Dress Up Daughter

When Mindi opens the door she finds Uma waiting, restless. She asks the girl upstairs anyway. Uma has a train to catch, but says sure, one quick thing. Mindi passes her a pair of cut-off shorts and wants to know if they’ll fit her own daughter. Uma peels them up her legs. Mindi leans close, asks what scent the girl is wearing. Uma says nothing, only soap. Mindi wonders if the smell rises from her panties instead, and asks Uma to hand them over. Uma hesitates; her best friend’s mother isn’t supposed to ask things like that. Mindi smiles. She can be her mommy too, if Uma lets her. Uma slips the cotton down, still warm, and watches Mindi bring the fabric to her face, breathing deep. Mindi shrugs off her own panties, trades them. Cotton to cotton. Then her hands rise, unhook Uma’s bra, lift and weigh the soft breasts while her thumbs drag across the nipples. Uma laughs nervously; she’s bare, Mindi still dressed. So Mindi lets the dress fall. Naked, she moves in. Lips find Uma’s throat, then her nipples, sucking hard enough to make her gasp. She pushes the girl back across the bed—the same bed her daughter sleeps in—and opens her thighs. Fingers glide along the inside of Uma’s leg until they press against slick cotton. Mindi peels the panties aside. Her tongue finds the swollen clit first, circles, sucks. Then she straddles, sliding wet folds over wet folds, grinding, rolling, urgency building. Skin slaps, breath hitches, and both women come hard, hips jerking, moans buried in each other’s mouths.