My Daughter's Secret Diary

Mona Wales stood at the washer, folding her step-daughter Riley Reid's clothes. She pulled a small book from the basket, opened it. Ink met her eyes like a fist. Riley wanted her tits in Mona's mouth, wanted her tongue buried deep in Mona's cunt. Mona's thighs clenched. Heat punched up her spine. Then Riley walked in. Mona's hands froze. She tried words, any words. Riley's mouth twisted into a grin. She left the diary on purpose. Eighteen years old and done writing what she craves. She wants the real thing. Mona felt the question rise, some shaky warning about a mother-shaped need, but Riley's hands were already yanking Mona's blouse open. Tongues met nipples, wet, fast, desperate. They traded laps and pulls, cunt to cunt, mouths sliding, throats humming. Every kiss lit the next. Every gasp shortened the distance between them until the list became movement, tongue-flicks, spit-slick skin, and the need to finish what Riley wrote and the secret longings Mona had never said aloud.