Mom's Lingerie

India Summer slipped into fresh lingerie, hoping tonight's date would finally break the dry spell after her split from Rebel Lynn's father. She didn't know Rebel stood outside the bedroom door, stealing looks through the crack. The phone lit up—Dave was calling it off. Rebel decided to pocket the bad news a little longer. Why ruin the moment when her mother looked so damn good? "Nice lace," Rebel said, stepping in. "You wear that, guys lose their minds." India jumped, caught off guard, but Rebel kept talking. Her words slid toward dirty places—what Rebel claimed she’d do between India’s thighs if she had the chance. India’s hands froze on her stockings. This was her stepdaughter, pushing buttons no stepdaughter should touch. Rebel didn’t back off. She asked how India liked to be licked, fingered, fucked. India, blushing, ran her palms up the inside of each leg to show her, and Rebel watched like she meant to copy every move. India muttered something about it being wrong, but Rebel knelt anyway, lips brushing the soft skin just above India’s stockings until the older woman’s breathing hitched and the fabric darkened. India told her to take the bra off, shoes too. Rebel peeled both, kissed the tops of her mother’s feet, then dove between her legs, tongue working fast and hungry. India grabbed fistfuls of hair, hips bucking, until she came hard, slick across Rebel’s chin and cheeks. Now it was her turn. She yanked Rebel’s hips around, thumb circling her asshole while two fingers slid in and out of her cunt, steady and deep. Rebel’s cries turned ragged, shaking into a wet, loud orgasm that left her trembling against the sheets.