Mother Made to Kneel

"Juliana's Surrender"

Juliana stood by the kitchen sink, rinsing out a chipped coffee cup, her back aching the way it always did by mid-afternoon. She was forty-nine, a housewife whose days revolved around folded laundry, half-eaten yogurt cups, and the soft drone of daytime TV. Her body had softened over the years--chubby, womanly, with curves that once earned whistles but now earned second glances only from mirrors she avoided. Her breasts, impossibly large even in her youth, now strained her 38F bras--flesh heavy and maternal, nipples always too sensitive. Her ass was huge and round, wider than she ever admitted, but firm beneath the soft.

But it was her height that truly betrayed her.

At 184 centimeters--six feet and change--Juliana had always felt out of place, like her womanhood was somehow too much. Towering over other women, looming awkwardly above most men. She slouched by reflex, never wore heels, always pulled her sleeves down over her hands. As a girl, she had been told she'd make a great basketball player. As a woman, she learned to shrink herself in other ways.

Her daughter, Camila, was her opposite in every way.

Twenty years old, bright-eyed, honey-tanned and effortlessly adored. A cheerleader since middle school. Fit, tight-bodied, all confidence and cropped tops. Camila never slouched. She strutted. And she was bringing that energy into the kitchen now, barefoot and bouncing, hair in a high ponytail, a pleading smile already curling across her glossed lips.

"Mom," Camila said sweetly. "You remember I told you I wanted to have a sleepover tonight?"

Juliana blinked. "You mean that thing with your friends?"

"Mhm. Elsa, Margret, and Viola. They're bringing snacks and movies and those face masks you like. It's just one night."

Juliana felt her stomach clench. "I don't think so, sweetheart."

Camila pouted instantly. "Why not?"

"You girls will be up all night. The house is a mess. And I'm tired, Camila. You don't need to be having slumber parties at your age anyway."

Camila leaned against the counter, arching her back in that dancer's way, letting her sports bra frame her perfect cleavage. "But Mom, it's just us girls. Please? We've had such a long week. Elsa's boyfriend ghosted her. Margret got dropped from the squad. And Viola's dad found her vape and went nuclear. We just want a safe space to chill."

Before Juliana could reply, she heard the front door burst open.

"Heyyy!" came a singsong voice. Elsa.

A moment later, Margret and Viola trailed in, arms full of overnight bags and snacks. All three were visions of youth: toned legs, shiny hair, confident strides. They looked like they'd been airbrushed into reality. The room suddenly smelled of strawberry lip balm and gum and something warmer... bolder. Female energy, fresh and brazen.

Juliana froze.

Elsa came in first, all legs and perfect posture, flashing Juliana a disarming grin. "Hi, Mrs. S. You look so cute today."

Juliana blushed--mortified. She was in leggings and a worn t-shirt that clung a little too tightly to her chest.

Viola followed, slipping out of her sneakers with an easy elegance. She didn't speak--just gave Juliana a quick once-over, her expression unreadable. But it lingered. Not rudely. Curiously.

And then Margret, tall and olive-skinned, who moved like she was always aware of her own ass, dropped her duffel on the floor and smiled at Juliana like she was a substitute teacher to be managed.

"Camila said you might say no," Margret cooed, brushing past Juliana to set a tub of ice cream on the counter. "But we thought if we came early enough, you wouldn't have the heart to kick us out."

Camila giggled, looping an arm through Juliana's.

"Please, Mom. Just this once?"

Juliana opened her mouth.

Closed it again.

She felt them--all four sets of eyes on her. Young, beautiful, expectant. She towered over them but felt strangely small in that moment.

And then Margret stepped closer.

"Besides," she added, voice low, silky, "we've all been dying to get to know you better. Camila says you're the hottest mom in the neighborhood. But you hide."

Juliana swallowed.

Camila laughed again. "I might've mentioned how gorgeous you were in high school."

Juliana looked from girl to girl. All of them glowing. All of them too much. She felt heat blooming behind her ears.

"I guess," she murmured, "just one night."

Cheers erupted.

Camila hugged her. Elsa giggled. Viola smiled--not too wide, but deeply.

