Mother Daughter Exchange Club #22

She stepped out of the dress like skin leaving muscle. Silk pooled at her ankles, cool and weightless. He didn't speak. His fingers skimmed the underswell of her breast, thumb flicking across the tight peak, testing warmth, ownership. She exhaled hard through her teeth, thighs brushing, already slick. He pressed two fingers between her folds and dragged them slow, spreading her, gathering wetness. The pad of his middle finger rubbed the swollen nub in small, deliberate circles until her hips rocked without her say-so. He slid inside her without resistance, twisting his wrist, curling until her knees buckled. She caught the back of his neck, nails biting. They never broke eye contact. When he added the third finger her breath caught, cunt clenching around the stretch. He pumped them harder, thumb grinding her clit with every thrust. Wet noises filled the space between them. Her lower lip glistened, parted, lost. He pulled out. Brought his hand to her mouth. She tasted herself on his skin, sucked each knuckle clean. Saliva trailed from her chin as he spun her around and bent her over the table. He drove in deep in one relentless stroke, hips flush, balls pressed tight. Her exhale turned into a broken cry. Every thrust knocked the air from her chest. The table legs scraped across the marble, rhythm relentless, no give. Sweat slid down his spine. Hers already smeared the wood grain. She reached back to spread herself wider. He slapped her open hand away and pinned both wrists with his forearm, fucking her harder, deeper. Her orgasm built at the base of her spine. When it crested it tore through her. Walls pulsing, thighs quaking. He held through the squeeze until he could no longer, spilled inside with a low, guttural sound. Semen leaked hot down her thigh while he stayed buried, chest heaving against her back, heartbeat matching the leftover tremors.