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Limits: few (scat, blood, men, racism).
THE NAUGHTY MOM’S CLUB: Chapter One, “Sasha’s New Home”
This story is for fantasy purposes only and does not represent nor condone real-life activity of a similar nature.
Meghan had spent the better part of the morning in a fugue of anticipation, pausing between each task to check the clock as though its hands might flick forward with her urgency. The kitchen was perfumed with the scent of vanilla and baking apples; her hands were dusted with flour and cinnamon. She pressed her palm to the oven door, gaze trailing through the open archway to the living room where Dee hovered, fussing with throw pillows and the position of the welcome sign taped unevenly to the mantle.
“Do you think she’ll like the cupcakes?” Meghan called out, her voice betraying anxiety as she meant to convey excitement.
Dee offered a loving, sideways smile over her shoulder. “She’s six, babe. If they’re sweet, you’re golden. Plus, they’re pink. Points for style.”
Meghan smiled back appreciatively, tucking a loose wave of hair behind her ear. Dee could be all sharpness and drive, but her kindness was woven into her every word and deed. Meghan counted herself lucky to have found her and been remade by her.
She slid the tray of miniature cupcakes onto a cooling rack and ran water over her hands, watching suds fizz over her wedding band. Today was the most important day of her life since Dee first slipped that ring on her hand, the beginning of the new family they’d chosen. Sasha’s move-in day.
The doorbell rang, a single, chiming peal, and then a beat later, a rapid-fire knock, as if the visitor were trying out all the options. Dee glanced at Meghan, eyes alight with giddy amusement, and mouthed, “That’s her.” She strode to the door and yanked it open in one motion.
Sasha stood on the stoop, a small, solitary figure haloed by sun. Her backpack, a garish purple thing stitched with cartoon kittens, dwarfed her narrow shoulders. Her hair was as bright as fresh straw and gathered into a ponytail. She gazed up at Dee with a mix of solemnity and hope, chin lifted as if determined to be brave. She’d stayed with the couple as her foster parents, but today was the beginning of the real thing; she was to be part of a family, for real this time, and forever. She loved Meghan and Dee, and they said they loved her. But deep down, even at six, Sasha was aware of a lingering fear that somehow she’d let her new moms down.
“Hi, Sasha!” Dee greeted, voice dropping to a lower, softer register. “Welcome back to Casa de Chaos.”
Sasha’s lips twitched, a near-smile peeking out, and she nodded. “Hi, Dee.”
Meghan dried her hands on a dishtowel and moved to join them, heart squeezing at the sight. She knelt to Sasha’s eye level. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Sasha hesitated, then closed the gap and allowed herself to be enfolded in a gentle hug. Her small hands fanned across Meghan’s back, tentative but not rigid—she was a hugger, somewhere beneath the nerves.
“You smell like cinnamon,” Sasha observed, her nose entwined in Meghan’s hair.
“Guilty as charged. You like that? Come on in, we’re having a party just for you.”
The word “party” sparked something kinetic in Sasha. She shrugged off her backpack, which hit the floor with a soft thud, and padded inside, her footsteps feather-light on the hardwood. She scanned the room, eyes wide, taking in the festooned sign, the plates arranged in a smiling arc across the table, the bright napkins folded into origami animals. A small playlist burbled low in the background—a collection of upbeat songs she didn’t recognize.
“Whoa,” Sasha breathed, approaching the cupcakes as if they were original DaVinci artwork. “You made all this?”
Meghan exchanged a glance with Dee, a small thrill in her chest at the flicker of awe on Sasha’s face. “We did. Mostly Dee ate the frosting, but I kept her from getting to all of it.”
Dee grinned, moving to ruffle Sasha’s hair with an ease that suggested practice. “Can’t resist a taste test. Quality control.”
Sasha giggled, warmth in her cheeks, and eased into a chair at the head of the table. Meghan slid in beside her, Dee on the other side, and for a moment, the three simply sat, observing each other in the peculiar, silent reverence of new things.
