I'm in Control

Since the day her step-daughter turned eighteen, Jenna cannot stop staring at Dava’s tits. Every time Dava walks away from her, she feels eyes fixed on her chest. One afternoon Dava is still damp from the shower, nipples tight, when she finds Jenna frozen outside the bathroom door. Weeks later Jenna comes back from school to find Dava waiting on the couch, shirt open, nipples already stiff. “You’ve been stealing looks,” Dava says. “If you want them, come take them.” Jenna drops her backpack, scrambles onto the cushions, and latches on. Dava cradles the back of the girl’s head, guiding her from one breast to the other until spit glistens on the swells. Now one bare chest bounce ends Jenna’s whining about homework every night. Dava is still lying open-legged when she phones a friend. Between easy sentences she bites her lip. Jenna is on the floor, face buried under the curve of her belly, tongue steady and thorough, and Dava lets the slick sounds roll through her words. Her thighs start to tremble, yet she keeps her voice level; the risk that the friend might notice makes her cunt ache harder. When Jenna reaches up to pinch her nipple, Dava’s breath falters for half a beat. She drops the phone, hauls Jenna onto the couch, and kisses her open-mouthed. Hands press thighs apart. Dava’s tongue meets the tight swell of Jenna’s clit, circles once, then sinks lower. Jenna writhes, heels drumming Dava’s back. They switch without a word, tangle into a messy sixty-nine, cheeks shining and breath ragged. When that is no longer enough, Dava sits up and draws Jenna onto her lap. They grind, slick flesh slipping together, until Jenna whimpers, grabs Dava’s hips, and holds her close while the climax rolls through them both. Dava smiles, triumphant. Jenna is exactly where Dava wants her.