My Sneaky Scissoring Step-Daughters

My new step-daughters can't contain themselves on Christmas morning. They sit at the breakfast table in nothing but thin holiday shirts, bowls of cereal in front of them, spooning flakes into their mouths while their bare feet slide up each other's legs under the counter. One second they're chewing; the next, slender fingers slip between slick folds, rubbing slow circles over puffy clits. They bite back moans, feet flexing, thighs trembling. I step away to refill my coffee and they’re gone in an instant—two lithe bodies racing down the hallway, shirts flapping, asses bare. In their room they strip completely. Skin to skin, they scissor hard, clits grinding together, hips rolling in wet, sticky rhythm. They pant, gasp, curse when it feels too good. I push the door open wider, watching their pussies kiss and slide, their slickness stringing between them. Then one looks up. Catches me.