Someday You'll Be A Bride, Too

Kristen struts in from the wedding still dressed in her bridesmaid getup, Blossom trailing close behind. Music and champagne buzz in their heads. "Hey," Kristen tosses over her shoulder, "you never even tried to catch the bouquet back there." Blossom gets quiet, cheeks pink, and says maybe she’s never marrying anyway—especially when the one girl she wants would never feel the same. Kristen stops dead in the hallway, spinning on her. "Wait, what?" Blossom bites her lip and blurts it: she’s crushing on her own stepmom. Kristen blinks, shocked, but her chest starts pounding with something hotter than surprise. She steps in, fingertips brushing Blossom’s waist, and the air goes electric. They’re kissing hard before either knows it—tongues, teeth, hands squeezing the satin of that dress—then it all comes off in a rush. Kristen presses Blossom to the wall, sucks a line down her neck, and slips two fingers straight into soaked folds that clutch right back. They fumble to the couch, knees knocking, legs tangling. Kristen drops to taste that sweet pussy open-mouthed, tongue working fast circles until Blossom yelps and bucks, grabbing the back of Kristen’s head for more. Then Blossom’s on her knees too, parting Kristen’s thighs, licking, sucking the hard pearl of her clit with hungry noise while she pumps slick knuckles deep inside her. Kristen swears, hips rolling. When they finally grind together—pussies slick against each other, wet, warm, slapping—they find each other’s mouths again, moaning loud as they ride the slick grind to tight, twitching climaxes. Cream and sweat everywhere, the sound of cunts rubbing loud and filthy till they’re shaking. Kristen laughs, low and cocky, against Blossom’s lips: "Fuck the bouquet, baby. You already caught me."