Riches To Rags

Alexis Fawx and her stepdaughter Gia Derza sit on Alexis' bed. They're bent over crumpled cheques, eyes locked on the zeros. Alexis exhales hard. "Fuckin' hell," she mutters. "I can’t believe he stooped this low." Gia smirks without humor. "Feels like the worst script ever. A million each if we split—take it or hit the bricks." Dad found them and now they’re screwed: cash and goodbye, or divorce and nothing. Gia spits it like a verdict. "Same reason my birth-mom ran." Alexis answers without missing a beat. "Good thing she did. Found you." Silence thickens until Gia leans in, kiss soft, hungry. "Then he catches us," she whispers. "Now we choose—take his filthy offer, or starve loving each other." A tremble hits Alexis’s mouth. "Prenup. We walk and we’re broke. You lose everything I promised you." Gia grabs her cheeks. "I want nothing if it doesn’t have you. Poverty and you beats any penthouse alone." She tears the cheque, bits raining like ticker-tape. Alexis stares a beat, then laughs sharp and rips hers too. "Love you, kid," she breathes. Gia answers, voice husky. "Love you, Mom." They collide again; Alexis yanks off Gia's panties and drives her tongue into her dripping heat. Weeks later they lie tangled in the single bed they can afford. Faded T-shirts and a thrift-store quilt. Alexis fingers the waistband of Gia’s cut-offs, searching. "Tell me no regrets." Gia meets her dead on. "My only regret was ever needing his money." Clothes hit the floor—small tits and swollen MILF breasts, fingers slick and grinding to climax while the rent notice waits on the dresser. Million-dollar choices echo somewhere far behind them; tonight is heat, wet, survival, nothing bought, everything owned.