Who Am I?

Tiffany spent years watching her stepsister Angelika walk the straight line while she kept screwing up. Enough. She yanked the ties tight around Angelika’s wrists and ankles, locking her to the chair. With a wicked grin, Tiffany shoved her bare foot to Angelika’s mouth and made her sister lick between each toe like it was dessert. When Angelika had her mouth full, Tiffany slid her other foot down and pressed the damp crotch of her panties against Angelika’s face. The fabric quickly grew slick from Angelika’s frantic tongue. Tiffany’s phone blinked red as it captured every slurp and smothered whimper, the quiet *click-click* of the shutter mixing with ragged breathing. Angelika’s tongue pushed harder, finding the seam of Tiffany’s pussy through the thin cotton, dragging slow circles that made Tiffany’s hips jerk forward. Jealousy crackled between them, hot and filthy, until the only thing either could feel was the wet heat rising with every humiliating lick. By the time the recording finally stopped, jealousy had twisted into a greedy, electric kind of love that neither of them wanted to name out loud.