Father Can't Stop Us

Teen Ivy Jones and her girlfriend Lyra Law tangle on the bed, tongues battling and hands roaming. They peel clothes off slow, lips closing over soft nipples, wet heat blooming between their legs until Ivy’s dad storms in. He roars. Lyra vanishes in a sprint. Ivy’s grounded. End of story. Or so he thinks. Later, dinner table. Ivy bats her lashes, begging for the mall, but Dad lays down the law—only nice Jewish boys, nothing else. He pushes back his chair to take a call. Ivy’s hand darts to his tea, drops something clear. He sips. Sleep drags him under. Ivy’s phone lights up: Lyra’s on her way. The second the bedroom door clicks shut, they crash together. Ivy strips Lyra bare—jeans, top, gone. Lyra peels the floral red dress from Ivy, fabric whispering down. Mouths crash. Nipples stiffen under slick tongues. Ivy slides fingers through Lyra’s blonde hair while Lyra rocks her hips, grinding her clit right where Ivy needs it. “No one keeps us apart,” Ivy breathes. She shoves Lyra flat, yanks her panties down, pushes her knees wide. Two fingers bury in that bushy, soaked slit. Ivy works her, thumb pressing the swollen clit, steady circles, hard pressure, until Lyra shudders and comes, thighs shaking around Ivy’s wrist. Lyra flips her. A hot tongue laps over Ivy’s tight ass, then Lyra mounts her. They trib hard, slick lips slapping, grind grinding, each fierce thrust sending shocks through their cunts. Moans crack the air. Lyra spins, plants her pussy on Ivy’s mouth, and sixty-nines, tongues thrusting deep. They lap and suck until both cry out, bodies jerking, wetness slicking chins. Ivy rolls Lyra onto all fours, fingers drilling her cunt from behind while she rims her again—tongue circling, probing—then scissors back down, legs locked, rubbing their soaked pussies raw. Tribbing faster, frantic, they climax again, voices raw, juices mixing, the mattress creaking under the frantic rut. Somewhere down the hall, her father’s tea cools. How long before he wakes and kicks the door in?