The Company Whore
Copyright© 2026 by rzzor
Chapter 4: Cindy
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 4: Cindy - Carson, 18 and her father Dan go to a company Christian party. She works there part-time as the company's whore.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Fa/Fa Fa/ft Blackmail Consensual Slavery Lesbian Workplace Cheating Sharing Wife Watching Incest Mother Father Daughter BDSM DomSub Torture Black Male Anal Sex Exhibitionism Water Sports
The key turned with a click on Carson’s front door to her house that echoed too loudly in the silent foyer.
Jason and Carson held hands as they walked up the stairs. Jason’s knuckles hovered an inch from Carson’s bedroom door before he heard it—the wet, rhythmic slap of skin against skin from inside. The door swung open silently under his touch.
Carson’s father was on her bed, his tie loosened and dress shirt unbuttoned. A 14-year-old girl named Cindy, who works part-time in the mail room, was straddling him. She was naked as she bounced lazily up and down on him. She barely glanced up when the door creaked wider, her glassy eyes sliding past Jason to where Carson stood frozen in the hallway.
Jason cleared his throat, and the girl startled, her thighs clamping reflexively around Carson’s father as she scrambled backward. “Oh shit,” she breathed, her heels catching in the rumpled duvet as she tried to stand. “Mr. Whitmore, I—”
Jason put a finger up to his lips, pressing it slowly against Cindy’s swollen mouth. His other hand settled heavily on her bare shoulder, the weight of it enough to still her panicked scrambling. “Be quiet,” he murmured, nodding toward Carson’s father, whose head lolled against the pillow, slack-jawed and snoring softly between wet, whiskey-scented exhales. “He’s out.”
Cindy’s breath hitched, her fingers twitching against the rumpled sheets like a cornered animal calculating escape routes. Jason watched the way her gaze flicked between Carson in the doorway and the unconscious man beneath her, the same man who’d signed her paychecks for the past couple of months.
“So Cindy,” Carson said, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, “are you the new whore for the Harrisons?” Her voice was light, almost conversational.
Cindy’s mouth opened, then closed. Her thighs, still spread wide around Carson’s father’s hips, twitched like she wanted to close them but couldn’t quite remember how. “I—” Her gaze darted to Jason, then back to Carson. “Mr. Thomas just ... needed help getting comfortable after the party.”
“Sure, right,” Carson said. Carson then asked. “Cindy, how old are you?”
Cindy’s spine straightened, and then she said. “I’ll be 15 next month.”
“15 next month,” Carson repeated slowly, watching the way Cindy’s knees pressed together instinctively. “Do your parents know you’re here, Cindy?”
Carson stepped closer, her bare feet silent on the carpet as she circled the bed. “I asked you a question, Cindy,” she murmured, reaching out to tuck a damp strand of hair behind Cindy’s ear. “Are you a whore like I am for the Harrisons?”
Cindy’s breath came in shallow gasps, her chest rising and falling. Her gaze flicked to Carson’s dad, still unconscious, his slack mouth glistening with drool. Then back to Carson. Her voice cracked. “Mrs. Harrison said if I did this, she would make sure my mom got the promotion from the receptionist to a more professional level. And she will pay my dad’s medical bills.” Her fingers twisted in the sheets.
Carson’s fingers went slack in the damp ends of Cindy’s hair, where they stuck to her flushed neck. “So your mom knows you’re doing this?”
Cindy’s palms pressed flat against Carson’s father’s chest; whether to push away or steady herself wasn’t clear. “Mom is going to pick me up in the morning.” A tear dripped off her chin onto Carson’s father’s unbuttoned shirt, darkening the pale blue cotton. “Yes, she knows,” Cindy whispered, “She knows everything.” Her knees were knocking against Carson’s father’s thigh. He groaned but didn’t wake, his head lolling to the side.
