Ain't That Innocent

Lia came home from the gym still damp with sweat. She rattled the front door, then pressed her face to the glass and saw Marsianna on the couch, knees wide, two fingers working between her legs. Marsianna’s small breasts rose and fell fast; the tiny tattoo on her hip trembled with every stroke. When their eyes met, Marsianna only smiled and let her fingers slip deeper. Lia felt heat flood her own skin. Marsianna took her time unlocking the door, nipples tight under her tank top, breath still short. They pretended nothing had happened. They talked about nothing at all until Lia stepped into the shower. Steam clung to her lean body; she caught herself brushing her own small nipples, thinking of the slick sound she’d watched through the window. Later, under the low light of the TV, Marsianna’s hand found Lia’s thigh. Lia froze. “We’re stepsisters,” she whispered, voice shaky, “and I’ve never…” Marsianna leaned in, soft mouth brushing Lia’s ear. “Then let me show you.” A slow kiss turned hungry. Marsianna’s tongue traced Lia’s lower lip, coaxed it open, then slipped inside. Hands slid beneath clothes; Marsianna’s fingers—still tasting faintly of her own cunt—circled Lia’s clit until the virgin girl gasped and opened. They moved together on the couch, skin to skin, Marsianna guiding every touch, every lick, until both girls trembled, coming in quiet, urgent waves, the movie forgotten, the night entirely theirs.