The Lesbian Potion

Avery and Alex lazed around in threadbare robes while Alex stirred the potion on the coffee table. They called themselves spiritual, but mainly they just wanted to get each other wet without trying too hard. The brew was weak—nothing crazy—just enough heat to make two women who already fucked like rabbits go a little wilder. First they had to deal with the damn sink. The clog sat there like a middle finger. Calling the landlord felt like chewing glass; they hated the woman and the feeling was mutual. Still, somebody had to pick up the phone. Alex did it, voice flat, arranging the visit like it might bite her through the line. Revenge brewed in the pause after she hung up. “We dose her,” she said, eyes bright. “She shows up acting like she owns the place, we let the potion do the talking.” They liked the idea. Mean. Perfect. A knock came—too quick. Alex swung the door open and splashed the whole batch forward. Only it wasn’t the landlord. Jenna Foxx stood there instead, toolbox in hand, just the plumber sent to snake the drain. The potion hit her square in the chest, soaked through cotton, and the change hit a second later—eyes glassy, lips parted, heat rolling off her in waves. “Sorry,” Avery blurted, already backing up. Jenna’s stare pinned them both like she meant to crawl inside. They grabbed her wrists and steered her into the bathroom. “Cool off,” Alex muttered, though none of them believed it. Door shut. They left her breathing hard against the sink. In the living room they didn’t waste time. Avery shoved Alex onto the rug, robe falling open. She spread her girlfriend’s thighs and buried her tongue, licking deep, savoring every wet sound. Alex arched, fingers twisted in Avery’s hair, moaning loud enough to shake the cheap blinds. They switched places—Alex on her knees now, mouth working Avery’s cunt with the same hungry rhythm. The room filled with slick noises and broken curses. Behind the bathroom door, Jenna had her overalls unzipped to her waist, one hand moving fast between her legs. She leaned on the vanity, eyes half-lidded, trying to focus on the pipes but listening to every cry coming from the next room. Her own breath turned ragged. Work waited. Her body didn’t care.