Georgia hadn’t stopped thinking about her.

Not for a single day.

Every night since the last time—since the shower, the gasps, the spanking, the filthy things Debra had whispered into her ear—she found herself under the covers, hand between her thighs, reliving every second.

She imagined Debra’s mouth, Debra’s voice, Debra’s hands, calling her those sweet, dirty names as she came apart. Again. And again.

And every night, it got harder not to text her. Not to show up unannounced. Not to get in her car, drive across town, and drop to her knees at Debra’s back door like a woman starving.

But Debra hadn’t called. Hadn’t messaged. Hadn’t even liked anything she posted.

Georgia told herself it was fine. That maybe it was a one-time thing. That she was an adult and she could handle it.

Still, her body ached for her. Quiet and constant.

And then, like divine providence—or maybe the devil’s work—her mom knocked on her door Friday night, poking her head in with a flour-dusted smile.

“Hey, baby. I need a favor,” Brenda said, holding a hand towel in one hand and the scent of cinnamon and sugar on her sweater. “Think you can drop off some cupcakes and a couple pies to Debra’s house tomorrow? She’s takin’ ’em to that church parking lot potluck thing on Sunday. I’ve got too much going on here with the yard sale and I’m gonna lose my damn mind.”

Georgia blinked from where she lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling like she’d just heard God speak.

Debra. Her house. Alone.

“Oh,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Sure. What time?”

Her mom gave a warm laugh. “Early afternoon’s fine. Just call ahead and make sure she’s home. And for God’s sake, don’t drop the coconut pie. Preacher nearly proposed to me over that one last year.”

She left, humming to herself.

Georgia sat up slowly, heart pounding. Her thighs pressed together as heat bloomed low in her belly.

She wasn’t just going to deliver something.

She was going to serve something.

And this time… Debra wasn’t getting away so easy.

The dream came in waves—slow and hot, like syrup running down her thighs.

Debra’s voice, rough and dripping with lust: “Mama’s little slut.”

The sting of her palm against Georgia’s ass.

The slick drag of her tongue between her legs.

The scent of soap and sweat and summer skin.

Georgia moaned in her sleep, grinding against her sheets, the dream so vivid she could feel Debra’s breath on her neck.

Then—release.

Her back arched, toes curling under the covers, a muffled cry leaving her lips as she climaxed in her sleep, hips lifting off the mattress in helpless surrender.

She woke up gasping, flushed from her chest to her cheeks.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and golden, and she lay there for a moment—panting, legs trembling, her sheets damp with sweat and arousal. Her heart pounded as she rolled over, breathless and aching all over again.

“Jesus,” she whispered. “I’m losing my damn mind.”

But maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

She got up and padded to the bathroom, stepping into a hot shower. The water ran over her skin like a memory, and she let it wake her, cleanse her, prepare her.

Today wasn’t just a delivery. It was a declaration.

She toweled off and smoothed peach-scented lotion over her soft, creamy skin, taking her time—wrists, thighs, collarbone. She spritzed perfume at the back of her neck and between her breasts, letting the juicy scent wrap around her like a promise.

Her dark hair was blow-dried into loose, voluminous waves that framed her face and cascaded over her shoulders. She lined her eyes with a delicate flick of black, kissed her lips with soft rose-pink gloss, and slipped into the dress she’d been saving all summer.

It was red—ripe cherry red—with thin straps and a fitted bodice that hugged her full breasts and cinched in at her waist before flaring just enough over her hips. White flowers danced along the hem. It was innocent. Pretty.

And completely designed to wreck someone.

She stepped into her white heels and gave herself a once-over in the mirror.

She looked like temptation.

The door opened with a soft creak.

And there she was.

Debra stood barefoot in the doorway, wrapped in a loose, white sundress that floated around her like a summer breeze—simple, soft, effortless. The neckline dipped just enough to hint at the curve of her breasts, the thin fabric swaying with each subtle movement of her hips.

Her silver hair was damp, curling slightly at the ends, and she smelled like something heavenly—clean and warm, like fresh soap and jasmine petals crushed in the sun.

Her bare skin glowed golden in the afternoon light, and when her eyes met Georgia’s, a grin tugged slow and knowing at the corners of her mouth.

“Well hey there, pretty girl,” she said, voice wrapped in molasses. “I’m guessin’ you’re here to drop those off for the yard sale tomorrow from your mama?”

Georgia froze for half a second, heart thudding.

Debra’s tone was casual. Her expression? Easy. Like she didn’t have the memory of Georgia’s moans etched into her spine. Like she hadn’t had her fingers inside her a week ago while lying to the girl’s mother on the phone.

Georgia swallowed and gave a small smile. “Yeah. Two pies and some cupcakes. Coconut cream and peach.”

Debra stepped aside, nodding toward the kitchen. “Well, come on in then. You know where to set ’em.”

Georgia brushed past her, the scent of jasmine and warm skin lighting a fuse deep in her core. Her shoulder barely grazed Debra’s as she entered—but the charge was instant, electric.

She placed the boxes on the counter, suddenly too aware of her own body, the way the dress hugged her hips, the faint sheen of perfume warming on her skin.

Behind her, Debra shut the door with a soft click.

The house felt quiet. Still.

Too quiet.

Georgia turned slowly.

Debra stood just inside the kitchen, leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed, watching her like a secret she already owned.

“Well,” Debra said, tilting her head. “Aren’t you a vision today.”

Her eyes dragged over Georgia’s dress, the heels, the soft pink mouth, the flushed cheeks that betrayed everything she was trying to keep composed.

“You get all dolled up just to play delivery girl?”

Debra’s gaze followed Georgia as she set the pies on the counter, then she stepped closer—barefoot and unhurried, her dress whispering across the floor.

She leaned forward, inspecting the boxes. “Coconut—classic,” she murmured, catching the glitter in Georgia’s eyes. “And peach… your mama sure does know how to pick ‘em.”