And Margret?

Margret leaned in as she passed and whispered just loud enough for Juliana to hear:

"Thank you, tall glass of milk."

Juliana's breath hitched.

And the night hadn't even started yet.

Four girls. One long night. And a woman who could feel her edges begin to melt.

Juliana stood in the hallway watching them scatter--like perfume and glitter and movement.

The girls took over the house in less than ten minutes. Sneakers kicked off at the door. Shorts peeled down to reveal long, honey-tanned thighs. T-shirts cropped or stripped entirely to show sports bras, tank tops, slivers of midriff. Every one of them a fantasy of youth and fitness, bodies honed from cheer routines and social survival. Loud, glowing, dominant. The air changed with them--charged, scented, breathless.

Elsa flopped dramatically onto the living room rug, arching her back like a cat, her legs in the air as she stretched, showing off thighs so firm they barely dimpled under her own weight. Her cheer shorts were pale pink and rode high, barely hiding anything. Her cropped top clung to her perky B-cup breasts--perfectly symmetrical, bouncing with every giggle. Her belly was smooth and tan, with a silver navel ring catching the light. She was the flirt--the girl who smiled like she knew all the answers and could make your husband beg for half of them.

Viola was different. Quieter. Brooding. She sat on the couch with one leg folded beneath her, wearing only black cotton panties and a sheer, oversized T-shirt that slid low enough to show one bare shoulder and the curve of her small, braless breasts. She had almond-shaped eyes and a stillness that read almost sultry--her dark curls half-damp, her thighs parted just slightly as she scrolled on her phone. Occasionally, she glanced up and caught Juliana's gaze--and held it. No smile. Just... watching.

Margret had taken over the mirror. She wore a tiny cherry-red thong and nothing but an open white button-down shirt, the tails knotted above her toned stomach. Her skin glowed olive-gold, her hair falling in loose waves over one shoulder. Her breasts were high and full--a natural C-cup--barely concealed by the open shirt. She pouted at her reflection, turned, popped her hip, ran her fingers slowly down the curve of her round, muscular ass. She was the bold one. The one who already knew she could bend others if she wanted to.

And Camila--her daughter--Juliana could barely look at.

Her baby had grown into a woman overnight. She moved like she was built for attention. She wore pale blue boyshorts and a matching bralette that cupped her breasts like worship, the swell of her cleavage framed by fine lace. Her ass was ridiculous--full, firm, perfectly round, rolling under her as she bent to spread out blankets on the floor. Her hair was in a high ponytail, a little curl stuck to her cheek with sweat. She looked back once and smiled at her mother.

Juliana had to turn away.

Because she looked nothing like them.

She stood in the hallway wearing black leggings that clung to her wide hips like a second skin. Her belly was soft, with a natural hang that she always tried to hide with oversized shirts. Her thighs were thick, pale, dimpled--not the polished kind of curvy but the lived-in, soft-jiggling, mom-kind. Her breasts were huge. Heavy. 38F and always in the way. Her bra dug into her shoulders. Her nipples were large, thick, and often hard even when she didn't want them to be. And her ass--her ass was big. Round and heavy and full of bounce, the kind of thing that moved even when she tried to stay still. Sometimes she caught herself wondering if men saw it when she bent over. Sometimes she hated that she cared.

And she was tall.

Too tall.

She felt like a freak around these girls, who were all tiny and tight and hot and loud. She tried to stay in the background. She picked at the snack bowls. She adjusted the thermostat. She told herself she was just the mom.

But then Elsa looked over and said:

"Mrs. S, do you work out?"

Juliana blinked, startled.

"I mean--like--your legs are so strong-looking," Elsa added, popping a marshmallow into her mouth, sucking the sugar off her thumb. "Camila said you used to be like, really hot. You still kind of are."

Juliana felt her face flush. "That's sweet of you, but I'm just--just a mom."

Margret turned then, her voice like a purr. "I love your height, though. You'd look amazing in heels and a tight pencil skirt."

Viola chimed in from the couch, not even looking up. "You have that soft, like, vintage body. It's hot. Real. You look like a woman who could make you a meal and sit on your face right after."

