Alison answered the knock. Door swung open. Victoria stood there like black velvet and cheap coffee. "Victoria," she muttered. "For the meals. Senior Center." Alison swallowed hard. "Alison," she replied, clutching her cardigan. Too clean. Too white. A laugh hung in her throat, but she swallowed that too. Victoria stepped in. Boots tracked mud on the clean tiles. They stood awkwardly. The fridge hummed. Conversation failed fast. Church talks, cold rain, casseroles. Suddenly Alison stumbled over a sermon line. Victoria smirked the wrong smirk. Silence cracked. Both broke. A grin slid across Alison’s mouth. Victoria snorted. "Jesus, we suck at this," she said. "You were supposed to stay gloomy," Alison teased. "You’re supposed to stay… holy." They both laughed. Victoria wiped a black smudge from Alison’s cheek. "Hard to pretend when you know what she tastes like." They pulled the masks back on. Trays opened. Jars clinked. Yet every glance lingered too long. When Alison bent for a dropped spoon, Victoria didn’t look away. Heat crawled up Alison’s neck. "I shouldn’t want you," she whispered. Victoria’s fingers slid beneath the modest hem of that white skirt. "Try harder," she growled. Alison’s thighs shook. Victoria pressed her against the counter. Kisses turned wet. Moans slid free. Victoria dragged the lace panties aside, fingers sinking deep, pumping slow while Alison bit her wrist to stay quiet. She came fast, hips jerking, eyes rolled back. Then she dropped, knees on tile, dragging Victoria’s fishnets down. Tongue found clit, flicked hard. Victoria cursed through clenched teeth, palm flat on Alison’s head, grinding until she shook and spilled, thighs clamped around the church girl’s face. They stood, dresses wrinkled, breathing like they’d run miles. Outside, the casserole timer dinged. Neither moved.
Alison answered the knock. Door swung open. Victoria stood there like black velvet and cheap coffee. "Victoria," she muttered. "For the meals. Senior Center." Alison swallowed hard. "Alison," she replied, clutching her cardigan. Too clean. Too white. A laugh hung in her throat, but she swallowed that too. Victoria stepped in. Boots tracked mud on the clean tiles. They stood awkwardly. The fridge hummed. Conversation failed fast. Church talks, cold rain, casseroles. Suddenly Alison stumbled over a sermon line. Victoria smirked the wrong smirk. Silence cracked. Both broke. A grin slid across Alison’s mouth. Victoria snorted. "Jesus, we suck at this," she said. "You were supposed to stay gloomy," Alison teased. "You’re supposed to stay… holy." They both laughed. Victoria wiped a black smudge from Alison’s cheek. "Hard to pretend when you know what she tastes like." They pulled the masks back on. Trays opened. Jars clinked. Yet every glance lingered too long. When Alison bent for a dropped spoon, Victoria didn’t look away. Heat crawled up Alison’s neck. "I shouldn’t want you," she whispered. Victoria’s fingers slid beneath the modest hem of that white skirt. "Try harder," she growled. Alison’s thighs shook. Victoria pressed her against the counter. Kisses turned wet. Moans slid free. Victoria dragged the lace panties aside, fingers sinking deep, pumping slow while Alison bit her wrist to stay quiet. She came fast, hips jerking, eyes rolled back. Then she dropped, knees on tile, dragging Victoria’s fishnets down. Tongue found clit, flicked hard. Victoria cursed through clenched teeth, palm flat on Alison’s head, grinding until she shook and spilled, thighs clamped around the church girl’s face. They stood, dresses wrinkled, breathing like they’d run miles. Outside, the casserole timer dinged. Neither moved.