Jealous of My Son: Part Two

Sarah Vandella jolted awake, heart hammering, nightgown clinging to sweat-slick skin. The dream throbbed between her thighs—tongues, lips, soft gasps she couldn’t shake. Across the hall, Molly was awake. That was enough. She crossed the hallway, light spilling beneath Molly’s door. No preamble. She pushed inside, robe hanging open. "I dreamed about you," Sarah said. The words hung in the dark. "I want to see if it feels real." Molly sat up, breath short, eyes locked on Sarah’s heavy, bare tits as the robe dropped. Sarah didn’t wait for permission; she crossed the room, climbed onto the mattress, and rolled Molly’s tank top above her small, stiff nipples. Her tongue traced slow circles, leaving wet trails before sliding lower. When Sarah reached the waistband of Molly’s shorts, she dragged them down, mouth already open. The first taste hit like whiskey. Sarah groaned, lapping at Molly’s slick folds, hips rocking against nothing. Molly’s thighs shook, a high, broken sound escaping her. Sarah’s tongue pushed deeper, then sucked the swollen clit until Molly’s back arched off the bed. They switched—Sarah on her back, legs wide, guiding Molly’s head down. The girl licked greedily, inexperienced but starving. Sarah held her there, cunt grinding against Molly’s tongue, fingers tangled in her hair. Sweat slid between their bodies. When Molly straddled Sarah’s face and dipped again to taste, they locked into a sixty-nine, rocking together, hungry and relentless. Pleasure slammed through them at the same moment—hips jerking, muffled moans spilling hot and wet, both women shuddering hard before collapsing, mouths glistening.