Katie Morgan

Katie’s kid Jackie’s been on a real tear lately—grounded, bored, and taking it out on her by being an absolute menace. This time he locks her out, proud of his petty revenge. So she calls a locksmith, and in walks Isiah: tall, cocky, and packing tools that looked like they belonged in her bedside drawer. He gets to work on the deadbolt while Katie bends over to “check her phone,” flashing the bare, shaved strip between her thighs every time she shifts her stance. No panties. Short dress. Zero shame. After a couple of failed tries, she cuts the act and taps the app—door swings open like it never had a lock. She waves him inside for water, and that’s when he sees it: silicone cocks, bullet vibes, and a harness, all scattered across the couch like a perverted Thanksgiving spread. She laughs once, sharp and embarrassed. “Kid thinks he’s clever. Locks me out, then sets out my toys for the neighbors to see. Calls me a horny loser.” She plants her hands on her hips and grins. “Fuck it. Perfect time for payback.” She nods toward the far corner. “Sit.” Isiah drops, curious. Katie drops too—on her knees right there in the living room—unbuckles him and swallows him whole, loud, wet, and greedy, like she’d been waiting all day. He grabs her hair, fucks her throat until spit slicks her chin, then flips her over the arm of the couch. Short dress yanked up, knees spread, he slams into her pussy so hard the sofa scoots an inch. Toys rattle beside them; she grabs one, vibes her clit while he rails her, loud enough the windows rattle. Afterwards, breathing hard, she kicks her sneakers back on and taps the app again, locking and unlocking the door just to prove the point. “Didn’t need the locksmith for the lock, babe. Needed one for the dick. And to piss off my brat kid watching from the neighbor’s window. Two birds, one very happy cunt.”