Innocent Lamb

Zazie Skymm grew up cleaning the house instead of dating boys. Stepmom Amirah kept her on a tight leash, and the girl learned early that questions got her nowhere fast. Every morning after breakfast, Amirah would lean back, spread her legs and nod. Zazie would drop to her knees, tongue flicking that freshly shaved cunt until Amirah’s thighs shook and she came with a satisfied grunt. Then she grabbed her bag and left, leaving Zazie alone with phrase books and old magazines. Rewards came later. Amirah would lift the girl onto the dining table, spit on two fingers, and ease the first one into Zazie’s tight hole. When Zazie gasped, another finger joined, then a third, opening her gently, stopping the second she got close. “Not yet,” Amirah would chuckle. Shower time followed the same script. Warm water, slick fingers soaping every fold and crease, then Amirah sitting on the tiled bench, guiding Zazie’s pretty foot between her thighs. Toes pressed, curled, massaged until Amirah climaxed hard against the sole. Evenings were for reading. Amirah would sprawl on the couch with a novel while Zazie licked lazy stripes up her forearms, along her calves, eventually finding the warm center between her legs. Amirah guided her with soft directions—higher, slower—until the book slipped from her fingers. The two of them ended up scissored, slick lips sliding, hips rocking in tight, wet circles until both women trembled. One night Amirah headed for the bathroom, phone still glowing on the sheets. Zazie picked it up and saw photos, messages, entire chats about a world she’d never touched. Nothing in the room felt real anymore.