Carson reached out, her fingers brushing Cindy’s cheek, wiping the tears away. Carson whispered into Cindy’s ear. “My dad doesn’t know about me,” Carson murmured, her thumb catching a fresh tear before it could fall. “Not that I know of.”
Cindy swallowed hard, her gaze darting to the unconscious man sprawled beneath her. “Mrs. Harrison told me to have him fuck me and take pictures of his cum coming out of my pussy, but he keeps passing out and his dick won’t get hard.”
Carson leaned closer. The girl’s breath hitched as Carson’s lips brushed the shell of her ear. “Do you like it?” The words were barely audible, just a whisper of warmth against damp skin. “Do you like being their whore?”
Cindy smiled at Carson and said, “I love it.”
They both smile at each other. “I love it too,” Carson said.
Cindy’s phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with a text notification. From her mom. “Are you done yet?”
Cindy’s fingers trembled against the phone screen. “My mom needs me to do this,” the girl whispered, more to herself than to Carson. “The rent, food, and Dad’s medical bills.”
Cindy’s thumb hovered over the screen, trembling slightly. For a heartbeat, Cindy didn’t move, just stared at her mother’s message.
Then her fingers tapped out, slow and deliberate: “Still working. He is passed out, and I can’t get him hard; he needs more time.”
Cindy’s phone buzzed again almost immediately, the screen flashing with her mother’s response. Cindy read the message aloud in a whisper: “Take a picture of his limp cock in your mouth; maybe that will be enough to show Harrison that you tried.”
Cindy’s fingers trembled as she lifted the phone’s camera, the lens focusing automatically on Carson’s father’s slack face before panning downward.
Cindy’s thumb hovered over the shutter button as she opened her mouth and put Carson’s dad’s soft cock in her mouth.
The flash went off with a clinical burst of white light, freezing Carson’s father’s slack expression in stark relief against the rumpled sheets. His cock lay limp inside her mouth. After she took a picture, she set up and sent the picture to her mom.
The phone buzzed almost instantly with her mother’s reply: “Good girl.”
A few minutes later Cindy’s phone buzzed again, another message from her mother. “She wants—” Cindy’s voice cracked. As she turned it toward Carson.
Carson read the message out loud: “Mrs. Harrison said that won’t do. Need his cum in you. Try licking and fingering his ass. That gets men hard every time.”
The phone buzzed again before Cindy could react. This message is from Mrs. Harrison. Cindy read it aloud: “If he doesn’t cum inside you tonight, your mother loses her job tomorrow.”
“Cindy, you know you have to do it,” Carson said.
Carson leaned in and whispered: “I was 14 when Mrs. Harrison first made me lick her asshole clean. Tell me, Cindy, did she offer you extra for that too?”
Cindy slowly nods and whispers, “Yes, she paid me extra.” Her breath hitches. “Plus 200 dollars more if I—if I let her...” Her voice trails off, but the flicker of her gaze downward says enough.
Carson’s thumb stroked Cindy’s lower lip. “Tell me,” she murmured, her breath warm against the girl’s damp cheek. “Did Mrs. Harrison ever have you kneel in the bathtub while she pissed on you?”
Cindy’s nostrils flared, a quick, reflexive inhale, before she gave a single jerky nod. The movement dislodged a fresh tear that traced the same path as the others.
Carson let out a soft, almost amused exhale through her nose, her thumb still resting against Cindy’s lip. “It’s okay,” she murmured, “I’ve been doing that for her for years now.”
After a few seconds of silence, Carson continued, “Tell me, Cindy,” she murmured, tilting the girl’s chin up. “Do you enjoy what she does to you?”
Cindy’s throat worked silently before she spoke. “Sometimes,” she whispered, “when—when she pets my hair afterward. Call me her good girl.” Her fingers twitched against the sheets. “It’s the only time anyone touches me like that.”
“If you want to be her whore,” Carson murmured, her voice low and deliberate, “then you have to lick my dad’s ass.” Truthfully, there’s no difference between a girl’s ass and a man’s ass, except men are hairy and stink more.”
