My Virgin Daughter: Part Two

Jelena’s lungs still pumped from the heat of that dream. Cassidy’s innocence hung there like cheap perfume. She pulled her stepdaughter close on the couch, breathed it all out: the vision, the call from some Jesus-shaped conscience telling her to play guardian-angel whore. Cassidy listened with wide eyes, but no hesitation; trust and zero experience made a dangerous cocktail. Jelena’s voice dropped. Pants off. Bra snapped open and those heavy tits spilled, nipples tight. Cassidy’s small hands tested them for the first time, thumbs circling the hard peaks, then sliding farther. Jelena caught the wrist, led it between spread thighs. Warm skin. Shaved lips. She pressed Cassidy’s finger, traced the slick bead sitting on top, told her that spot was the center of it all—slow, then harder, until the girl’s breath stuttered. Spit glistened on Jelena’s fingertip. She slipped it in, easy as blasphemy, despite Cassidy’s shaky protest. One circling press, and Cassidy seized, thighs snapping shut, a raw scream tearing loose as the first climax flooded her. Legs shook, juice coating Jelena’s knuckles. Now the swap. Jelena straddled her daughter’s mouth, open cunt pressed to lips, hips guiding in tiny, rocking pulses. Cassidy licked clumsy at first, then hungrier, sucking the throbbing clit between lips until Jelena growled low and trembled against her tongue. Bodies flipping again, legs scissors-locked. Wet pussies slapped. Friction, sweat, moans meshing. Both women thrust, clit grinding clit, relentless, until orgasm ripped through them like an ignition switch—screaming, pulsing, clinging. Lies clung to the afterglow, secrets they’d made sure no one else could ever see.