Don't Fuck With Mom

Ember creeps in through the sliding door after midnight, hinges silent, mascara smudged. Kendra waits in the dark, cigarette ember glowing. "Where the hell have you been?" Ember stands there in a dress short enough to show cheek, lipstick smeared like fresh blood, heels dangling from two fingers. No answer worth a damn. Kendra spells it out: one more lie and Ember’s locked down, phone gone, car keys buried. Ember storms off, but Kendra is right on her heels. She snatches the phone, thumbs to the hidden folder, and the screen lights up with bare tits and spread legs. Kendra flips her stepdaughter onto the mattress, yanks the hem up, and cracks a hand across bare ass—five sharp slaps that leave red prints. Then she peels the thong down, knees Ember’s thighs apart, and sinks two fingers straight into slick, teenage cunt. Ember bites the pillow, still gasping for her dad like he’ll save her. Kendra shoves those same wet fingers between her lips, makes her suck them clean, then swings a leg over Ember’s face and sits on her mouth. Juice coats Ember’s tongue; her clit throbs anyway. They grind—pussies sliding hot and messy—until Kendra pins Ember’s wrists and finger-fucks her tight hole hard enough to make the headboard slam the wall. Ember comes shaking, soaking the sheets, the taste of her stepmother still on her lips.