Silence.

Even Camila laughed at that.

Juliana's heart thumped wildly.

She waved a hand and tried to smile. "Okay, you girls are trouble. I should probably leave you to it..."

But Margret stood and crossed the room--slowly. She was barefoot, and somehow it made her more dangerous. She walked right up to Juliana and reached for the bowl of chips, but stopped just short of brushing Juliana's hip.

"You're not going to bed yet, are you?" Margret asked softly.

Juliana hesitated. "I--shouldn't I?"

Margret smiled, eyes glinting.

"But it's more fun when the chaperone stays."

And for a moment...

Juliana didn't move.

Camila came back from the hallway with a mischievous sparkle in her eye.

"Okay, don't freak," she said, nudging the door open with her hip. "But we brought... a surprise."

Viola looked up from her phone, smirking. "Oh no. This is going to be evil."

Juliana furrowed her brow. "What surprise?"

Camila dropped a heavy, padded black case onto the living room rug with a soft thud and unzipped it dramatically. It opened like treasure--layers of silk, lace, mesh, satin, strappy pieces folded and stacked like forbidden fruit.

"Oh my god," Elsa gasped. "You brought the box?"

Margret giggled. "The whole case? Camila, you slut."

"It's not mine," Camila shot back. "Viola packed most of it. I just added the purple mesh teddy and that sheer robe I never wore."

Viola raised a lazy hand. "You're welcome."

Inside the case was a curated chaos: garter belts in black and burgundy, strapless teddies with peekaboo breasts, panties that were nothing more than strings, cage bras with gold rings, thigh-highs with seams. A lavender bustier with pearl buttons. A red vinyl thong. And a pair of pasties shaped like stars.

Juliana stood frozen, unsure whether to smile or run.

"What... what is this?" she asked, her voice faintly breathless.

"It's a tradition," Camila said sweetly, already crouched and pulling out a bundle of lace. "Every year before nationals, we do a lingerie fitting. Everyone has to try at least two pieces. It's good for confidence. You know, body stuff."

"And selfies," Elsa chimed in, already down to her bra, slipping out of her shorts. "Don't forget the part where we look obscenely hot and send Snapchats to exes."

Juliana's eyes widened as Elsa stepped into a pair of black mesh panties--high-cut, sheer, the gusset as thin as floss. She adjusted them with practiced ease, tugging the band over her hip bones, her flat stomach flexing as she arched her back.

Viola stood next, stretching like a dancer. "I call the white corset."

Margret grinned wickedly. "If I see even one inch of modesty, I swear I'm posting nudes."

Camila laughed, pulling out a blush-pink bralette with tiny heart appliqués. "Okay, let's be honest, Mom's probably scandalized right now."

Juliana forced a nervous laugh. "I don't know if I should even be here for this."

"Why not?" Margret turned to face her fully now, one arm looped around her bare midriff, the knotted shirt still hanging loose. "You're a woman. You wear underwear. Don't you miss feeling sexy?"

Juliana tried to protest, but her voice stuck. Her gaze dropped--to the silk stockings Viola was now slipping into. To Elsa's ass in the mirror, round and perfect under black mesh. To her own reflection in the hallway mirror: tall, soft, red-cheeked, watching like a woman at a window she couldn't open.

"I mean," Camila said gently, standing now in a soft lilac bodysuit that barely covered her nipples, "you can join. We won't tell. It's just us girls."

Juliana shook her head slowly. "I don't think I'd fit into anything in there."

Viola looked up, one brow raised. "We have XLs. Curvy fit. One of our assistant coaches is thick as hell and hot as sin. She loaned us the good stuff."

"And besides," Margret added, reaching into the case and pulling out something black and lacy, "I'd love to see you in this."

She held it up: a stretch-lace teddy with a deep plunging neckline, scalloped trim, and high-cut legs designed to hug the hips and leave the ass fully exposed.

Juliana flushed. "Oh, I couldn't possibly--"

Camila stepped forward, suddenly serious.

"Mom."

Juliana looked at her.

