Camila comes in

Camila steps forward, phone clutched in one hand, her other hand clapping in slow, mocking applause. "Well, well," she purrs, her eyes gleaming as they rake over Rachel's flushed, sweat-slicked body, the mess between her thighs. "Looks like I missed the main event."

Rachel jolts, scrambling to cover herself, but John doesn't move—just smirks, his fingers still tracing lazy circles on Rachel's inner thigh, smearing his release further.

"Relax, baby," Camila coos, raising her phone. "I got the highlights."

Rachel’s breath catches in her throat as Camila steps closer, the predatory smirk on her lips making heat flare between Rachel’s still-trembling thighs. “You—you filmed us?” she gasps, her voice cracking as John’s fingers tighten possessively on her hip, his thumb digging into the fresh bruise forming there.

Rachel’s stomach drops as the screen of Camila’s phone lights up with unmistakable footage—her own arched back, John’s powerful thrusts, the raw sounds spilling from her lips. A choked gasp escapes her as Camila zooms in on the moment John spilled into her, the proof glistening between her thighs even now.

John’s grip tightens, holding Rachel in place when she tries to twist away, his thumb pressing cruelly into the bite mark he left. “Easy,” he rumbles, amused, as Camila steps closer, her manicured nail tapping the replay button.

Rachel’s breath comes in ragged hitches as Camila tilts the screen, forcing her to watch the shaky footage of her own trembling thighs, the obscene glide of John’s cock driving into her over and over. "You...you filmed us?" she whimpers, her voice cracking as the video replays her **** moans, the wet slap of skin echoing in the room.

John chuckles darkly, his fingers tightening in her hair, yanking her head back to expose her throat. "Every. Damn. Second," Camila murmurs, dragging a fingertip down the screen, pausing on the moment Rachel’s back arched, her mouth open in a silent scream as he filled her. "

John chuckles darkly, his fingers tightening in her hair, yanking her head back to expose her throat. "Every. Damn. Second," Camila murmurs, dragging a fingertip down the screen, pausing on the moment Rachel’s back arched, her mouth open in a silent scream as he filled her.

Rachel’s pulse hammers against John’s grip as Camila steps closer, the phone’s glow casting shadows over her smirk. “You look so pretty when you’re ruined,” Camila purrs, her free hand trailing down Rachel’s sweat-slicked stomach, nails scraping lightly over the sensitive skin just above where John’s cum still leaks from her.

"I guess it is just like riding a bike, you seem to remember a lot from your old escort days" Camila says. Rachel’s breath catches in her throat, her body going rigid beneath John’s grip. "How how did you...?" she stammers, her pulse fluttering wildly where Camila’s nails dig into her skin.

Camila’s laughter is low, dangerous, as she leans down, her lips brushing Rachel’s ear. "Oh, sweetheart," she murmurs, her breath hot, "did you really think no one knew what you used to do, let me ask do your daughters know?" Her teeth graze Rachel’s earlobe before she pulls back, her smirk widening at the way Rachel’s thighs tremble.

Rachel’s breath catches in her throat, her fingers clawing at the sheets as Camila’s words sink in. "My...my daughters?" she chokes out, her voice barely a whisper. John’s grip tightens in her hair, "Yes, your daughters," he says, "I guess we know where they get their behavior from."

Camila’s smile widens, "I wonder if they will like John's cock as much as their whore mother." Rachel looks at them and starts to cry, "Why are you doing this Camila, I made one mistake...Please stop."