Mother Daughter Exchange Club #24

She arches up to meet me, thighs slick around my hips, and takes every inch I give her. I slide in deep, bottom out, and grind slow—grinding the way she likes it, pressure right on her clit. Her breath stutters each time I press there. We move like that for a while, bodies locked, sweat sliding between us, the hotel mattress shifting beneath our rhythm. At some point I hook her knee over my arm and open her wider. She gasps at the stretch, cunt pulsing tight around my cock, so slick I feel it coat me all the way to the base. I don't stop. I drive into her harder now, not quite rough but steady, each thrust measured to hit the spot that makes her fingers curl into the sheets. She bites my shoulder, bites hard enough to leave marks, and I laugh low into her neck. Her nails rake down my back. I grab her wrists, pin them over her head, and fuck her in earnest, deep and relentless, until the slap of skin on skin is the only sound between her small, bitten-off noises. She comes first. Her whole body clamps down, back bowed, and I keep moving through every shudder, fuck her right through it until she's shaking and over-sensitive, but not once begging me to stop. Only then do I let go—pull out, fist myself twice, and stripe her stomach with it, the sight of her marked and spent pulling the last spurt from me. I drop onto her, breathing hard, and we lie tangled, breathing hard together until the air-conditioning clicks on overhead.