“Cindy laughed.”
For a moment, the only sound was Carson’s father’s wet, whiskey-thick snores. Then Cindy exhaled sharply through her nose and nodded once. Her fingers trembled as she shifted her weight off Carson’s father’s hip and pushed him so she could get to his ass.
Cindy’s fingers hesitated for only a second before she spread his ass cheeks apart. The skin was warm and slightly damp with sweat.
She leaned in, her breath ghosting over his puckered hole before her tongue darted out in a quick, practiced lick. The taste was bitter, but she didn’t flinch. Her nose wrinkled slightly, but she kept going, her tongue circling in slow, deliberate strokes as Mrs. Harrison had taught her.
Jason’s grip on Carson’s hand tightened suddenly; he pulled her backward toward the door. His other hand came up to cover her eyes, not roughly, but firmly, like he couldn’t bear for her to see another second of this. “Come on,” he muttered, his voice low and urgent against her ear. “You don’t need to watch this.”
Cindy’s index finger slid in with surprising ease. Dan’s body was lax from whiskey and unconsciousness, offering no resistance. She’d done this before, of course. Mrs. Harrison preferred her fingers to toys, but never with a man. The difference was negligible, just like Carson had said: more hair, more sweat, mingling unpleasantly on her tongue as she continued to lap at him.
Dan groaned in his sleep, his hips shifting slightly. Cindy felt the twitch of his cock against her thigh, still soft but warmer now, fuller. She quickened the pace of her tongue, swirling it tight around his rim before plunging in alongside her finger, the dual sensation drawing another muffled sound from him. His hand flopped weakly against the sheets, fingers grasping at nothing.
Dan groaned awake. His bloodshot eyes flew open, pupils dilating with dawning horror as they locked onto Cindy’s hand working between his thighs.
“Jesus—” His voice cracked like dry timber. He scrambled backward against the headboard, his legs tangling in the sheets. Cindy yanked her hand back as if it burned; her fingers burned. The bedroom door clicked shut behind them. As the first muffled shout of her father’s voice bled through the wood. Cindy’s answering whimper sounded younger.
Carson didn’t turn back. The hallway carpet swallowed their footsteps as they moved away from the bedroom door.
A champagne flute sat abandoned on the hallway table, half-full. Carson grabbed it without breaking stride, the stem cool between her fingers as she drained it in one go.
The bedsprings groaned in a rhythm Carson knew too well—the same sharp squeak of the mattress she’d heard from her bedroom until her mother left then.
Cindy’s moans pitched higher. Jason’s grip tightened around Carson’s wrist as they paused at the top of the staircase.
Cindy’s breath hitched, sharp and sudden; she began to moan. The sound punched through the bedroom door, followed by the unmistakable wet slap of skin against skin. Carson froze mid-step, her fingers tightening around the champagne flute still dangling from her grip. For some reason, she wished it were her getting fucked by her father.
Neither of them spoke. The bedframe thudded against the wall in a staccato rhythm. Carson’s father’s groan was lower, rougher.
Jason and Carson went into the living room, and they quickly got undressed. The family portrait stared back, Carson’s father’s grin frozen in glossy perfection, her mother’s vacant smile just a shade too wide.
Jason’s gaze flicked between her face and the portrait. “Do you see it?” Carson whispered, dragging her nails down his chest. The photograph hadn’t changed in 6 years, her father’s arm around her mother’s shoulders, Carson wedged between them in a stiff holiday dress. The only thing missing was the whiskey glass her father had been holding just out of frame.
“Yes, I see it. I think you are in love with your father.”
“Jesus, Jason, is that really what you think?” Carson exhaled through her nose, fingers still curled against his chest. “I was 12 years old and pressed between my parents like a bookmark. It wasn’t love. I was trying to figure out how to make him put the glass down. I was trying to figure out why my mom screwed around with other men. Mom left us two days later after Christmas,” Carson continued, voice flat.
