Mother's Day Blues

Dee and India sat sipping wine, stung that their stepdaughters hadn't called on Mother's Day. The omission stung sharper because it happened once a year, yet the girls still managed to forget. Scarlett and Gia burst in, arms full of bags, eyes bright. The moms started hinting, then flat-out confessed their hurt. The girls exchanged startled looks, then swore they hadn't forgotten; the bags were the proof. When they stepped out again wearing sheer lace sets that barely covered anything, Dee and India went wide-eyed. Excitement shifted to caution—mixed company and all that—but Scarlett insisted everyone already knew. The moms slid into their own sets, silk sliding over skin, the mood softening into something warmer. Fingers wandered. Scarlett brushed her mother’s full breasts, lips following the line of lace down Dee’s stomach until she sucked the swollen clit between them, slow and thorough. Gia spread India’s legs, tongue tracing the wet seam of her stepmother’s folds, savoring every tremble. Soon the room turned into a tangle of limbs. Dee tasted her own daughter’s slick, mouth full of youthful sweetness, while India licked into Gia’s ass. Moans tangled, breath rasped, bodies slid together slick with spit and need. Dee looked up, lips shiny, and let out a breathless laugh. This was going to be a Mother’s Day none of them would forget.