Her voice dropped an octave. She looked up at Georgia, brows raising. “But you?” She let her gaze roam over Georgia’s dress and those heels, still teasing but with something sharper now. “Laundry day? This is all you had?”

Georgia smiled, a nervous flush warming her cheeks. “Yeah,” she answered softly, shifting on her feet. “Last minute, you know?”

Debra stepped even closer—near enough that their bodies might graze if Georgia didn’t hold perfectly still.

“Let me see,” Debra teased, reaching out with one long, delicate finger and tracing a slow circle over a smudge of peach glaze on the box lid. She flicked her fingertip to lick at the spot. “Sweet, sticky… kinda like someone I know.”

Georgia swallowed, pulse rattling.

Debra’s fingertip lingered a second, then she straightened, fixing Georgia with a look that was all silk and steel. “You’re sweet—and sticky, darling,” she murmured in that Southern drawl. “But let’s be real… you came here wearing that dress hoping for something more, didn’t you?”

Georgia’s breath caught. She caught her lower lip with her teeth, eyes darting down before simmering back up.

Debra smiled—the kind that whispers secrets and promises trouble.

“Good,” she said, leaning in so close Georgia could smell the warm jasmine drifting off her skin. “Because I’ve missed my little troublemaker.”

Debra’s fingers lingered on the pie box, her grin growing as she flicked the latches open with a casual elegance.

“Coconut cream,” she murmured, lifting the lid. “Can’t let this go to waste.”

She dipped a finger into the soft, velvety top—gathering a thick dollop of whipped topping and toasted flakes, rich and fragrant. Then she turned to Georgia.

“Here,” she said, stepping closer. “Try a little.”

She raised her hand slowly—eyes locked on Georgia’s mouth—and traced the whipped topping along her bottom lip. The contact was gentle, almost reverent. But there was nothing innocent in Debra’s gaze.

Georgia parted her lips instinctively, her breath catching, tongue flicking to taste.

“Mmm,” Debra whispered. “Sweet. But not as sweet as you.”

She trailed her finger downward, slow and deliberate, dragging the soft coconut cream from the corner of Georgia’s mouth, down the dip of her chin, and lower—right along the slope of her neck. The whipped topping smeared into her skin, cool against the heat building beneath.

Debra leaned in.

And licked it off.

Her tongue swept along Georgia’s neck, warm and slow, tasting every bit she’d marked. Georgia shivered, her knees threatening to give out as Debra pulled back just enough to let her feel the breath between them.

“I always knew you were the kind of girl who could make dessert feel like sin,” Debra whispered, voice like molasses in July.

Her fingers slid down to rest on Georgia’s hip—possessive now. The air between them pulsed with memory and want.

“You come here wantin’ somethin’, baby?” Debra asked, softly, like she didn’t already know the answer.

Georgia’s lips were still sticky with coconut. She nodded.

Debra smiled—slow, dangerous, and full of wicked delight.

“Good,” she murmured. “Because Mama’s been starvin’.”

Debra’s fingers curled around Georgia’s wrist—soft but firm, unmistakable in their intent.

“Come on, sugar,” she said, voice low and threaded with heat. “Bring that sweet little dress upstairs before I rip it off you right here on the linoleum.”

Georgia followed without a word, heart hammering as she let herself be pulled through the quiet house. The sound of their footsteps on the stairs echoed softly, each step a drumbeat of tension.

Debra didn’t look back—just kept walking, her white sundress swaying around her thighs, her bare feet whispering against the hardwood.

But her voice?

Her voice never stopped.

“You know what I’ve been thinkin’ about?” she asked, slow and syrupy. “Every night this week… lyin’ in that bed next to my husband, listenin’ to him snore, knowin’ I still had the taste of you on my tongue.”

Georgia’s breath caught in her throat.

“I thought about how your mouth looked beggin’ in that shower,” Debra continued, pulling her closer now, their steps slower as they reached the hallway. “How you cried when I made you come with that showerhead. That pretty little pussy so sensitive and greedy.”

Georgia swallowed hard, knees wobbling under her.

“I touched myself real quiet next to him,” Debra whispered, reaching back to slide her hand along Georgia’s hip. “Bit my pillow just to keep from moanin’ your name. All week, baby.”

She paused at the bedroom door, the master suite at the end of the hall. The bed was made. Neutral colors, the air still scented faintly of aftershave and jasmine.

“This,” Debra murmured, turning toward her, “is where I should’ve fucked you the first time.”

She let go of Georgia’s hand and opened the door wide.

“Now,” she said, voice low and thick, “get your sweet ass in that bed and show me how bad you’ve missed me.”

Georgia stepped into the room like she was stepping into heat—soft light filtering through gauzy curtains, the air thick with jasmine and quiet sin. She hesitated near the bed, her red sundress clinging to her curves like it knew it wouldn’t be on for long.

Debra moved behind her in silence.

Then—gently—she knelt.

“Let’s get these off you, baby,” she murmured, sliding her hands down Georgia’s calves, palms warm and slow. She lifted one heel delicately, cradling Georgia’s ankle in her hand.

White leather slipped away.

And then Debra kissed the arch of her foot—lightly, reverently.

Georgia gasped, her fingers twitching at her sides. No one had ever kissed her there.

Debra lifted her other foot, did the same. Then her thumbs began to rub slow circles into the soles of Georgia’s feet, massaging gently, working out tension from the heels upward. It was tender. Intimate. Almost sweet—until her mouth returned.

Debra leaned in and kissed the tips of Georgia’s painted toes—soft pink, perfect.

Then her tongue flicked out, slow and wet, and licked along the top of one.

Georgia moaned, her body tensing from the shock of it.

Her back arched instinctively, hips lifting just enough to make the hem of her sundress ride up over her thighs.

Debra smiled against her skin. “That got your attention,” she teased, kissing her toes again, tongue swirling over the ball of her foot, warm and unhurried.