“So that’s when you—” Jason began before Carson interrupted him.
“Started fooling around with boys at school?” Carson finished, her voice low and deliberate. “Yes, but not for the reasons you’re thinking.” A dry laugh escaped her. She swallowed before she rolled onto her side, facing away from him.
“You know what’s funny?” she said to the wall. “I used to think if I got good enough at it, the whole seduction thing, I could make him see me. Not just as someone who existed when he wasn’t holding a glass. Turns out teenage boys are way easier to impress than alcoholic fathers.”
“So you want him to see you?” he said finally. He rolled onto his side, facing her hunched shoulders. “That’s what this is? Some fucked-up masterclass in getting your dad’s attention?”
Carson went very still. “No,” she said, softer now, like she was correcting a child. “I want him to notice me.”
“Carson, I noticed the way you looked at him in the bedroom. You kept looking at his cock, Carson; deep down you want him to fuck you.”
“You’re wrong,” she said automatically, too fast. Jason said nothing. Just waited. The truth was in the way her breath hitched when he adjusted his weight closer to her.
Carson’s pulse throbbed in her throat as Jason’s fingers traced the curve of her shoulder. “Tell me,” he murmured, his breath warm against the nape of her neck, “what did you imagine when you heard them through the wall?” His palm slid down her spine.
She closed her eyes. The memory unspooled behind her eyelids, the rhythmic creak of the bedsprings, Cindy’s breathy whimpers climbing higher with each thrust. “I thought about his hands,” she whispered. “How big they looked holding her hips.”
“And what else?” Jason asked,
Carson exhaled sharply through her nose. “I thought about the way he sounds,” she admitted, “when he—” Her throat clicked. “You know. The noise he makes right before—”
“Before what?” he murmured, Jason’s fingers rubbing her pussy. “You are wet.” You are wet for him.”
The sofa creaked under Carson’s weight as she twisted away, but Jason’s grip held firm.
Somewhere upstairs, Cindy’s moans had dissolved into breathless hiccups.
“My dad was so drunk. I was naked in my room.”
Jason’s fingers stilled against Carson’s hip, his breath hitching as if she’d physically struck him. The silence between them thickened, punctuated only by the distant creak of the bed upstairs—Cindy’s soft whimpers now muffled by the unmistakable slap of Carson’s father’s hips driving into her.
“Christ,” he breathed, more exhale than word. His fingers flexed at his sides—not quite fists, but close. “How old were you?” His voice cracked halfway through the question.
“Mom had just left. Dad came home wasted—more than usual. He stumbled into my room instead of theirs. He thought I was her.” The ghost of a smile flickered at the corner of her mouth. “I didn’t correct him.”
“So you had sex with your dad?” Jason asked. Carson could feel Jason’s big cock, hard as a rock, on her ass.
“He came into my room and began to undress. He said, Elizabeth, Elizabeth is my mom’s name. He said, Suck me off like the good whore you are. I didn’t know what to do. His cock was hard; I had never seen one before. He came up to me and pushed me to my knees. His cock went into my mouth.”
“And then?” Jason’s voice was rough. His cock pressed insistently against her ass, betraying him despite the horror.
“I gagged at first—he was so big.” A humorless laugh escaped her. “He slapped me. Called me a useless bitch.” Her throat worked silently. “But then he ... pet my hair. Said, Good girl, when I took it deeper.”
Jason’s cock twitched against her ass, hot and insistent despite the disgust trail. Carson felt it—the way his body betrayed him even as his fingers trembled against her hip.
Jason exhaled sharply through his nose, his breath warm against Carson’s shoulder. She could feel the rapid thud of his heartbeat through his chest pressed against her back—disgust and arousal warring inside him like twin currents.
