A Taste Of Her Own Medicine

Reagan Foxx came home to a phone call that made her blood run hot. Some girl had been giving her stepdaughter hell. She got the name—Lacey Channing—and decided to handle it herself. She drove straight over. When the door opened she didn’t wait to be invited. Her hand went straight to Lacey’s throat, a quiet promise she’d gotten the right address. “Strip.” The girl obeyed. Piece by piece the denim and cotton hit the floor. Reagan lifted her phone and snapped photos of the bare skin she’d just bared—full, young breasts, soft stomach, the soft patch between her legs. Proof, if Lacey needed it. “On your knees.” Reagan tugged her own panties aside, revealing the slick heat waiting there. Lacey leaned in, tongue hesitant at first, then bolder once she tasted the older woman’s need. Reagan held the back of the girl’s head, guiding every wet stroke. When Reagan was ready, she pushed Lacey onto the bed and spread her open. They moved together, hips locked, the slick sound of scissoring filling the room. Lacey’s breath caught every time their swollen clits brushed. Reagan didn’t stop there. She reached for the thick dildo that had been waiting on the nightstand and worked it into Lacey’s pussy first, slow and steady, then pulled it out glistening and pressed it to her ass until it disappeared again. Every hole got the same ruthless rhythm until Lacey’s thighs shook. By the time she came—loud, helpless, completely undone—Lacey was no longer sure she was sorry. She’d learned the lesson. She’d also discovered something she hadn’t planned to enjoy.