Meghan nudged a cupcake toward Sasha. “You want to pick the first one?”
Sasha eyed the selection, then chose the smallest with deliberate care, as if to minimize her claim on the bounty. She peeled the wrapper back in slow, tidy spirals, and bit off the top, frosting first. Pink stained her lips, a dash of sugar lingering at the corner of her mouth.
“Best ever,” she declared after a thoughtful chew.
Dee tossed a proud glance Meghan’s way. “Told you.”
But Dee’s smile was all softness as she watched Sasha devour the cupcake, crumbs trailing her plate. “We redid your room. We set it up with your favorite colors. Come see.”
Sasha’s face flickered from pleasure to trepidation and back again. Meghan followed as Dee led the way down the hall, Sasha clutching her plate in both hands. The bedroom was awash in sunlight, allowing the gentle shades of lavender and seafoam on the walls to pop. Plush creatures and fuzzy throws populated the bedding. Sasha circled the room, touching everything—her new desk, the row of books, the stickers arrayed on the closet door as if someone had already loved this place, and left traces for her to find.
She set the plate down and turned, eyes big and shining with welled tears. “It’s perfect,” she whispered, like she was afraid of shattering it.
Meghan’s heart did a strange, grateful stutter. “It’s yours. Whatever you need, we’re here.”
Sasha nodded, the seriousness of her expression making her look briefly older. “Can I—Should I call you both mom?”
Meghan crouched to her height again, reaching to brush a thumb over Sasha’s sticky cheek. “You can call us whatever you want. There are no rules when it comes to feelings and love. It’s all about acceptance here.”
Dee leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed but loose. “That’s right. It’s totally up to you.”
Sasha considered this, thumb pressed to her lip, then looked at Dee. “Yeah, you’re both Mom. But I guess sometimes I’ll have to use your first names when you’re both around.”
Dee grinned, blue eyes crinkling. “That sounds perfect, kiddo.”
Perfect. The word echoed in the sunlit quiet that followed, the sound of building trust.
They spent the afternoon in a gentle tumble of small rituals: unpacking Sasha’s books from her bag, lining them up on the shelf with the others by color and then by size, then redoing the sequence three times before settling for a loose “favorite to least-favorite” system. They played a round of Uno at the kitchen table, which quickly devolved into a conspiracy of laughter when Dee kept dealing herself wild cards, and Sasha began to suspect the game was rigged. Later, Meghan took her hand and led her into the backyard, where they planted a sapling together—digging and patting, hands caked with loam. Meghan found herself watching the way Sasha’s brow furrowed in concentration, the small, proud curve of her mouth when she got the seedling upright. All afternoon, Dee orbited them, sometimes at a distance, sometimes close, always attentive but never crowding.
When the sun slouched low and long across the kitchen, they made dinner as a trio: chicken nuggets for Sasha, roasted vegetables and quinoa for the grown-ups, a concession to Sasha’s suspicion of “green stuff.” At the table, Meghan told the story of how she and Dee met—an ill-fated first date at a salsa club, where Dee had stepped on her feet so often it was a wonder she’d stuck around. Sasha listened, rapt, mouth full and eyes round, as if it were a fairy tale spun just for her. In some ways, it was. Meghan and Sasha’s first date had indeed been at a Salsa club, but they had met online beforehand. That was a story for another time, if ever.
Afterward, Dee offered to do dishes while Meghan supervised bath time. In the bathroom, steam hung thick as a veil, curling around the edges of the mirror. Meghan set out Sasha’s new towels, purchased two days earlier and with characters from the Disney Junior TV channel on them.
Sasha pulled her T-shirt off with a two-handed tug, arms held out at odd angles, exposing her ribs and the delicate ladder of her spine. Meghan, kneeling by the tub, was struck by her smallness and natural beauty, from the fine down on her arms catching light to the roundness of her little bum. Meghan felt a a familiar tingle, a current that began somewhere low and curled all the way to her throat. It wasn’t her first time bathing Sasha, and it was far from the first time she’d felt these desires for Sasha’s young body; Dee knew all about it and shared it.
