Don't Mind Us

Whitney's stuck in the same game again, just a different couch. She’s parked in front of the TV, headphones on, trying to squad up with her online crew when Spencer breezes in and plants herself right between Whitney and the screen. “I’ve got a quick question,” Spencer says, like the question isn’t gonna turn into a whole production. Whitney sighs and gives her the go-ahead, knowing Spencer’ll just keep blocking the view until she gets what she wants. Turns out Spencer’s bringing her new girl Mocha over and they want the living room. Whitney snaps that it’s her gaming day, no exceptions. They haggle until Whitney caves: Spencer and Mocha can share the space if Whitney can keep her game running. Simple, right? Wrong. When Spencer shows up with the curvy brunette later, the couch turns into a make-out zone. The girls start kissing right next to Whitney, hands sliding under shirts, hips grinding. They strip piece by piece, flinging bras and panties like confetti. A lace bra lands across Whitney’s controller and suddenly she’s the one failing the mission. She mutes the mic, tells her squad to play without her, and rounds on the troublemakers. “You two need to chill.” Spencer just smirks, pulls Mocha’s legs over her lap, and says Whitney can either keep sulking or jump in and make the room heat up together. Whitney’s heard that pitch before, usually right before she ends up naked and tangled. She glances at the paused game, then at the two naked brunettes waiting with sly grins. Her thumbs drop off the sticks. Fuck the high score—her new high score is riding both of them at once.