“You’ve got the prettiest damn feet I’ve ever seen,” she murmured, voice thick with hunger. “Look at you already tremblin’. Barely even touched you yet, and you’re soaked, aren’t you?”

Georgia whimpered, her knees starting to give.

Debra rose slowly, trailing kisses up her calf… then her knee… then the inside of her thigh, her hands sliding up Georgia’s bare hips, catching the hem of her dress and tugging it higher.

“I’m gonna worship every inch of this body, baby,” Debra whispered against her skin. “You came here to be fucked by mama, didn’t you?”

Georgia nodded, lips parted, eyes dark.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Please…”

Debra’s hands slid higher, pushing the soft red fabric up Georgia’s thighs—slowly, deliberately—revealing bare, creamy skin inch by inch.

As the dress rose past her hips, Debra paused.

Then she let out a low, throaty laugh.

“Well, well…” she drawled, eyes locking on Georgia’s exposed, glistening heat. “No panties, huh?”

Georgia flushed, but didn’t look away.

Debra leaned in, her breath grazing the bare skin of Georgia’s lower belly. Her fingers traced slow circles just above her mound, maddeningly close.

“Came over here with a pie in your hands and not a stitch on under this dress,” she murmured, voice laced with delight. “You really are my nasty little thing, aren’t you?”

Her thumbs spread gently over Georgia’s hips, holding her still.

“You knew what you were doin’,” Debra continued, kissing just below Georgia’s belly button. “Comin’ to a preacher’s house like this. Wet. Open. So goddamn ready for Mama’s mouth.”

Georgia whimpered, her whole body shivering at the way Debra said Mama’s mouth—like it was a promise, a warning, and a blessing all at once.

Debra kissed lower. “I oughta make you say grace before I eat.”

Debra’s hands slid firmly over Georgia’s bare hips, her thumbs brushing just above her mound—so close it made Georgia’s stomach twitch.

Then one hand dipped lower.

Her thumb found Georgia’s aching, swollen clit and pressed down just enough to make her breath catch in her throat.

Not enough to satisfy.

Just enough to torment.

Debra circled it slowly, deliberately, watching the way Georgia’s thighs trembled, the way her breath came in short, desperate bursts.

“Mmm,” Debra murmured, eyes locked on the raw heat in Georgia’s expression. “Look at you. Already pulsin’ under my thumb.”

Georgia whimpered, trying to rock her hips forward for more—but Debra held her in place, her free hand gripping her thigh hard enough to leave fingerprints.

“Thought about this all week,” she whispered. “Every night, lyin’ there next to my fool of a husband, fingers between my legs… picturin’ you beggin’ just like this.”

She pressed a little firmer now, circling slow and tight over Georgia’s clit.

“You make the prettiest sounds, baby girl,” Debra cooed, her voice thick with sinful affection. “So wet, so needy. And here you are—at Mama’s mercy again.”

Georgia moaned, trembling.

Debra leaned in, her lips brushing Georgia’s ear.

“Maybe you should start prayin’,” she whispered. “Because I’m about to make you see God.”

Then she pulled Georgia closer, lowering her onto the edge of the bed, and sank to her knees in front of her.

“Now,” Debra said, eyes dark, lips parted, her breath hot against Georgia’s thighs. “Open those legs, sweet thing.”

Georgia barely had time to breathe before Debra dove in.

Her mouth found Georgia’s soaked, swollen clit without hesitation—sucking hard, her tongue pressing in tight circles, relentless and ravenous. There was no teasing now. No mercy.

Georgia cried out, her back arching instantly, thighs clenching around Debra’s head.

But Debra wanted that. She moaned into her, tongue moving harder, deeper, lapping at every trembling inch like she’d been starving for her—and she had.

And then—Debra’s hands slid up, fisting the bodice of Georgia’s sundress.

Without a word, without hesitation, she ripped it straight down the front.

The thin red fabric tore with a sharp rrrip, falling open to reveal Georgia’s bare, full , huge breasts—bouncing, flushed, perfect.

Debra groaned at the sight, her mouth still working below as her hands came up to cup the curves now bared for her.

She grabbed each breast greedily, thumbs and fingers pinching Georgia’s dark, peaked nipples with no warning.

Georgia screamed, her whole body jerking at the sudden sharp pleasure, her hands flying to Debra’s head, clutching silver-streaked hair like a lifeline.

Debra pulled her nipples, twisted them just enough to toe the edge of pain—then soothed with her palms, only to do it again.

“Mmm, that’s it,” she growled, voice muffled by Georgia’s soaked heat. “Cry for me, babygirl. Let the whole street know you came to get fucked in the preacher's bed.”

Her mouth sucked harder—messy, wet, devouring. Her tongue slid down and licked deeper before circling back to the clit with ruthless rhythm.

Georgia was lost, panting and gasping, chest heaving, dress torn, body completely at Debra’s mercy.

“Please,” she sobbed. “Debra—God—please don’t stop!”

Debra’s grip was firm, her hunger unmistakable. Her mouth never stopped—lips sealed over Georgia’s most sensitive spot, tongue flicking with fierce, focused rhythm. Wet. Hot. Merciless.

Georgia was already close, her back arched, fingers twisted tight in the sheets, legs trembling around Debra’s shoulders.

Then—smack.

Debra’s hand landed on Georgia’s chest, a sharp slap that made her full breasts bounce and her breath catch in her throat.

“Louder,” Debra growled from between her thighs. “Don’t you dare hold it in. You scream for me, baby.”

Georgia cried out, body shaking.

Debra reached up and grabbed both breasts now—squeezing rough, thumbs rolling over her tender peaks, the slight sting making Georgia moan deeper.

“Let me hear how good it feels,” she hissed. “Let the whole neighborhood know who’s makin’ you fall apart.”

