I'm lounging in the studio on a couch in my shirt and skirt, with Sorceress Morgana beside me in her tube top and cut-off jean shorts, while our guy friend sits on the floor. We're venting about powering through a nasty bug I just recovered from. Women don't get sick days, we just grind through it. But when men catch a sniffle, the world stops. He pipes up, claiming women complain just as much, and that smug interruption? Oh, it sets us off. Morgana slaps her hand over his mouth first, her fingers pressing tight to muffle his whiny excuses, as we warn him to stay quiet or face more. But he can't help himself, so we both dive in, our hands clamping down hard, one on his lips, the other ready to join, turning his protests into desperate, muffled gasps. We take turns dominating him, feeling his breath hot against our palms as we teach this fool what real silence looks like. By the end, he's begging for mercy, but we're just getting started! Ready to see who breaks first?
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