She busied her hands with the tap, careful to check the temperature twice, but her eyes kept skipping back to Sasha's undressing. Sasha, comfortable in her nudity, shimmied free of her leggings and underwear in a single fluid motion, standing bare in the gathering steam, toes pressed into the bath mat. She peered at her own belly, poked it, then grinned at Meghan.
“Look how squishy!” Sasha giggled, playfully pushing her tummy out and sucking it back in repeatedly. The gesture, innocent and unconcerned, had an innocent playfulness that magnified Meghan’s arousal.
Meghan placed her fingertips over the curve of the girl’s belly. “I think it’s perfect,” she murmured, and she helped Sasha into the tub. The water enveloped her daughter with a flurry of bubbles, and Sasha sank in almost to her chin, nose wrinkling at the tickle of foam. She began gathering clumps together, sculpting them against the rim of the bath as if she were a civil engineer of suds.
“Can I have the blue cup?” she asked, already reaching for it.
Meghan handed it over, feeling a familiar heat build inside as her eyes longingly traced the back of Sasha’s neck, so slender and pale above the waterline. She sat on the edge of the tub, jeans tight on her thighs. Her mind flickered with a thrill of anticipation of their plans for the next hour, to Dee’s whispered promise of “us-time” after dinner, and what it meant.
“Okay, close your eyes,” Meghan said.
Sasha did, and Meghan poured a slow stream of warm liquid over the girl’s scalp, letting the water darken her hair before lathering the kid’s shampoo and gently scrubbing. It was a small, tactile delight—the smoothness of Sasha's crown under her fingers, the baby-fine hair slicked to her head. Sasha visibly melted, her neck going soft, her lips parting in a dose of involuntary pleasure at being in a home that cared for her, at long last.
“You like that?” Meghan asked, voice low and intimate.
“Mhm. It feels good,” Sasha whispered.
Meghan’s hands never rushed. She massaged gently, her thumbs swirling little orbits behind the ears, down the nape; with each pass, her touch lingered, almost daring itself. The air was thick with the comforting aroma of strawberry-scented shampoo.
Meghan, sensing she was getting carried away too soon, withdrew her hands and rose to settle herself further from the tub, sitting on the closed toilet lid. She watched as Sasha dunked her head, then emerged, blinking water from her unbelievably long lashes.
“Did you always want to be a mom?” Sasha asked, voice small, almost lost beneath the sound of running water. There was a vulnerability in her voice, one of hope that her new mothers’ dreams were being answered along with her own.
Meghan hesitated, considering. “I always wanted a family, a little girl like you to love,” she said finally. “Being your mom is already the best thing I’ve ever done.”
Sasha grinned, cheeks round and pink, and ducked her head again. When she came back up, she spat out bath water like a fountain nymph and giggled again.
When the bath was done and pajamas donned—a mismatched set with dancing cats and hearts—they reconvened in the living room. Dee had made cocoa, the expensive kind, with extra marshmallows and a shaving of chocolate on top.
They curled on the sofa, Sasha nestled between them, her head on Meghan’s shoulder and her feet tucked under Dee’s thigh. The warmth of the loving women around her, the gentle press of the adult bodies surrounding her own, seemed to mute the last of the girl’s lingering anxieties.
Meghan glanced down and saw that Sasha had already begun to drift, lashes feathered against her cheek. She smoothed a palm over Sasha’s hair, slow and rhythmic, until the girl’s breathing evened out.
“She’s perfect,” Dee whispered, sliding her hand into Meghan’s, fingers twining.
“She’s ours,” Meghan replied, voice thick with a vibrant happiness.
They sat like that a while, the three of them—one dreaming, while the other two were full to the brim with the impossible, thrilling promise of family.
