Rizzing Up Mrs. Wilson

Coco knocks on the door wearing a thin tank top and cut-offs. Mrs. Wilson opens it in nothing but a silk robe, wet hair, and bare feet. Their eyes lock and the silence thickens. Inside, Mrs. Wilson peels off the robe and pushes Coco against the wall, mouth on her neck, hand sliding under those shorts. Coco moans loud when two fingers find her slick and ready. She grabs Mrs. Wilson by the ass, dragging her closer, grinding until both of them breathe hard through clenched teeth. Mrs. Wilson drops to her knees right there in the hallway, pulls Coco’s panties aside, and eats her like she’s been starving for weeks. Coco’s thighs shake, knuckles white on the wall. Mrs. Wilson stands, turns her around, bends her over the entry table. She works two fingers deep while the other hand squeezes Coco’s throat from behind, whispering what a bad little babysitter she is. Coco comes quick and loud, legs buckling. Mrs. Wilson doesn’t let her fall—she spins her, lifts one leg onto her shoulder and licks until Coco’s begging to return the favor. They stagger to the couch, trading positions until sweat soaks the cushions and neither of them can form full sentences. When Coco finally leaves she’s still shaky, cash in one hand, bite marks on her thighs, and Mrs. Wilson watching her go with a smirk that promises next time.