“And after?” Jason’s fingers tightened on her hip, his voice thick. “Did he—”
“He fucked me,” Carson said, her voice detached as if recounting grocery items. She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling.
Jason’s exhale shook. His cock, still rigid against her thigh, twitched traitorously.
“He pushed me onto my hands and knees,” Carson whispered, her fingers tracing invisible grooves in the living room carpet, “and broke my hymen.”
“He took my cherry,” she murmured, “not like in the movies.” Her legs shifted against the sofa cushions, the ghost of that first splitting ache flaring between her thighs even now. “No roses. No violins. Just this...” She exhaled sharply through her nose. “This wet pop—like biting into a grape.”
“Do you know what?” Carson whispered into the silence between them, her fingers trailing idle patterns across Jason’s forearm. “I liked it.” The confession slipped out like a sigh—easy, weightless, as if she’d been holding it in for years without realizing.
Jason’s breath hitched. His cock, still pressed against her thigh, twitched again. Carson smiled at that, slow and knowing. She rolled onto her side to face him fully, her knee brushing deliberately against his erection. “Not at first,” she admitted, fingertips ghosting up his chest. “But after he came inside me. He then went to his room and passed out. Dad never remembered any of it. Not me sucking his cock, not the way his hands had gripped my hips hard. Not the way he fucked me.
The next morning, he’d microwaved me a frozen waffle as if nothing had happened. Jason, after that day, I started hitting on the boys and let them touch me and fuck me. I like to suck their little dicks, Jason. Yes, I wanted my dad to do it again to me, but he never did. A couple of years later I became a whore for the Harrisons,” Carson whispered. “Jason,” Carson said, her voice husky as she pressed her knee more deliberately against his erection, “fuck me right now.” Her fingers trailed down his chest, nails scraping lightly through the coarse hair below his navel.
Jason’s cock stretched her open in a way that made her forget her own name. He moved inside her with slow, deliberate thrusts—each one deeper than the last, each one carving out space where she hadn’t known there was space to carve. Carson arched her back against the living room couch. Jason’s hips snapped forward, the head of his cock nudging something that made her vision blur.
“Fuck—” The word tore from her throat ragged and broken as Jason’s hands tightened on her hips. She could feel him everywhere—the stretch of him, the heat of him, the way his breath hitched when she clenched around him on an upstroke.
Cindy padded barefoot into the living room, the hem of Carson’s oversized borrowed dress whispering against her thighs. One strap slid off her shoulder, exposing her right breast. She froze mid-step. As she took in the scene—the slick sound of skin against skin, the way Jason’s shoulders tensed as he fucked into her.
Cindy exhaled, sharp and sudden, and Carson’s head snapped toward the sound. Their eyes locked, and for a heartbeat, the room held its breath.
Jason stilled inside her, following Carson’s gaze over his shoulder. “Shit,” he muttered, but he didn’t pull out. Cindy’s mouth went dry. She should leave. She wanted to leave. But her feet stayed rooted to the floor, her pulse hammering in her chest as Carson arched her back further and smiled at Cindy. An invitation.
The dress pooled around Cindy’s feet as she sank beside the couch without a word. Cindy’s breath ghosted across Carson’s bare stomach as she leaned forward, her tongue darting out to lick Carson’s right breast before moving lower.
Cindy’s tongue was soft in a way that made Carson’s thighs twitch. The girl knew exactly how to press flat against Carson’s clit in slow, wet circles that had her back arching off the couch cushions within seconds. Jason groaned above her, his fingers tightening in Carson’s hair as Cindy’s mouth moved lower, her lips sealing around his cock with a suction that made his hips jerk forward involuntarily.
Cindy’s delicate fingers splayed across Carson’s trembling stomach while Jason’s calloused grip anchored her hips to his thrusts. Carson gasped when Cindy’s thumb found her clit again, rubbing tight little circles just as Jason’s cock dragged over that spot inside her.
