Author's note: This is a story based on Glee. It takes place during the later seasons, when both the actresses and the characters in the story are over 18.
*****
Rachel came back from her hourly bathroom break to find her leadership had been missed on the group project. Brittany was now on Santana's lap, and her tongue was in Santana's mouth. If she'd had to do number two, Rachel felt sure her previous thought would've been reversed.
"I left to tinkle with the assurance that you would be developing Austro-Hungary's dancing style? Honestly, it's like you don't even
want
to catalog the build-up to World War 1 through interpretive dance with every country being represented as a different member of Glee Club with their own individual aesthetic!"
Santana restrained herself to just massaging Brittany's thigh under her red skirt. Rachel should've known something was up when they both showed up at her house in their Cheerio outfits. "Honestly, Ratchet, you're such a control freak, we thought you'd just do all the work and when it was mediocre, as usual, we could send the teacher nudes for a passing grade."
"First of all, my work is outstanding. Secondly, don't call me Ratchet, that word and Rachel are not even from the same root language!"
Brittany stooped to whisper in Santana's ear.
"Please stop straddling her," Rachel insisted. "That couch was designed to only hold one person per cushion. You are stressing its limitations."
Santana grabbed Brittany's ass and pulled her even closer. "Tell you what, Woody Allen. I keep making it with my girlfriend and you watch, then you can do the work for all three of us."
"That sounds reasonable to me," Brittany agreed.
"It was your idea!" Rachel cried.
"Huh? No, I was just whispering to Santana that I miss Digimon. I wish Japan would bring that back."
Rachel crossed her arms. She'd gotten exceedingly good at it. "
Ms.
Lopez, my fellow student—if I wished to observe you in Sapphic coitus, I would just have to be in the third floor bathroom in the east wing during lunch period."
"Oh, so we're bargaining now? I know you're Jewish and everything, but turning down me and Brittany making sweet lady love to each other is downright
Chinese."
"Your ethnic humor won't get me to do this project all by myself!" Some people could double-knot their shoelaces. Rachel could double-cross her arms.
"Alright then. How about we let you join in?"
"Join in? On the coitus?" Rachel got into character so deeply, she actually felt a bead of sweet rolling between her shoulder blades.
Santana pushed Brittany off her lap, splaying her legs in invitation. "Yeah. You. Me. Brittany, if you can handle both of us. What do you want, Manhands? Ready to leave the tribe of virgins?"
"
For your information,
I am not a virgin. I lost that particular social construct in a very loving, intimate setting during which Finn and I consumed many non-alcoholic beers and professed our feelings
at length.
"
Pinching her hem between two fingers, Santana began to tug one side of her skirt slowly upward. Brittany pulled up on the other. As much as Rachel doubted the feminist implications of the story of the Garden of Eden, it looked very much like there was a certain mythic snake at Santana's crotch, having the material of her skirt pulled over it.
"Yeah, no shit, Rachel. It's the new millennium, everyone's lost their virginity. Even Artie's gotten fucked, and his dong doesn't even have a bone in it or whatever. I'm talking about your backdoor virginity. Only the cool kids take it up the ass."
"I like this plan," Brittany said. "I'm excited to be a part of it."
She got up and stepped over the couch, leaving Santana to pull her skirt over her strap-on on her own. Rachel watched out of the corner of her eye as Brittany picked the camera off the piano and moved it in closer, to capture Rachel's nervous look as she regarded the eight-inch dildo affixed to Santana's crotch by a Gordian knot of dominatrix straps.
She was pleased with her own acting prowess, actually feeling excited as Santana rose from the couch and walked over the coffee table toward her with a menacing grin on what the politically incorrect would dub an exotic face. Rachel backed up, eventually hitting and falling into one of the living room's easy chairs.
Santana stood over her, hands on her hips, subconsciously pointing at the dildo that was itself aimed at Rachel. Rachel felt a fire deep in her sex as she counted each of the strap-on's eight inches off in her head. She was glad that Santana hadn't lied and it really was the smallest one in her collection.
Suddenly, Santana grabbed Rachel's arm and yanked her up roughly from the chair. Then she pushed her over to the coffee table, sweeping away all the Highlights magazines with her supremely flexible leg, and shoved Rachel down so that she was on her stomach across the glass. When she tried to sit up, Santana slapped her across her ass.
"Stay down, Zion! I'm gonna fuck your little virgin ass!" Santana said.
Rachel argued as if she were in a classroom debate, even as Santana pulled down her tartan skirt. "You can't do that, Santana," she said, quite logically, "your dildo apparatus is simply too big. It would injure me."
"Hey, super-bitch, you think Brittany keeps an economy-sized bottle of Vicks VapoRub in her purse because she has the black lung?" Santana held out her hand. "Give it here, Britt."