Her tongue flicked faster, circling and pressing with precision that had Georgia’s thighs clenching, her hips jerking forward, lost to the rhythm of Debra’s mouth.

“You’ve been dreamin’ about this all week, haven’t you?” Debra murmured. “Playin’ with yourself at night, thinkin’ about Mama’s tongue. That pretty little mouth of yours cryin’ into a pillow so no one hears.”

Georgia’s moans turned frantic. She couldn’t stop her hips from grinding forward, couldn’t stop the sobs of pleasure escaping her lips.

Debra’s voice was low, dangerous, drenched in heat. “Come on, baby. Let me have it. Give mama everything. You scream my name while I ruin this sweet little body.”

Georgia shattered.

She screamed, raw and unfiltered, her voice catching and breaking as wave after wave of release crashed through her. Her legs locked around Debra’s head, her body grinding desperately into her, chasing every second of pleasure she could wring out.

Debra held her through it—steady, strong, relentless—mouth never leaving her, fingers gripping her hips, drinking her in like she’d never get enough.

Only when Georgia went limp and gasping did Debra finally lift her head.

Her lips were slick, her eyes dark with satisfaction.

She leaned in, pressing a kiss just above Georgia’s knee, and whispered with a smug smile, “Good girl.”

Georgia lay on the bed, breathless and trembling, her dress torn halfway down her body, chest still rising and falling in the aftermath of Debra’s mouth.

She reached down slowly, fingers trembling as she peeled the rest of the red sundress from her body, letting the ruined fabric slip to the floor beside the bed. Her skin glistened, flushed and glowing, her curves soft and open, her chest still heaving from everything Debra had just wrung out of her.

Across the room, Debra stood tall—watching.

With a slow, deliberate motion, she slipped her white sundress over her head and let it fall in a pool at her feet.

Nothing underneath.

Just a pair of sheer, nude thigh-high stockings that hugged her long legs, ending in delicate lace that bit into her skin in the most sinful way.

Georgia swallowed hard, her thighs pressing together again at the sight.

Debra’s body was breathtaking—soft, golden, commanding. Curves that invited worship. Skin that looked like it would taste of honey and sin.

And that smile—wide and wicked.

She turned toward the dresser, opened the bottom drawer, and pulled something from inside.

When she turned back, she held it proudly in her hand: long, curved, smooth—deep burgundy silicone that gleamed in the low light.

A double-ended toy. Built to bind. To share.

Debra grinned, holding it up like a gift and a challenge in one.

“I’ve been waitin’ to use this,” she said, her voice low and drenched in promise. “Ever since you walked into my kitchen wearin’ that dress and no panties.”

She crawled onto the bed like a lioness—slow and sure—and settled between Georgia’s legs, the toy resting in her hand, the room humming with anticipation.

“Think you’re ready to take all of me, sugar?”

Georgia’s breath hitched, her voice barely a whisper.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Their bodies moved as one.

“Look at the way your sweet pussy grips this cock, baby girl. So hungry.”

Debra rocked her hips in a slow, deliberate grind, the deep stretch between them drawing breathless moans from Georgia’s lips. The toy pulsed with their rhythm, slick and full, each movement rubbing perfectly inside them both—heat meeting heat, breath tangled with breath.

Debra leaned down, her bare chest pressing to Georgia’s, skin sticky with sweat and wanting. Her mouth hovered just beside Georgia’s ear, and her voice was thick with something dark and velvet-sweet.

“Feel that?” she murmured, each word sending a shiver down Georgia’s spine. “That’s me inside you, baby. Fillin’ you up the way only Mama can.”

Georgia whimpered, her arms tightening around Debra’s back as their hips rolled again, slow and sinfully deep. The friction hit all the right places—inside and out—building that slow, aching fire in her belly.

Debra kissed her neck, her collarbone, the curve of her jaw—little wet, open-mouthed kisses that lingered.

“You’ve been dreamin’ about this, haven’t you?” Debra whispered, lips brushing Georgia’s flushed skin. “Makin’ a mess of those pretty sheets at night, touchin’ yourself to the memory of me. Wakin’ up breathless, all needy…”

Georgia gasped, nodding, her body rocking helplessly beneath her.

“Such a sweet little mess,” Debra purred. “All soft and slick and spread for me. Look at you. Can’t get enough.”

She shifted her hips, dragging the toy deeper, slower, drawing out the pleasure in long, gliding strokes.

Georgia moaned, arching into her, mouth open in silent want.

Debra’s hand slid up, cupping Georgia’s breast, her thumb grazing over the peaked tip in a slow, teasing swirl.

“Come on, baby,” she crooned. “Let it build. I want you to fall apart for me. I want you to feel how deep I am in you.”

Their mouths met again—kisses messy and hungry, tongues tangling between gasps and moans.

Debra’s grip tightened on Georgia’s thighs, fingers digging into soft, flushed skin as she shifted her weight and adjusted the angle. Her hips rolled slower—but deeper now. Controlled. Possessive. The kind of rhythm meant to be felt in the bones.

The toy moved inside them both with long, dragging thrusts that made Georgia gasp with every rock of Debra’s body. Her legs wrapped tighter around Debra’s waist, trying to pull her closer, wanting more, deeper, everything.

But Debra held her steady—held the pace right where she wanted it.

“You feel that?” she whispered, voice thick and wrecked, chest rising and falling as sweat slid down the curve of her spine. “That deep ache? That stretch you can’t stop beggin’ for?”

Georgia nodded, her breath caught between pleasure and pleading. “Yes—yes, please—”

Debra leaned in, her mouth brushing her ear, the words coming slow and dangerous.

“How’s it feel, baby,” she whispered, “gettin’ fucked like this in a preacher’s bed?”

Georgia moaned, her eyes fluttering closed, thighs trembling against Debra’s hips.

Debra smiled darkly and bit her earlobe, just enough to make her gasp. “Sweet little thing, spread wide in the good reverend’s sheets, cryin’ for Mama’s body like it’s the gospel.”