"You're always hiding," her daughter said quietly. "But you're... beautiful. Like, really beautiful. You don't have to prove anything to anyone. But maybe... you should remember what it feels like."

The girls were watching her now.

Not mocking.

Not teasing.

Inviting.

Juliana swallowed hard.

She felt the flush in her neck, the warmth rising beneath her skin. Her heart thudded like it had forgotten its rhythm. And for the first time in years, something in her stirred that had nothing to do with laundry or painkillers or shame.

Just... possibility.

"Maybe," she whispered, "I'll try something on. Just one."

"Yesss!" Elsa squealed.

"Pick her something good," Viola said, stepping into the hallway mirror, smoothing the corset over her hips, her nipples hard under satin.

Margret grinned.

"I already know the perfect piece."

She turned back to the case--and Juliana didn't look away this time.

She watched.

She waited.

And as fingers dipped through lace and voices dropped lower, the night began to shift around her.

The floor was scattered with satin and strings--bras like cobwebs, panties no wider than a palm, and thigh-highs still wrapped like candy. The room was glowing--dimmed lights, cell phones tossed aside for once, and bodies catching the warm gold of the overhead lamp.

Juliana stayed near the couch, seated stiffly, legs crossed, hands gripped around a half-empty glass of wine. Her leggings were still on, but she'd taken off her sweater--it had gotten too hot watching them. Or maybe it was her chest, tight with something she didn't want to name yet.

The girls moved like they were born to show off. Viola was now in a sheer white corset, her small breasts cradled in translucent mesh, the curve of her ribs visible, garter straps clinging to her thighs. She was quiet, composed--like she knew how good she looked and didn't care who stared.

Elsa had chosen something red--ribbons and lace, her nipples just barely hidden beneath the embroidery. She strutted barefoot across the rug, flipping her blonde ponytail, turning to glance at her own ass in the mirror. "Damn. I'd fuck me," she purred, and the girls shrieked with laughter.

Juliana's eyes kept drifting to Camila--her daughter--who had chosen something soft and silky, pale blue with cutouts at the hips and under the breasts. Her thick ass overflowed in the back, thighs pressed tight, breasts jiggling with every playful move. She looked so... unbothered. So free.

But it was Margret who made the room shift.

She had waited, arms crossed, watching the others try on their choices. And then she turned, smirking, and plucked the most scandalous set from the case--medium size open-cup bra in sheer black lace and a matching thong labeled S.

Juliana blinked. She knew immediately it wouldn't fit.

And maybe... maybe that was the point.

"Oh my god, that's too small," Camila said, half-laughing.

"Girl, that's the point," Margret replied, already shimmying out of her tank top and shorts.

She was gorgeous, yes. But her breasts--large, full, heavy--did not belong in a medium. Not like this. The lace didn't cover her at all. Her nipples sat high and bare above the scalloped edge, pink and puffy, exposed like targets.

The thong was worse. Tiny. Stringy. It barely rose past the start of her hips, and it clung to her like a bad secret. The sheer mesh showed everything--everything--down to the shaved crease between her thick lips. She stood in it, half-turned to the mirror, tugging at the waistband with a mixture of pride and visible discomfort.

"Is it... hot?" she asked, but her voice was unsteady.

Viola stood, calm and quiet. She came up behind Juliana and traced a single finger down her back. "It's something," she murmured, voice thick like honey.

Then--without asking--Viola reached forward and adjusted the bra.

With both hands.

She cupped Juliana's breasts--lifted them--fitted them into the barely-there cups. Margret gasped, thighs clenching. Viola's thumbs brushed over the undersides, slow and purposeful, then flicked softly across both nipples.

Juliana shivered.

"Stop," she whispered, half-laughing, but not stepping away.

"You're hard," Viola murmured near her ear.

Juliana closed her eyes.

She could hardly breathe.

She watched--frozen--wine forgotten in her hand, heart thudding in her chest as if it belonged to someone else.

Viola looked over her shoulder then, meeting Juliana's gaze without apology, without shame. Her hands still full of Margret's tits.

"She looks amazing, doesn't she, Mrs. S?"

Juliana's voice stuck in her throat.

