You’re chilling on the couch when your stepmom brings you coffee, her fingers brushing yours as she hands it over. She “accidentally” spills it on your shorts, gasping as the hot liquid soaks through—her eyes locked on the growing wet spot. She insists on helping you clean up, her hands trembling as she touches your waist, her voice soft and teasing. You feel her breath warm against your skin as she leans in, whispering that maybe her mouth could do a better job. The way she looks up at you, lips parted, makes it impossible to say no. Before you know it, she’s on her knees, proving just how sorry she really is.