She rolled her hips again, slower, harder, driving the toy deep, letting it grind in just right.

“You know how wrong this is?” she murmured. “Me fillin’ you up right here where I sleep next to my husband every night. Where he reads his scripture… while I dream about you ridin’ me like a sinner.”

Georgia gasped, nails biting into Debra’s back.

Debra moaned at the sting and kept going, her voice turning rougher now—more breath, more heat.

“God ain’t watchin’ right now, baby,” she hissed. “But I am. And I’m gonna remember every sound you make, every time your pretty little body tightens around mine.”

She dragged her hands up Georgia’s sides, cupping her breasts, thumbing over her hardened peaks, watching her squirm and burn beneath her.

“I want you to break for me. Nice and slow. Earn it.”

And with that, she rolled her hips again, slow, deep, and perfect.

Debra’s hips kept that same punishing, deliberate rhythm—slow and deep, grinding into Georgia like every thrust was meant to leave a mark. She gripped Georgia’s thighs tighter, holding her exactly where she wanted her, watching her come apart one aching second at a time.

Georgia was gasping now—moaning with every motion, every deep stroke inside her.

Her fingers clawed at Debra’s back, desperate for more. Her eyes fluttered open, dark and wild.

“Please,” she breathed. “Please, Debra—don’t stop.”

Debra smirked. “Not planning on it, sugar.”

Georgia arched, her voice breaking around her next plea.

“God, you feel so good inside me,” she panted, hands sliding up into Debra’s damp silver hair. “I can’t—can’t take it slow anymore.”

Debra moaned at that, but didn’t speed up. Not yet.

“You’ll take what I give you,” she growled into her ear. “Every inch. Every second.”

Georgia cried out at the next deep thrust, her body trembling. Her voice turned to something messier now—darker, bolder.

“Please,” she whispered, and then said louder, breathless: “I need you to fuck me harder, Mama. I need you to wreck me.”

Debra’s grip tightened. Her mouth curved into a feral grin.

“Well, well,” she purred. “Look who’s finally learnin’ how to beg.”

Georgia didn’t stop. She cupped Debra’s face, her lips just brushing hers as she whispered:

“Come on, Mama. You talk so much about what this pussy does to you—own it. Use me. Make me scream.”

Debra groaned low, guttural.

Georgia was flushed from head to toe, sweat glistening on her skin, her voice a mess of broken, breathy filth now. “Split me open. Stretch me wide. Let me feel how bad you’ve missed me.”

Debra’s control cracked.

She let out a sharp breath, grabbed Georgia’s wrists, pinned them above her head—and slammed her hips down into her in one deep, perfect grind that made Georgia cry out loud and shudder beneath her.

“Beg all you want,” Debra growled. “But you’ll come when I say so.”

Georgia was a trembling mess beneath Debra, her body tight as a bowstring, breath coming in short, frantic gasps. Every slow, grinding thrust drew out another desperate whimper, her hands clutching at Debra’s arms, her eyes pleading for release.

“Please,” she begged, her voice little more than a sob. “Please, Mama, please—let me…”

But Debra wouldn’t give in. Not yet.

She kept her pace slow but purposeful, her hands gripping Georgia’s thighs, holding her open, keeping her exactly where she wanted. Her eyes never left Georgia’s face—hungry, wild, savoring every plea.

“Oh, you sound so pretty when you beg,” Debra growled, her voice rough and full of wicked promise. “You really want it that bad? Want me to let you go?”

Georgia nodded frantically, her words spilling over. “Yes, I need it—I need you—please, I can’t—”

Debra’s smile was all teeth. She moved harder now, never letting up, her words tumbling out between deep, shuddering breaths.

“You fuckin’ come when I say you can. Mamas little pussy needs to learn discipline.”

Debra hammered her hips faster, right on the edge with Georgia.

“Been waitin’ all week to hear you cry for me,” she whispered, voice dark and trembling. “You come to my bed and fall apart like this, you better mean every second, baby.”

Georgia’s body arched, her voice breaking as she teetered right on the edge.

Debra pressed her forehead to Georgia’s, her breath hot, her rhythm fierce.

“Come you sweet little slut,” she commanded, voice thick. “Let everyone know you’re mine. Scream for me.”

And with that, the last bit of control snapped.

Georgia shattered beneath her, her voice a wild, wordless cry as her body finally let go—her hands clinging tight to Debra, hips moving helplessly, heart pounding as she was taken over by the wave.

Debra followed, her own body tensing, a deep, guttural moan pressed into Georgia’s neck as she moved through it, hips still rocking, both of them tangled and breathless.

They clung to each other, the room ringing with the echoes of their pleasure, Debra’s voice still whispering rough, hungry praise into the air between them.

Their bodies settled, the tension melting away until only soft, shaky breaths and the gentle press of skin remained. Debra eased her grip on Georgia’s thighs, her hands smoothing up and down, fingertips tracing tender lines over flushed, sensitive flesh.

She leaned in, pressing a long, lingering kiss to Georgia’s lips—slow, full, and sweet. Their mouths moved together, the heat from before still humming quietly in every brush and sigh.

With a sly, satisfied grin, Debra slid her hand down between them and carefully, slowly, drew the toy from both their bodies. The sensation made them both shiver and gasp, pleasure trailing after the movement like an echo. Debra gave Georgia a look full of mischief and pride.

“Look at you,” she whispered, voice still thick with praise and heat. “Took me so well. Such a good girl for Mama.”

Georgia, cheeks flushed and lips kiss-bitten, took a shaky breath and sat up. She traced a finger down Debra’s chest, over the curve of her breast, then dipped lower, kissing softly—first at her collarbone, then between her breasts, then down the soft, golden slope of her belly. Each kiss was worshipful, almost reverent, lips lingering as if she wanted to savor every inch.

