Where is The Key?

Kenzie’s in the middle of her usual rounds when she pops into Scarlett’s room to check for laundry. One sweep of the bed and suddenly there’s lube. A smirk crosses her face—hands busy in your twenties can give plenty of secrets away. Sure enough, the next clothes she moves make that point louder: fat purple dildo peeks right out at her. Cute. Then the last thing lands with a clang—handcuffs. Fucking cuffs. Heat flares up Kenzie’s spine. She’s got her, the sneaky little brat’s breaking the rules and breaking them in this house. She calls Scarlett in and doesn’t dance around it. The girl cracks wise, so Kenzie snaps the cuffs on Scarlett’s own wrists and chains her to the headboard. The tickling starts quick—light fingers over ribs, skimming the sweet small tits—then scissors cut right through tiny shorts. Lacy panties appear, way too much silk for one girl solo. Another burst of fingers and Scarlett cracks: it isn’t boys, it’s another girl she’s fucking. Kenzie’s brows lift, then her tongue slides in. She licks tight nipples like she’s teasing out juice, dips south, and rubs slow wet circles around a newly slick clit. Scarlett protests once, hips still arching. Kenzie smiles against her skin. “Mother knows best.”