Father Can't Stop Us

Ivy and Lyra are tangled on the bed, lips locked, hips rolling. Shirts come off, then bras. Ivy sucks gently at Lyra's nipples, Lyra answers with her mouth on Ivy's. The room smells like warm skin and soft perfume until the door opens. Ivy's father fills the frame, voice cracking with rage. Lyra grabs her jacket and runs. Ivy stays behind, cheeks burning, grounded on the spot. Later, at the dinner table, she tries a softer approach. "Just the mall?" Her father doesn't even look up from his plate. "Not until you meet a nice Jewish boy." He stands to take a call. Ivy tips a pale powder into his glass, watches him drain it without a second thought, then slip into sleep. She phones Lyra. Ten minutes later the two girls are naked again, door locked. Ivy peels Lyra's jeans down her hips, Lyra tugs the floral dress over Ivy's head. Hands roam, mouths follow, tongues slow and wet against pink nipples. Ivy pushes back Lyra's straight blonde hair; Lyra grinds her pelvis into Ivy's clit, a long, slick press that makes them both gasp. They promise each other nothing will stop this. Ivy climbs on top, slips Lyra's panties off and opens her thighs. Two fingers slide into the soft, trimmed bush, thumb rolling the swollen clit until Lyra shakes and comes hard. Lyra returns the favor from behind, tongue tracing Ivy's tight rim before they scissor, wet folds sliding together, hips snapping, breath ragged. Lyra shifts up, sits on Ivy's mouth, then lowers her own face to Ivy's pussy; sixty-nine, fingers and tongues working until both girls are trembling. Ivy licks Lyra's ass while her fingers thrust deep, then scissors her again, grinding until they both break, thighs quivering, the wet sounds loud in the quiet house. Downstairs, her father's phone rings unanswered.