Our Way Of Saying Thanks

The three sisters traded looks that said the same thing: their stepmom worked her ass off for them, every goddamn day, and nothing they owned could touch that. They thanked her anyway, stumbling over the words. Penny Barber stared at her empty hands, then lifted her eyes. “There is one thing,” she said, voice low like she might scare them off. “Now that you’re all grown… I keep thinking about the four of us. Together.” The girls didn’t blink. Jane Wilde, Maddy May, Maya Woulfe—they just nodded, heat already rolling through them. Penny’s breath hitched, the surprise cracking into hunger fast. Clothes hit the floor. Small, natural tits rose and fell under quick fingers, skin bare where it mattered. Three mouths found Penny at once, tongues and lips sliding over every inch they’d never touched before. She tasted each daughter in turn, wet heat against her shaved cunt, thighs trembling while fingers pinched tight nipples and dragged moans from all four of them. They switched places like they’d rehearsed it—Jane on Penny’s face, Maddy’s mouth between her legs, Maya straddling her thigh and grinding slow. Sweat slicked skin. Hands gripped hair. Penny came first, sharp and loud, then pulled her girls in closer so nobody got left out. The room smelled like sex and salt and something they’d all been circling for months. When it was over they stayed tangled, breathing hard, already wondering how soon they could do it again.