Eight days earlier …
“I’m bored,” Emma said.
Bitch, Vicki thought.
You have me — your own mother — on the bed, on my hands and knees, naked, clamps on my nipples, chains from the clamps chained to the head rail stretching my tits out, clamps on my cunt, chains from those clamps chained to the foot rail stretching my poor pussy lips out.
And you’re whipping me with that fucking strap.
And you’re bored.
You’re a fucking bitch.
That’s what Vicki thought.
“I’m sorry,” is what she said.
“I want to do it,” Emma said.
“Stupid slave. What we talked about.”
“I don’t …”
“You’ll do it or you’ll pay.”
“Well,” Vicki said. “If that’s what you want, I’ll try.”
The strap lashed her ass.
She screamed. Lurched forward, causing agony to her pussy lips. Jerked back, setting fire to her nipples.
“You’ll do it,” Emma said.
“Yes. Yes. I’ll do it,” Vicki said.
“Yes. You will.”
“Can you tell me why?” Vicki asked. “Why Karen? She’s … I’ll do it … but it could be, uhm, tough. She’s married. Has four kids.”
“That’s why,” Emma said.
She whipped her mother’s ass a few more times.
And said …
“A husband. Four kids. Including that stuck-up bitch Hannah.”
Emma put down the strap and opened a drawer in the dresser.
“She has a long way to fall,” Emma said. “And when she hits bottom — naked, shaved, on her knees, licking my pussy and eating my ass — she won’t be able to climb back up.”
Emma took a butt plug out of the drawer.
“She’ll have no choice but to help us do Hannah.”
The young monster snarled.
“I hate that stuck-up bitch.”