Debra let out a low, breathy moan, her hands sliding up into Georgia’s hair, guiding her with gentle encouragement.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Debra purred, her accent thick and voice still feral. “Show me how grateful you are. You’ve got the sweetest mouth I’ve ever tasted. Such a hungry thing. Makes me wanna keep you in my bed all summer, just like this.”

Georgia smiled against her skin, planting another kiss just above the lace of Debra’s stockings.

Debra’s head fell back, another groan tumbling from her lips. “Keep goin’, baby. You make Mama feel like a goddess.”

And in that soft, golden hush, their bodies melted together again—laughter, kisses, and praise carrying them into the sweetest afterglow.

Georgia trailed soft, open-mouthed kisses down Debra’s belly, taking her time, letting her tongue flick and swirl, worshipful and unhurried. She paused to mouth along the lace of Debra’s stockings, teeth grazing, breath warm. Debra shivered beneath her, her body arching, one hand sinking into Georgia’s dark waves and guiding her lower.

“That’s it, baby,” Debra breathed, her voice husky and loose, thick with pleasure and that ever-present hint of mischief. “You’re such a greedy thing, aren’t you? Can’t ever get enough of Mama.”

Georgia smiled against her skin and went lower, planting a kiss right at the tender inside of Debra’s thigh. She glanced up, catching Debra’s gaze—dark, wanting, full of pride and longing. Then she dipped her head, her tongue moving slowly, deliberately, exploring with the same aching care Debra had shown her.

Debra let out a low, helpless moan, her body rolling beneath Georgia’s mouth. “Lord, look at you… So sweet, so hungry… Gonna make me lose my mind.”

Georgia licked and teased, never rushing, letting Debra’s hips rise and fall with the rhythm of her mouth. Her hands roamed Debra’s thighs and belly, her grip sometimes soft, sometimes bold, and her tongue moved in long, lingering strokes, savoring every gasp, every curse, every Southern-laced blessing that spilled from Debra’s lips.

Debra’s words came faster, more broken, the closer she got. “That’s it, darlin’. Just like that—don’t you dare stop. You’re Mama’s good girl, aren’t you? Love it when you beg. Love it even more when you take what you want. Love it when you lick Mama’s pussy like this.”

Georgia hummed in answer, the vibrations making Debra cry out and clutch at the sheets. Her hips bucked, her voice a ragged prayer and a threat all at once.

“Oh, you’re dangerous, baby,” she groaned. “You keep that up, and I’ll never let you leave this bed. God, you feel so good…”

And as Georgia devoured her—slow and hungry, mouth and hands and heart all given over to Debra—Debra moaned and praised and let herself fall apart, the sound of her pleasure echoing through the room.

Debra’s body was arching now, every muscle tight with need, her thighs trembling around Georgia’s head. She kept one hand tangled in Georgia’s hair, urging her on, the other fisting in the sheets.

Her voice came rough, soaked in both sweetness and sin.

“Oh, that’s my girl… that’s Mama’s sweet thing,” she groaned, her words tumbling out in a messy rush. “You just can’t help yourself, can you? Always gotta have your mouth on me, makin’ a mess, actin’ like a filthy little peach.”

Georgia moaned, the vibration sending Debra’s breath hitching. She doubled down, swirling her tongue and working her fingers with purpose, desperate to please, hungry for every sound Debra gave her.

Debra’s head fell back, mouth open, her accent growing thicker as her control frayed.

“Such a greedy girl… greedy little sinner… bet you think about this all day, don’t you? Mama’s favorite bad habit. My pretty little whore, right here in my own bed—God, you’re so good, sugar. So damn good…”

Georgia looked up, eyes shining, and Debra’s gaze caught hers—wild, loving, and utterly lost.

“Don’t stop, baby,” Debra whimpered, her words growing more ragged, more feral, but always laced with that Southern warmth. “Make Mama come. Let me hear how much you want it. Show me how bad you need me to fall apart for you…”

Georgia pressed in, mouth and fingers moving in perfect harmony, giving Debra everything—every bit of worship, every bit of hunger—until Debra’s whole body locked, her words tumbling over into incoherent praise, all wild and loving and just for her girl.

Just as Debra’s breath began to hitch and her body started to tense, Georgia slowed her hand, easing the rhythm to a lazy, tantalizing pace. Her tongue grew softer, slower, hovering and barely grazing, giving just enough to keep Debra straining and whimpering for more.

Debra let out a shaky gasp, hips rolling in protest. “Baby, don’t you dare—”

Georgia looked up, a mischievous glint in her eyes, her lips glistening. “What’s wrong, Mama?” she teased, voice low and sweet, her fingers barely pressing inside. “You always talk so big about makin’ me beg… Guess it’s your turn now.”

Debra groaned, her hand tightening in Georgia’s hair, the power shift sending a fresh shudder through her. “You little menace… You gonna make me say please?”

Georgia smiled, slow and wicked. She curled her fingers just enough to make Debra gasp, but didn’t move any faster.

“I want to hear you,” Georgia whispered, voice full of Southern sugar and steel. “Want to hear my beautiful, filthy Mama beg for it.”

Debra laughed, breathless and frustrated, her cheeks flushed. “You better watch it, girl. You keep this up, I’ll have you beggin’ all night long.”

Georgia leaned in, kissing Debra’s trembling thigh, her hand stilling completely. “Maybe I want to see how much you want it. Maybe I want to hear you say you need your girl’s mouth.”

Debra’s voice cracked, sweet and wild. “I need it, baby. Please. Don’t tease your Mama, not when I’m this close—”

Georgia grinned, finally giving a slow, deep stroke with her fingers, her tongue flicking back to work with just enough pressure to drive Debra wild.

“That’s my good girl,” Debra groaned, her voice half-feral, half-laughing, all love and lust as the tide began to rise again.

Debra’s whole body tensed, her fingers fisted in the sheets, eyes squeezed shut as Georgia finally gave her what she needed—mouth and hand working together, relentless and perfect.

