Mommy's Achy Boobs

Isabella perked up when Bridgette walked through the door, shoulders tight, face drawn from another long day. Her stepmother dropped her purse, grumbled about the strap biting into her skin, and squeezed her breasts together in frustration. The motion made the younger woman's eyes linger. The way Bridgette pressed them, lifted them slightly, sparked something Isabella had no business feeling. Her mind raced with images of her mouth where her fingers itched to be. Then the daydream broke, and she pasted on a smile, promising to fetch anything Bridgette needed. Bridgette laughed softly, pulled her daughter-in-law close and Isabella pressed her face into the warm cleft of cleavage, resolve hardening. Once Bridgette stepped away to unwind, Isabella slipped out, returned loaded with supplies, and cleared the coffee table. She dimmed the lights, lit vanilla candles, set peonies in a vase and lined up fresh towels. When Bridgette appeared and arched a curious brow, Isabella explained the plan: she wanted to ease the ache in those heavy breasts, hands only, nothing strange. Bridgette hesitated, then sighed in surrender and tugged off her blouse. The bra followed, and her bare chest swung free, lush and flushed from a day trapped. Isabella's throat tightened as she kneaded the sore muscles from shoulder to deep cleavage. Her thumbs brushed stiffening nipples, drawing a low sound from Bridgette. Heat filled the room, sweat starting at both temples. Bridgette reached down, shimmied her leggings off, and stretched across the sheet, skin gleaming in the candlelight. Full body, she murmured. Do it right.