Vanity Runs In The Family

Natasha shows up with a brand-new mirror and waves it at her stepdaughter. Aften grins, steps closer, and lets Natasha run a brush through her hair. The strokes feel sweet at first. Then Natasha’s fingers slow, drift lower, trace Aften’s jaw, thumb the corner of her mouth. Lip-gloss glistens on the brush; Natasha paints it on slow, like she’s claiming the shine. Aften’s breath hitches—innocent surprise giving way to heat. The mirror catches every glance. Natasha leans in, lips at Aften’s ear, whispering how good they look together. Aften swallows, nods once, then again, surrendering. They turn, eyes locked on their reflections, hands sliding under shirts. Natasha’s full breasts press warm against Aften’s smaller ones as fingers slip inside slick folds. The reflection doubles every stroke, every moan. Aften watches herself arch, watches Natasha’s hand work faster between her legs, watches both of them come apart in perfect, filthy sync.