SCREEN VERSE🥶

My Step-Mom Just Squirting All Over Me in the Bathroom The house felt empty the second Dad’s car left the driveway. Three weeks in Singapore, and the quiet settled over everything like a held breath. I was rinsing a glass at the kitchen sink when she walked in wearing one of his old button-downs, unbuttoned low enough that I could see the soft swell of her tits and the way her nipples pressed against the thin cotton. No bra. She never wore one around the house when he was gone. “Need help with that?” she asked, voice low, already knowing the answer. I followed her upstairs without speaking. She pushed the bathroom door open with her hip, flicked the light, and locked it behind us. The mirror was still fogged from her earlier shower. She turned, backed against the counter, and pulled me in by the waistband of my sweats. “Been thinking about this all morning,” she murmured against my mouth. Her hand slipped inside, fingers wrapping around me, already half-hard just from the way she looked at me. She stroked slowly, thumb smearing the bead of precum over the head. “Feel how wet I am.” She guided my free hand under the hem of the shirt. No panties. She was soaked hot, slick, and swollen. My fingers slid between her lips easily, two of them sinking in while she rocked against my palm. The wet sound was loud in the small room. She bit her lip, eyes half-lidded, watching me in the mirror over her shoulder. I spun her, bent her over the sink. The shirt rode up. Her ass was perfect, round, already marked from where I’d gripped it last time. I shoved my sweats down, lined up, and pushed in one long stroke. She gasped, forehead hitting the mirror. “F’’ck—yes,” she breathed. “All of it.” I stayed buried, grinding deep so she could feel every inch. She was dripping down my balls already. I pulled almost all the way out, then drove back in hard enough to make her tits sway. The slap of skin echoed. She reached back, fingers digging into my thigh, urging me deeper. “Harder,” she panted. “Fuck me harder. I’m so wet don’t you feel it?” I gripped her hips and gave her what she asked for. Long, punishing strokes that made the counter rattle. Every time I bottomed out she made this broken little sound in her throat. Her pussy clenched around me, gripping, fluttering. I could see everything in the mirror her mouth open, eyes glassy, the way her tits bounced with each thrust. “Don’t cum inside me,” she managed between gasps. “Pull out—I’m close—f•ck—” I didn’t slow down. One hand slid around to her clit, rubbing tight circles while I kept driving into her. She came with a sharp cry, her body locking up, then suddenly she was squirting hot pulses of it coating my cock, running down her thighs, splashing onto the tile. I kept fucking her through it, the wet sounds turning messy and loud. “Sorry,” she whimpered, her voice wrecked, still coming. “Sorry I squirted on you” I pulled out at the last second, stroked myself twice, and came across the small of her back and the curve of her ass, thick ropes painting her skin. She stayed bent over, breathing hard, watching in the mirror as I dragged my fingers through the mess and pushed two of them back inside her still-twitching cunt. She moaned, soft and spent, and pushed back against my hand. Outside, the house stayed quiet. Dad’s flight wouldn’t land for another nineteen days. We had time.