Str8 Corruption Diaries

Sabina never planned to wait. She wanted Scarlett naked in her bed, and tonight she would have her. Hidden cameras sat ready in every corner. Lights low. Wine poured. When Scarlett stepped inside, her face still drawn from another cheap breakup, Sabina moved close, smelling clean skin and cheap cologne that wasn’t hers. Her hand brushed the small of Scarlett’s back, slow, deliberate. Scarlett flinched but didn’t pull away. Words came soft at first—old jokes, teasing touches—then warmer, wetter, pressing against the line Scarlett always drew. Sabina’s mouth found the curve of Scarlett’s ear, breath hot, asking without asking. Fingers traced the tight waistband of Scarlett’s jeans until they loosened and slipped. Scarlett’s protest died in a shiver when Sabina’s tongue slid across her collarbone, tasting salt and the quick flutter of indecision. Her knee parted Scarlett’s thighs, grinding just enough to make the “straight girl” gasp. In the next breath jeans hit the floor, panties dragged aside, and Sabina’s tongue found heat already slick and open. Scarlett’s hips rolled, surprised by her own hunger. Sabina took her time, licking deep, then flicking lightly until Scarlett’s hand knotted in her hair and pulled her closer. A low, broken sound slipped out of Scarlett’s throat—half protest, half plea. She came once, hips jerking, thighs trembling, then again when Sabina pushed two fingers in and curled them against that greedy spot inside. By the third orgasm, any claim of being straight had melted into wet, wanting silence. Scarlett lay sprawled and breathless, legs still open, cunt flushed and dripping. Sabina kissed the inside of her thigh, then rose to meet her mouth, letting her taste what she had just surrendered.