Sorry Doesn't Cut It

Bridgette learned her husband was fucking Cassidy behind her back. She marched straight over. Time to deal with the bitch herself. She forced the thick pink dildo past Cassidy's lips first. Watched the girl's throat work around it. Every gag, every choking sound, settled something raw inside Bridgette. After that she spread Cassidy open with both hands and buried her tongue deep, dragging slow, wet strokes through her cunt until the younger woman trembled. The humiliation lingered in the air like perfume. They shifted. Legs tangled. Pussies pressed hot and slippery. Bridgette rocked her hips, grinding their swollen clits together, rolling until slick sounds filled the room. Occasionally she dipped lower, sucking on Cassidy's tender folds, tasting every pulse and shiver. Cassidy tried to match her rhythm, licking back with desperate little strokes, but Bridgette set the pace. Sweat slicked their thighs. They kept at it, mouths and cunts moving in greedy circles, bodies locked tighter with each thrust. The affair her husband had started was finished for him, yet Bridgette felt her claim on Cassidy settle into something permanent, bruising, and only just beginning.