She nodded.

And in her lap, under the table, hidden beneath soft cotton... she realized she was soaked.

Juliana stood in front of the mirror, flushed and exposed. Her heavy tits spilled shamelessly over the edge of the open-cup bra, nipples thick and flushed pink, glistening faintly where Viola's fingers had brushed them. The too-small thong bit deep into her hips, the mesh transparent and clinging, the seam riding up between her full lips like it belonged there.

She looked wrecked--but hot. Messy and raw in a way that drew every eye in the room.

And she knew it.

Viola leaned down, one hand still curled possessively around the bottom of Juliana´s breast. "You're dripping," she murmured near her ear, letting her fingers slip briefly down her stomach, just ghosting the waistband. "You need to try the other one."

Juliana swallowed. "The other?"

Viola smiled.

"I brought it for you specifically."

She crossed the room and pulled something delicate and black from a smaller side pouch in the suitcase. She held it between two fingers like a secret--lace so fine it barely existed, a triangle front no larger than a teabag, with two thin satin strings meant to tie at the hips.

It was crotchless.

And it was tiny.

Juliana stared.

It looked like it had been made for a doll.

Viola turned back to Juliana eyes full of something darker now. She stepped close, holding the thong out, brushing it against the girl's hip with slow, deliberate pressure.

"This one," she said softly, "goes between your cheeks... and between your lips. I want to see how your fat little pussy handles it."

Margret gasped--whether from the word or the hunger in Viola's voice, Juliana couldn't tell.

Elsa whistled from the couch. "You're gonna split in half with that thing."

But Juliana didn't laugh.

She was breathing faster now.

Her skin flushed from her chest all the way to her ears, legs pressed together unconsciously. She looked down at the thong in Viola's hand like it was a dare she couldn't refuse.

"I'll try it," she whispered.

And she stripped the sheer thong off slowly--step by step--revealing everything. Her pussy was not shaved, glistening, lips parted slightly and impossibly plump. Viola couldn't stop staring. Juliana's ass was huge, round, firm from squats and youth, dimpling only when she bent, and already pink from the pressure of the too-tight thong.

She turned, slowly, and took the new one from Viola.

It slid on like a whisper.

The string was so thin it vanished the second it disappeared between her cheeks, the tiny bow resting just above the cleft. The open crotch left nothing to the imagination--the center dipped right between her folds, splitting her open so perfectly it almost framed her pussy.

Juliana's lips parted.

Margret looked in the mirror and staggered back slightly, grabbing the dresser edge.

"Oh my god," she whispered.

The thong fit like sin.

The strings dug in, her hips spilling around them, but the front... the front was nothing. Just a black lace arch barely outlining her slick pink lips. Her pussy looked obscene--shiny, stretched, pulsing visibly. She reached down, adjusting the front, but there was no hiding. Every motion made it worse.

Viola stepped up behind her, one hand sliding around her waist.

"Perfect," she whispered. "You look fuckable."

Juliana whimpered. Her eyes fluttered. Her thighs twitched.

And Juliana sat frozen, thighs clenched, breath shallow--watching this teenage goddess tremble under the weight of a thong designed to humiliate her and make her beg for more.

She was ruined.

And she was radiant.

Juliana stood in the center of the living room, blinking under the low light, her breath shallow and her face burning. The wine in her blood made everything feel loose and slow, but the girls' eyes on her made her skin burn like it had never belonged to her at all.

The black lace thong was a mistake.

It had been Camila's idea--or maybe Viola's. They had convinced her to "just try it." But the second she pulled it up her thick thighs, she knew it wasn't designed for a body like hers. The strings cut across the wide shelf of her hips. Her pussy lips pressed full and heavy against the crotchless seam, glistening, barely hidden. And the elastic disappeared between her cheeks like it had been swallowed whole by her ass.

She was breathing hard. She felt it in her stomach, her chest, her cunt.

And Elsa saw it all.

Elsa stepped forward barefoot, her red lingerie glistening against her smooth, athletic frame. Her hair was still in a messy ponytail, cheeks flushed, her small, perfect tits jiggling slightly with each step. Her voice was too soft. Too playful.