The pleasure built fast, no mercy now, just raw hunger and the ache of being held right at the edge for so long.

“Oh, yes, that’s it—that’s my girl—God, you’re so good—don’t stop, don’t you dare—” Debra’s voice was ragged, breaking with each word.

And then she shattered, hips arching off the bed, a scream tearing from her throat—filthy, grateful, wild.

“Oh, yes—you dirty little thing—Mama’s precious little sinner—don’t you ever stop—God, you make me come so hard—so damn hard—”

Her thighs clamped around Georgia, whole body trembling as the release washed through her in deep, rolling waves. Her moans echoed in the room, every word rough and sweet and sinful, the kind of praise Georgia would never forget.

As the aftershocks faded, Debra’s grip on Georgia loosened. She caught her breath, still shaking, a lazy, spent smile curling on her lips as she looked down at her girl.

“Well, darlin’,” she whispered, voice hoarse but still wicked, “I think you just about made a preacher’s wife lose her mind.”

Georgia smiled, kissing Debra’s thigh, her own heart pounding, her body glowing in the aftermath of having worshipped her so completely.

After the storm broke, there was only softness left—warm limbs tangled together in a patch of golden afternoon light. Debra pulled Georgia up into her arms, holding her close, pressing kisses to her hair, her temple, her lips. Georgia burrowed into Debra’s chest, the two of them exchanging quiet, breathless laughter and slow, sweet touches, letting their bodies settle and their hearts calm.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” Debra whispered, brushing a loose strand of hair from Georgia’s cheek.

Georgia only smiled, tipping her face up for another kiss. “You make it easy to be bad,” she teased, and Debra’s laugh rumbled in her chest.

After a while, limbs heavy and satisfied, they made their way to the bathroom together. The hot water steamed up the mirrors, the world outside fading to a blur. Debra lathered Georgia’s hair, her fingers gentle, massaging the last traces of sin from her scalp. Georgia, eyes fluttering closed, sighed into the touch.

When they switched, Georgia giggled, hands soapy against Debra’s skin. “Last time we were in a shower,  you said you were going to make me see God,” she whispered, voice playful and full of memory.

Debra grinned, turning to kiss Georgia under the spray. “And did you?” she teased, nipping at her lip.

Georgia’s only answer was a soft, blissful hum as she pressed closer.

They lingered, washing each other in slow, intimate motions, still trading kisses and laughter, their bodies comfortable and close. The steam curled around them, as if trying to keep the rest of the world at bay.

Then, suddenly, they heard the front door open downstairs—a familiar creak, the hush of footsteps on the hardwood.

Both women froze, eyes wide, hearts leaping in their chests.

Debra mouthed, “Shit,” lips quirking with half a laugh and half a spark of panic, as Georgia clung to her in the shower, the sound of the world returning all at once.

They froze in the steam, listening as the footsteps sounded downstairs.

Debra pressed a finger to Georgia’s lips, eyes wide but sparkling with wickedness. “Hush now,” she breathed, barely audible above the hiss of the shower.

Georgia’s eyes went even wider as Debra’s hands slid down her damp body, fingers exploring with that slow, deliberate care she’d mastered. She cupped Georgia between the legs, her thumb circling her clit in lazy, teasing motions—dangerous, knowing, intimate.

“Mama’s just makin’ sure you’re clean,” Debra whispered, a slow grin curling on her lips. “But you gotta be real quiet for me, baby. Think you can do that?”

Georgia bit her lip, the thrill sending a rush through her whole body. She nodded, almost trembling with anticipation.

Then, from downstairs, her husband’s voice echoed up the staircase:

“Taking the coconut pie, honey! Be back in a few!”

Debra looked at Georgia, laughter dancing in her eyes, but her hand never stopped moving. “See? We’ve got a few minutes, sugar,” she murmured, her voice as dangerous as it was sweet. “Now, can you be good and keep that pretty mouth shut, or am I gonna have to cover it myself?”

Her fingers teased Georgia’s clit, slow but insistent, as the front door shut again and the house fell quiet—except for the sound of their bodies, their breath, and the secret between them growing hotter by the second.

The front door had barely clicked shut before Debra’s wicked grin deepened. In one swift, fluid motion, she spun Georgia around, pressing her chest to the slick, tiled wall. The steam curled around them, blurring the edges of the world beyond the shower stall.

Debra slid her body up behind Georgia’s, her lips brushing the back of Georgia’s neck, her breath hot and teasing. One hand came up to pin Georgia’s wrists above her head, while the other slid down—fingers finding her, still so sensitive, so wet, every nerve alive with the thrill of being caught.

“Mmm, look at you,” Debra crooned, her accent thick and syrupy as she worked slow, purposeful circles over Georgia’s clit. “Gettin’ all worked up, knowin’ my husband’s just downstairs… You’re such a dirty little thing, aren’t you?”

Georgia gasped, barely able to stifle her moan. Her cheek pressed to the cool tile, the contrast to Debra’s heat making her tremble.

Debra’s fingers worked her, slow and deep, savoring every shiver, every muffled whimper. “Don’t you dare make a sound, sugar. Not a peep. I want you to remember this every time you look him in the eye at church. You’ll know what Mama did to you in her own shower, while he was right down the hall.”

Georgia bit her lip, her whole body arching into Debra’s touch, desperate and delirious.

Debra pressed her mouth to Georgia’s ear, her words a sinful, southern whisper. “You’re mine, baby. All mine. And I could take you anywhere, any time I want.”

Her fingers worked deeper, a slow torment, while her body pressed Georgia to the wall—owning her, shielding her, and daring her to let go without a sound.

Debra’s fingers moved in slow, purposeful circles, drawing soft, desperate sounds from Georgia as she pressed her firmly against the shower wall. The rush of water did little to drown out the thrum of her voice, low and dangerous, right at Georgia’s ear.

