Passionate Encounters: stepmom sits on my face

“stepmom sits on my face” is morning light through lace curtains. She wakes tangled in white sheets, hair wild, skin warm. The first thing “stepmom sits on my face” shows is her hand slipping beneath cotton panties already soaked from dreams. Lazy circles turn urgent; fabric darkens under her touch. She kicks the sheet away, knees falling open, giving “stepmom sits on my face” an unobstructed view of fingers plunging in and out, thumb relentless on her clit. Sunbeams dance across trembling thighs. In “stepmom sits on my face”, she comes quietly at first—then louder, back bowing off the mattress, crying “stepmom sits on my face” like a prayer into the empty room as pulses milk her fingers dry.