"Turn around, Mrs. S," she murmured.

Juliana hesitated.

Elsa raised an eyebrow, smile deepening.

"Do I need to make you?"

Juliana turned.

The thong's string had vanished--eaten by her curves. Her ass, big and round and soft, was completely exposed, the lace hugging her like it was clinging for dear life. Her belly hung just slightly over the thin waistband, her skin warm and flushed. She tried to cross her arms to cover something--anything.

Elsa didn't let her.

She stepped closer, pressed one hand gently--but firmly--against Juliana's hip, and then slid the other down, over the curve of her ass, knuckles brushing skin.

"Jesus," Elsa whispered, licking her lips. "This thing is gone. Like... totally lost in there."

Juliana sucked in a sharp breath as Elsa reached in--slow, fingers sliding deep into the crease of her ass, searching. Her touch wasn't rough. It was intimate. Focused. Like she wasn't just teasing--she was inspecting.

"Oh my god," Elsa laughed softly. "I found it."

She pulled the string out slowly, deliberately, the wet lace making a faint slick sound as it left her body. Her fingers dragged down Juliana's ass crack, making the older woman shiver, her thighs clench helplessly.

"It was buried," Elsa said, her voice honey-sweet and cruel. "Right between these fat cheeks. You really weren't made for size medium, were you?"

Juliana whimpered. Her face flushed deeper.

Elsa stepped around to the front.

Her fingers traced up Juliana's belly--soft, full, yielding under her touch. She pressed it gently, right above the waistband, making the flesh dimple and spill slightly over the string.

"Mmm," she purred, smiling up at her. "Look at this. It's so soft. Like dough. Your belly's just swallowing this poor little thong."

Juliana's breathing caught.

Elsa reached down.

Right between her thighs.

Two fingers slid against the exposed lips of her pussy, slow and unhurried, brushing the wet seam of the crotchless lace.

"You're not shaved," she murmured. "There's all this... soft hair. It makes your pussy look even fatter."

Juliana gasped.

Elsa didn't stop.

She rubbed, once--slowly--up the fold, fingertip slipping into wetness, dragging slick heat up over the mound, the tip just grazing her clit.

"You feel that?" she whispered. "That's how you thank us, huh?"

Juliana whimpered.

She couldn't speak. She couldn't move.

Elsa leaned in, lips nearly grazing her ear.

"I think you like being watched, Mrs. S."

And Juliana--bare, full, wet, trembling--nodded.

Because it was true.

And because she knew the girls weren't done with her yet.

Juliana backed up, stumbling slightly as she reached for the edge of the couch--chest heaving, arms wrapped desperately across her soft belly and breasts.

"I... I can't do this," she gasped. "I shouldn't be here. I need to go."

"Go where?" Elsa asked, half-laughing. "You're naked. Dripping. Everyone's seen everything. What are you running from now?"

"I didn't mean-- I never--" Juliana turned toward the hallway.

But Viola moved.

She didn't raise her voice. She didn't run.

She stepped.

One smooth glide across the rug, cool and composed, until she stood directly in Juliana's path.

Her eyes were dark and unreadable. Her voice soft as silk.

"You think you don't belong here?" she murmured.

Juliana looked down, trembling.

"I'm disgusting."

Viola said nothing at first.

Then--without a word--she hooked her thumbs into the sides of her own black thong.

And pulled it up.

Hard.

The thin lace split the slick cleft of her cunt, wedging tight into her folds. The fabric vanished into her pussy, glistening wet. Her mound flexed with the motion--small, tight, utterly exposed. She was shaved smooth, lips pink and pouting, the thong pulled taut like a weaponized frame.

Juliana stared.

Mouth parted.

A soft, shuddering sound slipped from her throat. Not quite a cry.

A moan.

Viola saw it.

"You see this?" she whispered. "This is a real pussy."

Juliana shook her head faintly, but her thighs pressed together. Her face flushed a deep, trembling red.

Viola stepped closer.

So close her hips brushed Juliana's belly.

"You want to talk about bodies?" she said. "You want to pretend you're too big, too soft, too old to be wanted?"

