My girlfriend’s older sister locked the door and told me to take my clothes off. They called it Taste. And it’s traditional, Every sister gets one night with the man who’s claiming one of us. If you’re weak, we know. If you’re good… we all know why she chose you. There were three of them. The oldest The middle one. And the youngest, only a year older than my girl. They didn’t ask. They just took. Clothes hit the floor. Hands pushed me onto the wide bed. The oldest straddled my hips first, slow and deliberate, testing the weight of me, the thickness, the way I filled her. She rode with controlled, rolling hips, eyes locked on mine, measuring every thrust, every sound I made. When she finally came, she didn’t smile. She just leaned down and whispered, “He’s strong.”