It was well past dark before the living room’s hush was broken by the soft shuffling of limbs. Sasha, cocooned in a nest of fleece and maternal arms, drifted in and out of a twilight sleep, her breath a feather-light syncopation against Meghan’s chest. The TV’s glow painted shadows across Dee’s profile, blue and gold and flickering.
Meghan pressed her lips to the top of Sasha’s head, careful and unhurried. The moment held such deep peace that she could have willingly drowned in it. Dee shifted on the other side, propping herself on an elbow, and caught Meghan’s gaze. They held it for a breath—a silent exchange, as clear as speech. Meghan nodded minutely, the signal her wife eagerly anticipated.
Dee reached across, hand trailing along the curve of Sasha’s back, tracing small, lazy circles over her pajama top. The gesture was nothing new—since their first meeting, Dee had shown her affection in the currency of touch. But tonight, the touch lingered, edged with something more charged. Meghan recognized it immediately, and the low, answering hum stirring inside her surprised her with its readiness.
Sasha stirred, squinting into the lamplight. “Is it bedtime?” she mumbled, voice scratchy with half-sleep.
“Only if you’re tired, honey,” Meghan replied, brushing Sasha’s bangs aside with the tips of her fingers. She and Dee looked knowingly at each other; of course she was tired. Had she not been dozing since bath time? “But we can stay here a little longer, if you want.”
Sasha blinked at her, brown eyes liquid and wide. “Can we do the cuddle game?”
Meghan’s lips quirked. “Of course.”
Dee moved in closer, enveloping Sasha from behind, her chin resting lightly on the girl’s shoulder. The three of them formed a tight, gentle tangle—Sasha’s smallness framed by Dee’s wiry limbs and Meghan’s soft curves. It felt, to Meghan, almost ceremonial, as if they were weaving the first strands of a sacred family quilt. She looked at Dee and, catching her eye, blew her a kiss. Sasha caught sight of it.
“Why do grown-ups like to kiss so much?” Sasha asked, innocence and mischief mingling in her tone.
Dee snorted, the laugh caught halfway in her throat. “I guess it just feels really nice,” she said, matter-of-fact. “Kind of like hugs, but for your face.”
Sasha pondered this, then said, “I never got to do that before.”
Meghan stroked her thumb along Sasha’s cheek, then kissed her there, just below the eye. “Well, you’re part of this family now. There’s a lot of kissing to go around.”
Sasha leaned in, tentative but eager, and pressed a tiny, damp peck to Meghan’s chin. The gesture sent a tremor through Meghan’s body, heat blooming just beneath her skin. She wondered if Dee felt it too—if the charge of anticipation running between them was as mutual as it felt.
“Can I kiss you?” Sasha asked, addressing Dee this time.
Dee hesitated, blue eyes flicking to Meghan for permission - Was this really about to happen, just as they’d fantasized? At Meghan’s slow nod, Dee bent forward and let Sasha plant a kiss on her nose, then another, this time closer to her mouth. The second kiss lingered, softer, more deliberate.
Dee’s lips parted, just slightly, and Meghan saw the moment for what it was: a small, gentle invitation, a question hanging in the space between them.
“Do you want to try a real kiss?” Dee asked, voice velvet-soft.
Sasha nodded, caught in the web of their attention. She shifted, turned, and this time when their lips met, it was slower, careful, as if they were both learning the choreography from scratch. Meghan watched, her hand stroking Sasha’s hair, feeling a warming tension coil and release between her thighs.
After a long moment, Sasha pulled away, face pink and eyes shining. “That was nice,” she said, voice trembling with both embarrassment and secret pleasure.
Meghan felt her own pulse race. She bent to kiss Sasha’s lips, letting it linger, then drew back and smiled. “You’re a natural,” she murmured, and then embraced her daughter, feeling the air charged with a new kind of electricity.
It was Dee who took things further, always the first to nudge the line in a relationship. She scooped Sasha into her lap, cradling her with an easy strength, and began to calmly pepper her face with kisses—cheeks, eyelids, forehead, and, finally, the lips. Sasha’s giggles softened, then faded into a low, throaty hum of delight.
