The Pink Pill

Syren's hands are deep in dishwater when Whitney drags herself in, temples throbbing. No worries—stepmom's got something stronger now that she's legal. Upstairs. Pink bottle in the medicine cabinet. Two little tabs down the hatch and Whitney's back in the kitchen feeling loose and hot under the skin. Syren palms her forehead for a fever. Whitney catches sight of those fat tits swaying and grabs on like she owns them. Syren shoves the girl off, what the hell, and Whitney bolts, mortified. Door slams. Syren stands out in the hall pleading, saying she'll fix it. Inside, Whitney's fighting it but the pills have ideas of their own. Syren pieces it together—wrong bottle—and guilt punches her straight in the chest. Whitney yanks the door open, drags her in, throws her onto the bed and kisses her like she's starved. Between sloppy licks she begs, voice cracking, "Please make me cum, mommy." Syren sighs, already wet, already fucked, and gives in.