Mothers' Playdate

Dana Vespoli and Katie Morgan lounge in Dana's kitchen. Outside, their husbands and sons wrestle like overgrown boys. Katie chuckles - every get-together it's impossible to tell the dads from the kids. Dana agrees, admits she married a big, playful guy and isn't mad about it. With the men outside, the house feels quiet. Real quiet. Katie smiles across the island and admits she has been craving these rare afternoons alone with Dana. Dana feels the same and says so, eyes soft. They both sigh about careers and kids leaving zero time to slow down. Katie's smile fades into a dry laugh - sometimes 'slow' is too fucking slow. Dana presses. Katie drops it: her bedroom has gone dead lately. Dana nods, says they hit the same wall last year. Katie leans in: how'd you two fix it? Work, effort, scheduling each other in. When that didn't move the needle, Dana jokes, she just took care of business solo. Katie blinks. You mean... masturbating? Dana grins. Never tried, Katie admits, cheeks pink. Dana stares like she didn't hear right. Katie shrugs and laughs. Dana slides off her stool. Then let's fix that right now. Upstairs, Dana strips, stretches out on the bed and shows her. Katie watches, copies the rhythm, breath growing shaky. Dana coaches her through it - 'circle there, press harder, don't stop.' Heat builds fast. Moans spill out. When they both come, the room smells like sweat and cunt. Dana stares at the shine between Katie's thighs, tongue darting over her lip. There's one thing I've always wanted to try, she murmurs. Katie smirks, already leaning in. Their mouths crash together hard. Neither woman will ever forget this playdate.