The Pink Pill

Syren De Mer stands at the sink when her stepdaughter Whitney Wright storms in. Whitney clutches her head, swears the pain kills her. Syren dries her hands, smiles, and pulls the girl close: eighteen now, she finally gets the real stuff. She sends Whitney upstairs to the pink bottle in the cabinet. Whitney hunts, finds it, swallows two—maybe three—and trudges back down. Warmth spreads through her chest, her breath quickens. When Syren asks how she feels, Whitney says the headache’s gone, but something else burns. Syren reaches for her forehead; before the hand even lands, Whitney grabs two soft handfuls of her stepmother’s tits and squeezes. Syren shoves her back. "What the hell’s gotten into you?" Whitney blinks, horror crashing over her, and bolts to her room, door slamming. On the other side, Syren’s voice turns pleading: open up, let her help. Inside, Whitney rocks against the door, cunt throbbing, her thoughts splitting between shame and sudden, heavy need. She shoves the lock back and yanks Syren forward by the wrists, throwing her onto the mattress and crushing a kiss against her mouth. "I just want to help," Syren breathes against her lips. Whitney pants the words through clenched teeth, "Then make me come, Mommy," before pressing her stepmother’s hand between her legs. Syren feels the heat, knows the dose is hers to fix, and her fingers sink in without another protest.