Dommy Stepmommy JOI

Tyler’s fist works fast on his cock when the door swings open. Reagan Foxx steps in, blouse open from the laundry, and freezes mid-breath. "What the hell are you doing?" Her face flares, but her stare stays glued to the slick head sliding through his grip. Tyler’s cheeks burn. He starts to cover up, but Reagan steps closer, arms crossed, hips cocked like she’s daring him to keep going. "Pathetic stroke," she snorts. "You’re gripping too tight and beating the tip like it owes you money." She talks like she’s fed up, but the pitch of her voice dips lower, warmer, each time his fist drags down. Her tongue wets her bottom lip. Tyler feels the heat in his balls spike; every scolding word hits like a thumb on his frenulum. Reagan sighs, theatrically bored, but her fingers twitch. "Move over," she orders. "Clearly your stepmom needs to do it right." She knocks his hand aside, wraps her warm palm around him, and starts a long, mean, perfect pump. Each lazy twist of her wrist drags slick sounds across the room. She leans in close enough that her perfume hits his face. "See? Slow on the downstroke. Thumb under the head. Twist when I tell you." She punctuates each command with another teasing pull, watching his hips buck. "Bet you’ve never felt your stepmom milking this cock before, have you?" Tyler groans, a stunned, grateful sound, loving the way her voice cuts into his spine. She smiles, half amusement, half hunger. "Good boy," she whispers, jerking faster, the bed creaking under them. "Now shut up and come for Mommy."