Jason came first—a ragged groan tearing from his throat as Cindy’s tongue was still licking Carson’s clit. Carson felt the hot spill of him inside her, his hips stuttering against hers while the sensation tipped Carson over the edge, her body clamping down around Jason in rhythmic pulses as Cindy’s thumb circled her clit faster, relentless, until Carson’s vision whited out entirely.
The aftershocks left them all breathless. Jason slumped forward, his forehead pressing against Carson’s shoulder, while Cindy pulled back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Carson’s legs trembled as Jason finally slid out of her, the loss of him leaving her hollow and oversensitive. Cindy’s fingers traced idle patterns over Carson’s flushed stomach, her touch featherlight but deliberate.
“Your dad passed out again,” Cindy murmured, “after he came inside me.” A slow, wicked smile curled Cindy’s lips as she leaned closer, her breath warm against Carson’s ear. “Do you want to clean me as I clean you?”
Carson’s fingers curled into Cindy’s hair as she lowered herself to the floor, the hardwood cool against her bare back. Cindy followed, her knees sinking onto either side of Carson’s hips with a grace that made Jason exhale sharply from the couch above them. Carson could feel Cindy’s heat before they even touched—the damp musk of her arousal mingling with the slick remnants of Jason’s release still clinging to Carson’s thighs. Cindy didn’t hesitate. She bent forward, her tongue tracing a slow, deliberate line up Carson’s slit, pausing to swirl around her swollen clit before diving deeper.
Carson gasped, her hips lifting off the floor instinctively. The contrast was dizzying—Cindy’s tongue soft and teasing where Jason had been rough and demanding. She arched into the sensation, her own hands sliding down Cindy’s body to grip the backs of her thighs, urging her higher. Cindy understood, shifting until her knees bracketed Carson’s shoulders, her dripping cunt hovering inches from Carson’s mouth. Carson didn’t wait. She licked a broad stripe upward, tasting salt and sweat.
Cindy’s breath hitched when Carson’s tongue flicked over her clit—just once, teasingly light—before circling it with a pressure that made her thighs shake. She braced one hand against the wall, the other tangled in Carson’s hair as she sat on Carson’s face. Carson’s mouth grew bolder, lips sealing around her clit with a suction that sent sparks up Cindy’s spine. Below her, Carson moaned against Cindy’s skin, the vibration of it mingling with the slick sounds of Jason stroking himself lazily from where he sat watching them.
Cindy’s hips jerked forward involuntarily, her body seeking more friction, more heat—but Carson pulled back, grinning up at her with swollen, glistening lips. “Tell me,” Carson murmured, “did you send a picture to Mrs. Harrison?” Her fingers were digging into Cindy’s thighs. Cindy could only whimper, her thoughts scattering when Carson’s tongue licked into her with slow, deliberate strokes that had her toes curling against the hardwood.
Cindy managed to say, “Yes, I sent a picture to Miss Harrison. She told me I was her good girl, and she told me to stay with him until my mom picks me up tomorrow, and Mom will take me to the office.” Jason’s low groan from above them punctuated the moment, his hand moving faster over his cock as Cindy’s knees nearly gave out. She felt it building, the coiling tension in her stomach tightening with each flick of Carson’s tongue. Cindy’s fingers tightened in Carson’s hair—as Carson slipped two fingers inside her, crooking them upward in a motion that had Cindy crying out sharply.
The orgasm hit her like a wave. Her thighs clamped around Carson’s head as pleasure pulsed through her in shuddering bursts, her body arching forward as Carson worked her through it with relentless strokes. Distantly, Cindy heard Jason curse, felt the warm spill of his release hitting her calf where she knelt above Carson—but the sensation barely registered against the aftershocks still rippling through her.
Cindy collapsed forward, her elbows barely catching her weight before she face-planted into Carson’s sternum. Her breath came in ragged gasps that stirred the sweat-damp hair at Carson’s temples. Jason exhaled sharply from the couch, his fingers still lazily stroking his softening cock as he watched them with heavy-lidded eyes.
