Bella’s stretched out on the couch when the knock comes. The knock belongs to Charlotte—her old high-school tormentor. Charlotte steps inside, eyes down, and offers the apology years late. She wants to make it even. Bella decides the only fair price is rough, wet payback. She spreads Charlotte on the cushions, parts her smooth lips with a slow tongue, and licks until Charlotte’s slick and twitching. Clothes come off in impatient tugs. Bella kneels over her, presses one full breast to Charlotte’s cunt, and rocks—slow, deliberate—until the wet glide turns into a steady thrust. Charlotte moans into her own open mouth. They shift. Legs tangle, hips grind, slick folds sliding together in tight circles. Bella climbs higher, settles her weight on Charlotte’s face, and rides until her thighs tremble. When she climbs off, the strap-on is already waiting. She sinks into Charlotte in one smooth stroke, hips snapping, Charlotte clutching at the cushions. Halfway through the rhythm, Brooklyn walks in with a basket of laundry. The machine rumbles to life while Bella keeps driving, eyes locked on Charlotte’s flushed face. Charlotte’s breath hitches, but she doesn’t ask to stop. Bella doesn’t slow. She came for closure, and she’s not leaving until she gets it.
Bella’s stretched out on the couch when the knock comes. The knock belongs to Charlotte—her old high-school tormentor. Charlotte steps inside, eyes down, and offers the apology years late. She wants to make it even. Bella decides the only fair price is rough, wet payback. She spreads Charlotte on the cushions, parts her smooth lips with a slow tongue, and licks until Charlotte’s slick and twitching. Clothes come off in impatient tugs. Bella kneels over her, presses one full breast to Charlotte’s cunt, and rocks—slow, deliberate—until the wet glide turns into a steady thrust. Charlotte moans into her own open mouth. They shift. Legs tangle, hips grind, slick folds sliding together in tight circles. Bella climbs higher, settles her weight on Charlotte’s face, and rides until her thighs tremble. When she climbs off, the strap-on is already waiting. She sinks into Charlotte in one smooth stroke, hips snapping, Charlotte clutching at the cushions. Halfway through the rhythm, Brooklyn walks in with a basket of laundry. The machine rumbles to life while Bella keeps driving, eyes locked on Charlotte’s flushed face. Charlotte’s breath hitches, but she doesn’t ask to stop. Bella doesn’t slow. She came for closure, and she’s not leaving until she gets it.
