Mommy's Achy Boobs

Isabella greets her step-mom with a smile when Bridgette walks through the door. One look at her tired face tells Isabella the day has been long. Bridgette rubs at the straps cutting into her shoulders, sighing about how much the bra hurts, how badly she wants her breasts free. Isabella watches the motion, breasts pressed together, full and heavy, and feels a slow, wrong heat coil inside her. She shakes it off and offers to run to the mall for anything that might help. Bridgette pulls her into a grateful hug, pressing Isabella’s cheek to the warm swell of her chest. The contact lingers a beat too long. When Bridgette disappears down the hall for a bath, Isabella heads out. She returns with a gift bag she tucks away, then moves through the living room turning it into a quiet spa. Candles flicker on the table, fresh flowers sit in a low vase, rolled towels lie in a neat row. Bridgette comes back in, towel around her hair, curious. Isabella tells her the plan: a massage to ease the ache in her breasts. Bridgette hesitates, then slips off her blouse. The sight hits Isabella hard—round, bare, flushed from the bath. She starts at the shoulders, kneading deep, fingers gliding lower each pass. Bridgette’s breathing shifts, turns heavier. Moments later she stands, drops the rest of her clothes, and stretches out on the towels, offering every inch for Isabella to touch. Heat pools low in Isabella’s belly as her hands glide over heated skin, the air thick with oil, candle wax, and something neither of them names.