Past Your Curfew

Carter Cruise is about to get schooled—though not in the way she planned. Brandi Love caught her sneaking back from some mystery date and knows that sweet pussy needs protection. Carter talks a big game, but Brandi’s not letting her walk home knocked up. First rule: girls don’t need cock to cum. Brandi peels that leopard dress off her stepdaughter like gift wrap, stripping her bare. Then she loses her own clothes, tits bouncing free, and slides in between spread thighs. “Dry fingers suck,” she mutters, licking her own digits until they’re slick. She traces circles around Carter’s clit, slow, confident strokes until the girl’s hips start rocking. Carter thinks this is pointless, until Brandi flattens her tongue and drags a long, wet stripe up her cunt. Oh. Suddenly the point snaps into focus. Brandi sucks and flicks, pushes two fingers in deep, curls just right, and Carter’s moaning like she never did on her date. Then roles flip. Carter drops to her knees, buries her face, tastes pussy for the first time and decides she likes it messy. Brandi gives her the moan she wanted—loud, raw, legs shaking. But Brandi isn’t finished. She straps on that bright pink cock, oils it shiny, and lines the head against virgin pink. She pushes in slow, watches Carter’s mouth drop open. “That’s it. Breathe. Feel every inch.” She starts thrusting harder, grips hips, slaps skin. Carter’s babbling now, begging for it deeper, faster, until her whole body locks up and she comes hard, pussy clenching around fake dick like it owns her. Lesson learned.