Mother's Day Blues

Dee and India sit nursing their coffee, pissed off. Mother's Day and their stepdaughters haven't even texted. Just once a year, they want to feel something other than invisible. The door bangs open. Scarlett and Gia tumble in, laughing, arms full of mall bags. The moms paste on smiles, drop hints about the date. The girls don't catch on. India cracks first. "You forgot." Guilt drops over the room. Then the bags open. Lingerie. Hand-picked. Dee's relief flickers into heat as the girls strip down to black lace and sheer straps that barely cover anything. Two young bodies on full display. Dee glances at India. Mixed company. Boundaries. The air gets thick. Scarlett smiles. "We both know. It's fine." The moms get their own sets. Silk slides against skin they didn't expect to show today. Hands find hips. Breasts spill over lace. Fingers trace, mouths follow. Hot, wet tongues on nipples, then lower. Someone moans. Someone else answers. The couch becomes a tangle of legs, tongues, fingers sliding deep where they shouldn't. Four bodies keep trading spit and heat until the only thing left is raw need and sweat. Best Mother's Day on record, and no one plans on stopping soon.