Protesting Stepmom And Daughter In The Clink!

In that narrow cell the stepmother's fingers found the button of her jumpsuit. One tug, the fabric dropped away, leaving nothing but warm skin and the other woman's waiting mouth. They worked fast, urgent and quiet, the girl's tongue sliding slow and thorough along every inch of older flesh, tasting salt and fear and relief. Each lick erased the day like a mark of filth. Thighs parted, knees parted wider, and the daughter pressed closer until her breath fogged the skin she'd just cleaned. For a few stretched minutes they made the antiseptic air private, the stainless steel sink catching the soft sounds of mouth on cunt, of silence conquered by need.