The neighbor's mistress's daughter

I always thought my connection with Elena was the perfect secret. We were both adults, experienced, with a greedy appetite for forbidden pleasures, meeting for years. Her body, mature and pliant, knew all my secrets, and her moans in my apartment echoed in my memories. But that evening, everything turned upside down. The door opened, and instead of Elena, her daughter, Alina, stood on the threshold—a nineteen-year-old fury in a tight black latex suit. The material shimmered under the lamp, outlining every curve of her young body: the firm hips, the slender waist, the full breasts cinched by a tight corset. The latex squeaked with every movement, accentuating her aggressive

grace. She didn't smile, didn't greet me—just stepped inside, slamming the door, and her eyes, dark and blazing, hooked into me like claws.

— You're fucking my mom," she uttered in a low, raspy voice, not asking but stating. "And you're going to fuck me. Right now. In the ass. With your rough cock, like a whore.

I froze, my heart pounding. Alina was a copy of her mother in her youth, but with this latex shell, she seemed like a demon of lust. She shoved me toward the couch, her hands in latex gloves gripping my shirt, tearing the fabric. I tried to say something, but she growled, pressing her whole body against me. The latex was cold and smooth, but beneath it, her skin burned—hot, sweaty, ready for battle. She ripped off my pants, her fingers digging into my cock, squeezing it with such force that I growled from pain and arousal. She turned around herself, getting on all fours on the carpet, her latex suit parting at the crotch, revealing a firm, pink anus, already slick and quivering with anticipation.

I couldn't resist. My cock, hard as stone, plunged into her roughly, without foreplay, stretching the tight hole. Alina screamed—not from pain, but from wild pleasure, her body arching, the latex squeaking as if protesting the violence. "Deeper, you bastard! Tear my ass apart!" she yelled, pushing back, impaling herself on me with such force that I felt her muscles clenching, milking me, demanding more. We fucked for hours, or so it seemed—time stretched into a sweaty, sticky agony of pleasure. I spanked her buttocks, leaving red marks on the latex, she scratched my thighs, her nails breaking the skin. Sweat streamed down her back, soaking the suit, making it cling even tighter, like a second skin. I pulled out my cock to spit on her anus, and drove back in, deeper, rougher, feeling her tremble, her body convulsing in orgasms—one after another, wet and dirty.

She didn't stop, demanding: "Fuck me like you fuck mom! Make me your whore!" I imagined Elena, her soft curves, and it turned me on even more—the forbidden triangle, where the daughter steals her mother's role, making it her own. We flipped over: Alina straddled me, her latex thighs squeezing mine, her anus swallowing my cock whole, she rode me like a wild mare, her breasts bouncing, nipples hard under the thin layer of rubber. Cum finally shot into her, filling her, leaking out, staining the latex and the carpet—thick, hot, a symbol of our new secret. We lay there, breathing heavily, her body still trembling. "This is just the beginning," she whispered, kissing my neck. And I knew: Elena would never find out, but my connection with her was now forever poisoned by this latex whirlwind.