Dude, I Can See Up Your Stepmom's Skirt!

Max Fills shows up at Apollo Banks's place and runs smack into Pristine Edge, Apollo's stepmom, perched on a stepladder in the living room. She's hanging streamers for the party, legs just spread enough to show she's flying commando. The sight hits Max like a cheap shot to the nuts—he sits down close anyway, trading smalltalk, eyes glued to that bare, smooth pussy flashing every time she shifts. When Apollo finally strolls in, Max drags him into the hallway. "Dude, she's got nothing under that skirt," he hisses. Apollo's jaw drops; half a heartbeat later he's grinning like the devil. They cook up a plan—offer to "help" Pristine so they can sneak constant, filthy looks up her skirt. She beams at the volunteered manpower, clueless, handing them boxes and balloons while they keep ducking their heads for another snatch-shot of pink. The heat builds. The boys up the stakes, telling her two pairs of hands would feel even better on her tired feet. Pristine settles back on the couch, thighs parting wider as they rub. The angle lets them stare straight at her slick, spread slit; they think they're slick until her head tilts and she catches both pairs of eyes locked on her cunt. There's a pause thick enough to chew. Then Pristine smiles slow and filthy, lips parting on a soft laugh. No anger—just heat rolling off her in waves. She spreads her knees farther, fingers already tugging the skirt higher, and the three of them tumble into a greedy, laughing, anything-goes fuck right there on the half-decorated floor.