Mother Daughter Exchange Club #31

She made him wait for it, thumb caught against the dip where her hipbone flares, dragging slow over skin gone hot and slick. Feburary 7th, 2014. That date tasted like something sharp on his tongue when he thought about what they did next. She climbed astride, knees planted wide, and sank down with this little exhale like the air left her lungs on impact. No grace to it, no step-by-step—just her cunt pulling him in deep until he bottomed out and felt everything tighten at once. Their hips snapped together, off-beat, reckless. Sweat slicks between them. He watched her bite down on her own wrist to keep the sound back, but when his thumb circled her clit she let it out anyway, this raw, ragged thing. Her tits bounce against his chest, skin sticking where the night thickens around them. He flips her onto her back, pins her wrist above her head, drives in harder. She takes every inch like she's starved for it, legs clamped around his waist, nails carving half-moons into the muscle of his shoulder. No romance, no pretenses. Just heat and the low grind of bedsprings. Her moan spikes when he hits that spot again and again—fast, filthy, a slap that leaves prints and fades. The night was just them, the slap of skin on skin, bodies colliding until there's nothing left but sticky fingertips and breath catching in throats.