Juliana whimpered, breath catching in her throat.

Viola reached down between her own legs.

She stroked once.

Pulled the soaked thong tighter.

Juliana's knees nearly buckled.

"You've been staring at us all night. Wanting. Burning. So don't run now."

"I--" Juliana choked. "You're so... perfect..."

Viola smiled. Cold. Patient.

"Get on your knees, housewife. I want you to look. Up close."

Juliana's breath hitched.

And her body--without permission, without thought--sank.

The room spun around her.

She knelt.

Eyes level with Viola's glistening, tight little cunt, the thong still tugged high, the scent of her arousal warm and unmistakable.

Viola grabbed the back of Juliana's head.

And held her there.

"Look at what control tastes like," she whispered. "And decide if you still want to leave."

Juliana moaned.

She didn't move.

She didn't speak.

She just... stared.

Helpless.

Hungry.

Hers.

The silence was thick.

Juliana knelt between Viola's legs, her face just inches from the younger woman's tight, glistening pussy. The lace thong cut high into Viola's hips, barely concealing anything--just a thin strip of black splitting her pink, wet lips, which pulsed slightly with heat.

Juliana was breathing through her mouth. Soft, shallow, desperate little gasps.

Viola looked down at her like a queen.

"Do you want to worship it?" she asked quietly. "Do you want to taste my tight, little cunt?"

Juliana whimpered. "Y-yes..."

"Yes what?"

Juliana's eyes flickered up, shame and need tangled in her throat. "Yes, ma'am. I want to... worship your cunt."

The words tasted like sin.

Viola smiled slowly, fingers sliding over Juliana's hair.

"Good," she said. "Then show them. All of them."

Juliana blinked.

Viola's voice dropped.

"Spread your ass cheeks."

Juliana froze.

"Get on your hands and knees," Viola continued, stepping slightly aside. "Back to them. Head down. And spread. Wide."

Juliana swallowed.

And obeyed.

Her body moved like it had belonged to them for years. She turned around slowly, placing her hands on the rug. Her large breasts swung heavily beneath her. Her belly shifted and hung, soft and warm. Her thighs parted, trembling, until her knees were wide. And then--she reached back.

Two hands.

Full cheeks.

She spread herself open.

Completely.

The room gasped.

Her pussy--fat, flushed, soaked--was parted and dripping, pink lips glistening in the light. Her folds were thick, hair trimmed but still soft and natural. Her clit peeked out, swollen and shy. And above that, her ass: wide, pale, dimpled, beautiful in its sheer volume. The crack stretched open by her own fingers, revealing the soft pink of her exposed hole.

She was obscene.

Perfectly, helplessly obscene.

And every girl saw it.

Elsa exhaled, her voice breathy. "Holy. Shit."

"Look how wet she is," Margret murmured. "She's leaking."

"She's actually showing us everything," Camila whispered. "Mom..."

Juliana whimpered.

She felt the wetness spill--drooling from her cunt, trickling down her inner thigh. Her face burned. Her arms shook. Her asshole pulsed where it was spread open, raw and twitching. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't believe she was doing this.

But she stayed.

Viola crouched beside her, voice low.

"This is what you are now," she whispered. "A pussy. A dripping, fat cunt and an open ass. That's all. You want to worship me?"

Juliana moaned into the carpet. "Yes..."

"Then you do it on display. Like the desperate, stretched-out housewife you are."

Juliana sobbed once--shame and pleasure coiling around her spine like heat.

And in front of everyone...

She opened wider.

Back arched.

Hole twitching.

Pussy flooding.

Her humiliation was now their entertainment.

And she wouldn't--couldn't--stop.

Juliana was on her hands and knees, knees wide, spine arched, her fat ass lifted high in the air.

Her fingers were still hooked into her own flesh--pulling apart her full, pale cheeks, exposing every trembling inch of her most private places. Her wide, dripping pussy hung open, folds wet and swollen, lips dark and glistening. Her thick clit peeked out, flushed and needy. Above it, her asshole twitched, fully visible, soft and pink, stretched open by her own hands.

