Matt Holder
The Will: Part Two
The Will: Part One
My Mom's Friend: Part Two
Aaliyah’s tongue works Tiffany’s slit in steady circles, salt-sweet and hot, while Tiffany’s voice drips down like slow poison. “I fucked your father to death,” she laughs, hips rolling, fingers curled in Aaliyah’s hair. Aaliyah keeps licking, soft, obedient, and the phone tucked inside her bra keeps recording every filthy word. Tiffany brags about the marriage papers she forged, the stocks she moved, the final signature she tricked out of him between the hospital sheets. Aaliyah’s mouth never slips, never pauses, but her free hand tightens around the hidden recorder. She pushes two fingers up into Tiffany and feels her step-mother clamp down, gushing against her tongue. The story keeps coming—how the old man begged, how the life-insurance payout cleared in forty-eight hours, how the board thinks she’s the grieving widow. Aaliyah swallows every moan, every secret, and when Tiffany finally shudders and collapses back against the silk pillows, Aaliyah keeps licking until the last tremor dies. Only then does she slide the phone free, thumb hovering over the send button that will drop the entire confession straight into the lawyers’ inboxes. The Will is already hers. All it cost was another round of Mommy’s cunt on her tongue.
Aaliyah’s tongue works Tiffany’s slit in steady circles, salt-sweet and hot, while Tiffany’s voice drips down like slow poison. “I fucked your father to death,” she laughs, hips rolling, fingers curled in Aaliyah’s hair. Aaliyah keeps licking, soft, obedient, and the phone tucked inside her bra keeps recording every filthy word. Tiffany brags about the marriage papers she forged, the stocks she moved, the final signature she tricked out of him between the hospital sheets. Aaliyah’s mouth never slips, never pauses, but her free hand tightens around the hidden recorder. She pushes two fingers up into Tiffany and feels her step-mother clamp down, gushing against her tongue. The story keeps coming—how the old man begged, how the life-insurance payout cleared in forty-eight hours, how the board thinks she’s the grieving widow. Aaliyah swallows every moan, every secret, and when Tiffany finally shudders and collapses back against the silk pillows, Aaliyah keeps licking until the last tremor dies. Only then does she slide the phone free, thumb hovering over the send button that will drop the entire confession straight into the lawyers’ inboxes. The Will is already hers. All it cost was another round of Mommy’s cunt on her tongue.