Carson’s bare thighs bracketed Cindy’s face with deliberate slowness, the damp heat of her own arousal already smearing across the girl’s flushed cheeks. Cindy’s breath hitched—not in protest, but in hungry anticipation—as Carson settled her full weight down, cutting off the girl’s oxygen in one smooth motion. Cindy’s nose pressed insistently against Carson’s entrance, her tongue working in desperate, fluttering strokes that had Carson seeing stars within seconds.
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you, Cindy?” Carson murmured, watching the girl’s lips move expertly against her skin. The vibration of Cindy’s affirmative hum traveled straight through Carson’s clit, making her thighs tighten instinctively around the girl’s head.
Cindy pulled back just enough to gasp for air, her chin glistening. “Only with Mrs. Harrison,” she admitted, her voice raw. Her fingers dug into Carson’s thighs as she dove back in, her tongue tracing slow circles that contradicted her nervous confession.
“She tastes good, doesn’t she?” Carson murmured, watching Jason’s throat work as Cindy’s tongue flicked against her clit in slow, practiced circles. The girl’s breath hitched beneath her, warm and damp against Carson’s thighs.
Cindy moaned around Carson’s clit, the vibration sending a jolt up Carson’s spine. “Answer me,” Carson demanded, arching her back just enough to make Cindy whimper at the sudden pressure.
“Yes, she tastes very good,” Cindy gasped, her lips glistening with Carson’s wetness, “especially when she starts to pee.” The confession slithered between them, raw and unfiltered, as Cindy’s tongue swiped lazily over Carson’s clit again—this time with purpose. Carson’s thighs tensed, her fingers knotting in Cindy’s hair instinctively, holding her in place as warmth bloomed between her legs.
Cindy’s moans vibrated against Carson’s skin, her mouth still working in slow, worshipful circles, her lips still sealed around Carson’s clit. Carson felt the vibration of Cindy’s moan against her thighs, the girl’s tongue never stopping its relentless circles.
The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked three times before anyone moved. Cindy’s lips remained pressed to Carson’s pussy.
“Did you like that?” Carson traced the shell of Cindy’s ear with her thumb, feeling the girl’s pulse racing beneath her fingertips.
Cindy’s lips parted with a shaky exhale, her tongue darting out to catch a stray drop of Carson’s arousal still clinging to her chin. “Yes,” she whispered, the word cracking like thin ice. “A lot.” Her fingers trembled where they rested on Carson’s thighs.
Carson stretched against the couch cushions, her thighs still damp where Cindy’s mouth had been. The girl’s lips parted slightly, her tongue darting out to catch the last traces of Carson’s taste still clinging to her lips.
“You taste good too,” Cindy said, her voice husky from exertion.
Carson’s fingers trailed down Cindy’s cheek, catching the girl’s chin between her thumb and forefinger. “You’d better get back to my father’s bed,” Carson murmured. Cindy’s breath hitched, her pupils dilating as Carson’s grip tightened. “I think Jason and I will leave and go to his place.”
Jason exhaled sharply through his nose, already reaching for his discarded shirt from where it had been tossed over the armchair. His movements were efficient—no wasted motion—but Carson didn’t miss the way his gaze lingered on the glistening mess between Cindy’s thighs before he turned away.
Carson’s knees hit the carpet with a soft thud, her fingers curling around Cindy’s thighs before the girl could react.
“Stay still,” Carson murmured against Cindy’s skin, her breath ghosting warm over the girl’s trembling flesh.
Carson hooked Cindy’s thighs over her shoulders and pressed in closer, her tongue working in slow, deliberate circles now. Cindy tasted different from Mrs. Harrison. The girl’s hips rolling in tiny, aborted movements Carson’s nose bumped against Cindy’s clit as she licked deeper, drawing another choked sound from the girl’s throat.
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