She runs

Sasha’s face twisted in pure shock and rising panic. Unlike her mother, there was no hidden spark of curiosity or leftover hunger in her eyes—only cold fear. She spun toward the door, bag forgotten on the floor, and bolted.

She made it two steps.

John exploded out of the closet after her. His larger body slammed into hers from behind, one arm locking around her waist as he drove her forward. They crashed onto the edge of the bed in a tangle of limbs. Sasha screamed and thrashed, kicking wildly, but John was already on top of her, pinning her wrists with one hand while the other tore at her clothes. The thin fabric of her top ripped open with a sharp sound; her bra followed a second later. He yanked her shorts and panties down her legs in one brutal motion, leaving her completely bare beneath him.

“Easy way or hard way, princess,” John growled, voice low and rough against her ear. “Your choice. Fight me and it only gets worse.”

Sasha bucked harder, twisting her hips, trying to knee him. “Get off me! Mom—help!” Her voice cracked. Tears already shone in her eyes.

John’s free hand tangled in her hair. He forced her face down between Rachel’s still-spread thighs, pressing her mouth and nose directly against the slick, cum-smeared mess her mother had become. The thick mixture of John’s seed and Rachel’s own arousal smeared across Sasha’s lips and tongue. She gagged and tried to jerk away, but his grip was iron.

“Taste it,” he ordered, grinding her face there for a long, deliberate moment. “That’s what your whore mother looks like after she takes a real cock. Now it’s your turn.”

Sasha’s muffled cry of protest vibrated against Rachel’s dripping folds. Rachel’s bound body jerked; a broken, helpless sound escaped around the gag as she watched her middle daughter forced to clean the evidence of her own ruin.

John didn’t wait. He shoved Sasha’s thighs apart with his knee, lined up the thick head of his still-hard cock, and drove into her cunt in one relentless thrust. Her tight walls stretched around him with a wet, resistant give. Sasha’s scream was muffled against her mother’s pussy as he buried himself to the hilt, hips slamming flush against her ass.

Camila leaned against the closet doorframe, arms folded, a cold little smile on her lips as she watched the scene unfold—mother and daughter both broken open on the same bed, the television still looping the original video in the background.