“You know what I think about, sugar?” Debra whispered, her words dripping honey and threat. “Sometimes I picture takin’ you right there in the Sunday school classroom. All the other church ladies settin’ up their casseroles, tryin’ to pretend they’re saints…”

She paused, letting her hand tease just a little faster. Georgia whimpered, biting down on her knuckles, helpless under the spell of Debra’s words.

“I’d bend you over one of those little desks,” Debra went on, her breath hot against Georgia’s neck, “lift that sweet dress right up, and show every single one of those prim, proper mamas what you really are for me. My pretty little sinner. My best-kept secret. The filthiest girl in the whole congregation.”

Georgia trembled, her knees weak, body clinging to the tile as the images burned bright behind her eyelids.

“Mmm, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Debra taunted, her tone laced with pride and feral affection. “All of ‘em watchin’ while I make you fall apart—showin’ everyone just how much of a mess you get for your Mama.”

Her hand kept moving, coaxing Georgia closer and closer, her voice the only thing tethering her to this world.

“You keep quiet now,” Debra whispered, her palm pressed firm over Georgia’s mouth as her fingers worked her toward the edge. “Unless you want the whole neighborhood to know just how bad you want me. How much you’d beg for it—right in front of God and everyone.”

Debra’s hand didn’t let up. Her fingers kept moving, expertly teasing Georgia’s most sensitive spot, while the other hand slid up Georgia’s back and then—smack—landed a sharp, wet spank on her bare, slick backside.

Georgia jerked, breath catching, a muffled moan barely contained against her palm.

Debra leaned in, her lips brushing Georgia’s ear, her voice a velvet drawl. “Oh, you like that, don’t you? Gettin’ punished where anyone could walk in and see how desperate you are for me.”

Her fingers didn’t stop, the rhythm slow and tormenting as her mouth kept spinning those sinful, forbidden images.

“I could put you on display at church, you know,” Debra murmured, each word wicked and dripping with pride. “Right there in front of all those perfect Southern belles—show them just what their husbands are missing. Show them how you beg for me, how your sweet body trembles at just a word.”

Georgia’s body pressed back against her, lost to the fantasy, to the danger, to Debra’s command.

Debra’s grip tightened, another spank making Georgia gasp. “Can you imagine it, sugar? Me making eye contact with every prissy mama in the room while you fall apart for me? Wonder which of ‘em would blush and turn away, and which ones would come up and take a turn, just to see what all the fuss is about?”

She laughed softly, a sound full of dark delight. “Don’t act so shocked, baby. Those proper ladies have dirty minds, too. Maybe next Sunday, I’ll invite ‘em over, let ‘em see what a perfect little plaything you are.”

Her hand eased up for a moment, then circled Georgia’s clit again, relentless and knowing. “You’d let me, wouldn’t you? Let me share you—let me show ‘em all how you come for Mama, even with a whole crowd watchin’.”

Georgia could only nod, shuddering, every inch of her body burning at the thought—at Debra’s words, her hands, her absolute possession.

Debra pressed a kiss to the back of Georgia’s neck, her voice dropping to a tender, filthy whisper. “That’s my good girl.”

Debra’s palm landed with another sharp smack, the sound echoing in the steam. Georgia’s body jolted against the tile, her hips pressing back, every muscle quivering with need.

Debra’s fingers picked up speed, circling and stroking with a relentless rhythm, her mouth right at Georgia’s ear. “You hear me?” she growled, her voice as rough as it was loving. “Now, baby. Now you come for Mama. Come for me, you little whore.”

Georgia’s breath stuttered, a cry caught behind her lips. Debra’s free hand covered her mouth, muffling the wild, desperate sound as her body finally let go—shaking, trembling, every nerve alight. Her knees threatened to buckle, and Debra held her close, pressing her gently to the wall, riding out the waves with her.

Debra’s voice softened just a little, thick with satisfaction and pride. “Good girl. That’s my filthy, perfect girl,” she whispered, kissing Georgia’s shoulder as the aftershocks rolled through her, the danger and delight of it all buzzing in the air around them.

They stumbled out of the shower on wobbly legs, steam swirling in their wake. Debra wrapped Georgia in a thick, soft towel, pressing a kiss to her damp hair. “You did so good, sugar,” she murmured, voice softening now, hands gentle as she helped dry Georgia off.

With her dress ruined and nowhere near wearable, Georgia giggled as Debra fished around in her dresser and pulled out an oversized, faded T-shirt—soft from years of washing, with a local barbecue joint’s logo on the front. Debra handed her a pair of loose, drawstring shorts, too, and watched fondly as Georgia slipped into them, her hair still damp and her cheeks pink.

“You look cute,” Debra teased, a sly glint in her eye. “Almost wholesome, if I didn’t know better.”

Georgia grinned, the two of them sharing a quiet, giddy moment before they headed downstairs together. Debra’s arm lingered a little too long around Georgia’s waist before she let her hand fall away.

As they rounded the corner into the kitchen, the front door creaked open. In stepped the preacher himself, carrying an empty pie tin and looking every bit the part—suspenders, gentle smile, oblivious as ever.

“Well, would you look at that,” he said, spotting Georgia and Debra. “You two gettin’ up to trouble in here?”

Debra barely missed a beat. “Only the usual, hon. Poor Georgia dropped the whole tray of desserts in the kitchen—coconut pie everywhere. She was a mess, so I let her get cleaned up upstairs.” She winked at Georgia. “I told her not to come in here lookin’ so pretty. Distracts everyone, makes for accidents.”

The preacher laughed, shaking his head as if that explained everything. “Well, bless her for bringin’ ’em by. Next time you visit, Georgia, try to keep it in one piece, alright?”

Georgia just smiled sweetly, still glowing, her heart pounding for reasons he’d never guess.

Debra caught her gaze, a secret smile passing between them—a whole world of want and trouble tucked behind those easy Southern grins.