her hands on the tea towel hanging on her shoulder and pouts a little as she considers this question.

She then steps closer to us. "You can feed me some of yours," she replies, her steady gaze shifting from Amara to me and then back again.

"Okay." Amara's beaming smile is back and in no time she's scooped up a forkful of the cheesecake and holds it out for Katja, her other hand cupped underneath in case some falls.

"You first." Katja nods and so the spoon changes direction and ends up in Amara's mouth.

"My God." Amara's eyes close. "That's… heaven."

I waste no time getting some for myself, and I couldn't agree more when the cream of the coconut, the tartness of the passionfruit and the smoky sweetness of burnt honey hits my tongue.

"You are so talented," I tell Katja, savouring every millisecond the food is in my mouth.

Katja looks up at me, her blue eyes brightening. "Oh, Wren, you have no idea."

And just like that, I want to fall to my knees again.

"Now, feed me," she says, and she opens her mouth as Amara spoons some cheesecake between her lips. She hums as she chews and seems satisfied with herself, and then it's my turn to feed her, which I do, treasuring the intense eye contact she gives me.

We continue like this for several minutes and there are no words, only gentle moans and hums as we enjoy the dessert. But what does somehow happen is that we all inch closer together so that by the time our two plates are empty, one of my legs is touching Amara's dress and the outside of my other thigh is close enough to occasionally brush up against Katja's hip and the hem of the black chef shirt she's wearing.

Katja doesn't move as she takes the plates from us and puts them on the island.

"Passionfruit," she says to Amara as her right hand comes up to tuck a strand of Amara's hair behind her ear.

"Coconut," Katja says when she turns to me and her left hand cups my jaw.

I can imagine Amara looks as confused as me, but I daren't take my eyes off Katja, who quickly clarifies, "Those are your safe words. And my safe word is honey. Understood?"

"Yes, Chef," Amara says obediently and I copy her, a little embarrassed it's not coming to me as naturally as it does to her.

But Katja doesn't seem to mind.

"Now, I want you to kiss. And I'm going to watch and touch you both as you do. Last time you kissed I couldn't touch you and it physically pained me, made something inside me ache with longing. So I'm going to touch you now. Is that okay?"

"Yes, Chef," Amara and I chorus.

"Then don't make me wait," Katja says. "People who make me wait get punished."

On my left, Amara shivers. And on my right, Katja pouts at me again and gives me a daring eyebrow raise. I know she's giving me an opportunity to walk away, to stop this whole thing, but I don't. I don't.

Instead, I turn to my wife, wrap one of my arms around her waist, bring my other hand to her face, pull her close and slant my mouth against hers.