Meghan watched, heart thrumming, and then reached over to run her fingers along Sasha’s arm, marveling at the smooth, unblemished skin. She traced a line from Sasha’s wrist to the crook of her elbow, then up to her shoulder underneath her PJ sleeve, gentle as a whisper.
Sasha shivered, not with fear but with a tingling sensation. She looked up at Meghan, eyes glassy.
“Does it tickle?” Meghan inquired, stopping her fingertips where they were.
“A little,” Sasha replied. “But it also feels nice.”
Sasha stretched out her arm, inviting further exploration. Meghan obliged, running her left hand in slow, soothing passes, then, emboldened by the unspoken understanding, she let her palm drift to the collar of Sasha’s pajama top. She tugged it down just a fraction, revealing the delicate notch at her collarbone, and pressed her lips there, feeling the quickened heartbeat under her tongue.
Dee shifted, repositioning Sasha so she was lying across their laps, face up. She glanced at Meghan, and the message was clear: We’re doing this together.
Meghan slid her right hand under Sasha’s pajama shirt from below, fingers splayed against the warm, soft belly. Sasha’s breath caught, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she reached out and grabbed Meghan’s hand, pressing it in closer.
“Is this okay?” Meghan whispered, her voice thick with tenderness. Sasha nodded, and for a while, the room was filled not only with the sound of their breathing and the low murmur of the TV, now an afterthought in the background, but with the sound of a mother applying repeated kisses to the soft, young flesh around her daughter’s belly button.
Dee’s hands were everywhere, eagerly mapping the length of Sasha’s legs, skimming up her thighs and down to her ankles. She slipped her fingertips underneath the elastic band of Sasha’s pajama pants, brushing over the thin cotton her Doc McStuffins underwear. Sasha made a small, surprised sound, then giggled, wriggling in place.
Rising from Sasha’s belly, Meghan shot Dee a glance as if to say, “Slow down, honey. There’s time.” Then, she leaned down to kiss Sasha’s lips again, longer this time, letting her tongue glide gently against the seam of Sasha’s mouth. To her surprise, Sasha opened for her, eager and trusting, and Meghan deepened the kiss, her hand still cupping either side of the girl’s tummy.
Dee watched, fascinated, pressing her own kisses to the crown of Meghan’s head. Sasha arched her back, hips shifting, her own hands gripping the fabric of Meghan’s shirt as their kissing continued.
They moved in slow, measured increments, each new sensation greeted with a question, a nod, a soft, “Is this okay?” Sasha’s responses were always immediate, sometimes wordless, always full of hunger.
At some point, Sasha’s pajama top found its way to the floor. Dee first laid her warm palms over Sasha’s flat chest and tiny pink nipples, then rolled the tiny nubs gently between finger and thumb. Sasha gasped, then smiled and bit her bottom lip, the look that always melted Meghan’s heart and set her cunt to tingling. Meghan kissed her way down Sasha’s bare chest, licking each nipple between Dee’s fingers in turn, savoring the softness of her skin.
Meghan’s hands moved lower to stroke Sasha’s legs, running fingertips up and down her inner thighs. When Sasha’s legs fell open, Dee’s hand slipped inside the waistband of her underwear, grazing her most secret skin. Sasha made a noise like a wordless question, but didn’t pull away. Dee answered with a low, steadying hum, and raised one hand to sweep Sasha’s hair back from her face.
Meghan and Dee worked in tandem, mouths and hands exploring, always in dialogue with Sasha’s body. They let her set the rhythm, speeding up or slowing down according to the sounds and movements she made. It was a dance, a language without words, and Sasha was fluent before she even realized it.
