Mea culpa
A stormy October afternoon unveils a stepmother’s forbidden craving when she stumbles upon Polaroids of her stepdaughter Cassandra buried between a blonde’s spread thighs, lips locked on the stranger’s glistening pussy. Heat pools low in her belly as she traces the sinful images—Cassie’s fingers tangled in honey-blonde hair, the woman’s head thrown back in ecstasy—until her own jeans are yanked open, fingers stroking her dripping cunt to the rhythm of her racing heart. Just bi, the girl’s teasing voice echoes when she catches her stepmom mid-fondle, laughter melting into something darker as she spies the incriminating photos. “Barb is pretty,” Cassie purrs, hand sliding into her stepmother’s gaping fly to plunge two fingers deep into her slick heat. The fireplace crackles as their tongues clash, Cassandra’s thumb circling her stepmom’s swollen clit with cruel precision. Mmm, you taste desperate, she growls against her mouth. Rain hammers the windows when Cassie murmurs the fatal offer: “Should I call Barb?” How many wicked mouths will this honey-lipped tease command before her stepmom’s trembling thighs give out?
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