Wolf In Sheep's Clothing

Kaylee and Isabelle step into their new loft holding each other's hands. Both girls buzz with nerves. Their landlady Henrietta stands by the window, already watching. She fixes on Isabelle with open hunger while they make introductions. Over the next days the women keep hitting sabotage. Henrietta shreds Kaylee's dress shirts, blames the dryer, kills date night cold. Another night the lovers are stripping on the couch when Kaylee breaks out in hives; the chocolate ice cream had been spiked. A week later Kaylee's mom calls furious. Someone sent photos proving Kaylee's secret. Kaylee grabs her keys, insists she has to face this alone. Isabelle offers to come, but Kaylee kisses her once and leaves. The door clicks shut. Henrietta slips inside as soon as the sound fades. She looks Isabelle over like she's already undressing her. The older woman's blouse hangs open at the top button; under it, nothing. She walks straight to the younger woman, voice low and firm. “You don’t have to be alone tonight.” Before Isabelle can answer, Henrietta pulls her into a fierce, open-mouthed kiss and slides a hand straight between her thighs, pressing hard. Isabelle's breath hitches; her body betrays her with a slow roll of hips into that touch. Henrietta peels Isabelle's t-shirt off in one motion, then palms her tits roughly. “These are mine now.” She sucks a nipple deep, teeth grazing, while her fingers hook into Isabelle's shorts and yank them down, baring her wet cunt. Isabelle gasps as two fingers slip inside without warning, knuckles working in tight thrusts. Henrietta backs her against the loft wall, adds a third finger, curls just right, and drives fast while her thumb circles Isabelle's swollen clit. Wet sounds fill the room. "You’re dripping for me," Henrietta growls. She drops to her knees, spreads Isabelle wide, and buries her tongue flat against the slick slit, licking long stripes up to the clit before sucking the bud hard. Isabelle grinds on that mouth, hands fisted in Henrietta's hair, moaning louder. Henrietta doesn’t let up—fingers slamming deep, tongue flicking rapidly—until Isabelle’s legs shake and she comes hard, thighs clamping Henrietta’s face, slick coating chin and tongue. Henrietta stands, wipes her mouth on the back of her wrist, then spins Isabelle around and bends her over the counter. She kicks Isabelle’s feet apart, lines up the thick strap-on she's already wearing under her skirt, and pushes inside with one hard shove. Isabelle grunts, the full length stretching her. Henrietta grips her hips, pounding hard, every thrust smacking skin on skin. "You feel that? That cock owns you." She reaches around and rubs Isabelle’s clit in rough circles until Isabelle’s second orgasm rips through her, pussy clenching around the thick shaft. Henrietta keeps thrusting through the aftershocks, slower now, sweat-slick bodies slapping, until she presses deep and groans, coming against the base of the harness, muscles twitching. They stay locked like that for a long minute, breathing ragged, the city lights glowing through the loft windows.