Eventually, Sasha was naked except for her pink ankle socks, her six-year-old’s body petite and impossibly vulnerable against the combined warmth of her impassioned mothers. Her limbs and torso were thin,and bony, but her face, stomach, and butt still had traces of baby fat. Meghan kissed her belly, then moved lower. She simultaneously raised her eyes look up at Dee, who nodded, and then down at Sasha, who met her gaze with unwavering trust.
Meghan got down so that she was kneeling on the floor in front of the couch and angled Sasha’s hips toward her face. Sasha’s thighs fell open easily and with an utter lack of self-consciousness. Meghan’s breath hitched, her heart beating a syncopated rhythm on her rib cage as she took in the sight of Sasha’s virgin sex: pink and puffy, the lips closed and delicate, almost sculptural in their innocence. Little beads of moisture peaked out of the barely-there slit, the faintest of seams. The sight was both impossibly delicate and carnal, because it was an entrusted secret, a gift her daughter was giving to her and Dee together.
Meghan couldn’t help but remember her own childhood, the shame she’d been taught to feel about her body, especially this part of it, and she promised herself then and there that Sasha would never have to feel that fear. She leaned in, her breath fanning over the tender skin, and kissed the soft hood of Sasha’s untouched pussy.
Meghan felt a rush of gratitude, awe, and something unnameable—a kind of unholy reverence. She traced a single finger along the line of Sasha’s vulva, feather-light. The girl’s body shivered, not in fear, but in sheer physical sensation. Then Meghan brought her mouth upward to trace her tongue around the protruding, round peak of Sasha’s left hip bone. The fingers of her left hand traced the outline of the other. After serveral minutes of feeling her daughter’s hips roll beneath her mouth and hands, Meghan’s mouth found its way back toward the apex of her little girl’s thighs. Sasha’s legs trembled, but she didn’t close them; if anything, she opened further, welcoming whatever came next.
Dee held Sasha’s hand, fingers laced tight. “You’re safe,” she murmured. “Your mommy’s live you so much,” and Meghan echoed the words as she dipped her tongue gently between Sasha’s folds.
Sasha whimpered, hips jerking, and then stilled, letting Meghan explore. The taste was clean, almost sweet, and Meghan progressed slowly, pausing every so often to check Sasha’s face for fear or discomfort. There was none—just awe and pleasure, her mouth parted in a soft O.
Dee stroked Sasha’s feathery hair, occasionally bending to kiss her or whisper encouragement in her ear. Using two fingers to open Sasha’s tiny, tight folds, Meghan kept at her gentle ministrations, sometimes licking, sometimes sucking, never rushing. Eventually, she found a steady rhythm with her tongue on Sasha’s underdeveloped clitoris that clearly excited the girl, and she kept at it, never speeding up, never slowing down.
After a time, Sasha shuddered, her legs clamping around Meghan’s head. She let out a breathy sound that was almost a cry as her tiny hips began rhythmically rolling in ripples against Meghan’s face. Her big, beautiful six-year-old’s eyes clinched shut, and her whole body seemed as taut as a stretched rubber band. Dee felt her daughter’s grip tighten as a rhythm of short breaths came from something instinctive inside her little body. “hut…hut…hut..” Then there was the electric shock of climax and release. Sasha’s body jolted wildly and writhed in Dee’s arms just before her spine stiffened straight while her hips bucked against Meghan’s face in animalistic jerks. Moments later, the girl’s tiny body slackened, her staggered breaths loosening into deep gasps for air.
Meghan drew back, kissing Sasha’s hip, then crawled up to cradle her. Dee joined in, wrapping them all in a soft hug while the little girl’s body jolted and twitched through the unanticipated aftershocks of her first orgasm. Both of Sasha’s hands were now instinctively rubbing between her legs as she curled into the fetal position and whimpered.
Sasha’s breath came in shuddering whines, but she smiled, dazed and sated. “That was really weird.” she said once she remembered that words existed. “I thought I was gonna pee-pee for a second.” Her voice was breathy and dreamy. “But like, it really felt good, too. Why did that happen to me?”
