Girls Gotta Stick Together!

Brandi Love walks through the door after work and finds her babysitter August shaking on the couch. August spills it quick. Brandi's husband offered her a shot at modeling if she'd fuck him. Again. August kept the evidence, a string of messages that get filthy fast, ending with several blurry dick shots. Brandi stares, jaw tight, shock twisting into white-hot rage. Her mouth forms a single sorry, raw and quiet. August stayed for the kid and for the woman who hired her. Brandi watches the nerves ripple across August's arms, studies the soft swell of her chest under thin cotton, the wet shine in her eyes. The marriage died months ago. This pushed it off a cliff. She reaches out, gripping the curve of August's neck, kisses her open-mouthed and reckless. Hands slip under shirts. August's nipples stiffen against Brandi's palms. They fall onto the couch in a mess of skin and breath. August spreads her legs. Brandi's fingers slide into the heat, moving deep until she feels the throb. Their tongues meet again. Brandi lifts August's hips, tastes the slick need between them, flicking at the swollen clit until August swears into the dark room. Fingers circle, push, retreat. August squeezes the soaked sheets, bodies twisting like they can't wait another second. Eventually it's the same spiral the other way, Brandi's thighs shaking open for August's mouth, tongues and fingers dragging them both past any line left to cross.