“You’re amazing,” Dee whispered before gently nibbling on the rim her daughter’s ear. “That’s called an orgasm, sweetheart. You’ll have lots more of those, if you want to.”
“Why wouldn’t I want to?” came the innocent response. The women couldn’t help breaking open in laughter at that. For the next several minutes, Meghan just enjoyed holding her daughter, rocking her gently until the tremors faded.
They cleaned her up with soft towels and kisses, then found their way back onto the couch, limbs tangled, hearts beating in time. Outside, the night grew darker, but inside, they had each other—the family Sasha had never known she could have, now indelible, absolute.
And in the hush that followed, Sasha’s small hand found Meghan’s, squeezing once, then holding fast.
The stillness after felt as gentle and silent as first snow, yet as warm of a summer’s day. The three of them lay tangled atop the couch, fleece throws bunched and half-kicked to the floor, Sasha’s slender form nestled like a secret between Meghan’s curves and Dee’s long, muscular limbs. Outside, rain whispered against the windowpane, a hush that deepened the private glow inside their little house.
Meghan reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind Sasha’s ear. “You okay, honey?” she asked, her voice a low murmur.
Sasha nodded, then wriggled up to sit up on her knees. She was still bare, save for one pink sock barely clinging to her right foot. She leaned into Meghan, resting her head over her mother’s left breast. There was a calm in her, a mature-beyond-her-years certainty that made her look years older for a fleeting instant.
Dee’s right arm was stretched behind Meghan’s back, hand against Meghan’s right hip. Her left hand drew slow circles on Sasha’s thigh. “How are you feeling?” she asked.
Sasha’s eyes drifted from one woman to the other. She scrunched her nose in thought, then smiled—a real, unguarded thing, brighter than all the other smiles they’d seen from her so far.
“I feel really happy,” Sasha said. “Like…I’m not afraid anymore. I’m home. You guys don’t have to keep asking if I’m okay. I love you.”
The words landed with a soft thud in Meghan’s chest. She pulled Sasha into her lap, pressed her own cheek against the crown of her head, and held her close.
Dee cupped Sasha’s chin and turned her gently, so their eyes met. “You can always tell us if something feels weird. Or if you want to stop. Or if you want more. We’re here, okay?”
Sasha looked solemn for a moment, considering the offer, then nodded with gravity. “I like it when you touch me,” she said quietly, as if confessing a wish. “And I like touching you, too. Now I know why grown-ups like kissing so much!” They all broke into a laugh again, before Sasha spoke up again.I” wanna do it more. All of it.” She put a finger in her mouth and sucked on it innocently.
Meghan felt Dee’s right hand pinch the flesh of her hip, a silent signal of excitement. Meghan kissed Sasha’s temple. “Whenever you want, sweetheart. You just have to tell us.”
They sat there a while, the three of them, the new mothers taking turns tracing fingertips along Sasha’s bare skin, marveling at the tiny goosebumps that bloomed in response, the pulse that fluttered beneath her skin. Sasha explored, too, running her hands over Meghan’s soft belly under her t-shirt, squeezing Dee’s strong arm, pressing her ear to their chests to hear the different cadences of their heartbeats.
Eventually, fatigue crept back in, as sure and slow as the tide. Sasha yawned, stretching her arms over her head, then collapsed sideways, eyes drooping. Meghan and Dee gathered her up, wrapping her in the fleece blanket before carrying her gently down the hallway.
Meghan lay on one side of Sasha, Dee on the other, and together they fit like the pieces of a puzzle. In the darkness, they whispered soft words—sweet nothings, silly in-jokes, the promises of family.
Sasha was back asleep almost instantly, her hand curled around Meghan’s thumb. Dee pulled a blanket over her six-year-old daughter’s naked, curled body, a quiet, caring gesture. Meghan watched the slow, steady rise and fall of the blanket, then closed her eyes for a contented sleep.
The house, at last, felt full.
ONLY THE BEGINNING… If you all want me to post part 2, please let me know in the comments.