She was moaning softly now. Her mouth hung open, hair falling over her face, breasts swaying like heavy pendulums beneath her, each one pulled down by weight and heat. Her belly shifted with every breath--soft, full, surrendering. She could feel the air against her wetness. She could feel her cunt pulse as the girls watched.

She was humiliated beyond language.

And she was soaking.

"God, look at her," Elsa sneered from behind. "She's got her pussy and ass spread like she's begging for cock and still acting like she's embarrassed."

"She should be embarrassed," Margret added, circling her slowly like a predator. "You're a grown woman. You gave birth. And now look at you--on your knees with your fat holes spread for a bunch of twenty-year-old girls."

Juliana moaned.

She couldn't stop the ache building in her. The flood of shame wasn't shrinking her anymore--it was feeding her.

Camila, her own daughter, whispered: "You're not even trying to hide it anymore."

Viola stepped in front of her again, kneeling down to meet her face.

"Look at you," she said, calm and cruel. "Arched like a bitch. Your pussy lips are so swollen they're dripping down your thighs. You don't even have the decency to clench your ass anymore--it's just open. You look like a tired, used fuck-toy."

Juliana whimpered. "I... I'm sorry..."

"No you're not," Viola spat. "You love this. You need this. You want to be broken in front of us. Say it."

Juliana's voice shook. "I--I want to be broken..."

"Louder."

"I want to be broken!" she cried, face crumpling, mouth wet, her thighs shaking.

Margret laughed. "You're not even trying to protect yourself anymore. You've given up. That's what a real slut looks like. No dignity. No shame. Just a wet cunt and a stretched-out ass to show off."

"Spread wider," Elsa ordered. "Show us everything."

Juliana cried out--but obeyed.

She pulled harder.

Her back arched deeper.

Her pussy opened like a flower--lips parting, glistening, pink and raw. Her asshole twitched, exposed and slick. Her thighs trembled under her. Her body was a trembling altar of submission.

She had never felt so filthy.

She had never felt so seen.

She had never been this wet.

"You're a disgrace," Viola said softly, running a single finger between Juliana's folds without even asking. "But at least you're our disgrace now."

Juliana moaned.

Because it was true.

She was theirs.

Completely.

Juliana's arms were aching now. Her hands were still pulling her own ass open, her knees wide, her breasts swaying below her, full and flushed and forgotten. Her lips trembled, but her body--her soaked, twitching, dripping body--obeyed.

She didn't resist anymore.

She couldn't.

She was kneeling, exposed, completely undone.

And the girls were nowhere near finished.

Margret walked behind her again, heels clicking softly, hips swaying with cruel purpose. She paused for a moment, admiring the view: Juliana's huge, soft ass spread wide and trembling; her asshole twitching, wet and vulnerable; her fat, swollen pussy glistening open below it.

Margret's voice dropped into a taunting lilt.

"Look at this fucking cow," she purred. "Bent over, leaking like she needs to be milked."

Then crack.

Her palm slammed hard against Juliana's right ass cheek--flesh rippling, the loud smack echoing across the room.

Juliana yelped--a ragged, high gasp of shock and arousal--and nearly fell forward. Her thighs buckled. Her arms trembled. Her cunt clenched around open air.

The girls laughed.

"God, she jumped," Elsa grinned. "Like she's never been spanked in her life."

"Probably hasn't," Viola muttered, circling back toward the front. "Probably hasn't even been looked at in years."

Juliana whimpered.

She wanted to deny it.

But her cunt was leaking down her thigh.

Margret leaned in close behind her, breath hot over the curve of her reddening ass.

"You like that, cow?" she murmured. "You like getting slapped like the big, dumb meat you are?"

Juliana's voice was barely a whisper. "Y-yes..."

Margret smiled.

Then she did something darker.

She leaned over, lips puckering.

And spat.

A thick, hot line of saliva landed right between Juliana's cheeks, dripping directly onto her exposed, twitching little hole.

Juliana gasped--a sharp, shame-soaked inhale that made her hips jerk and her thighs shake.

Margret's fingers were already there--slicking the spit slowly, deliberately around her asshole. Her index finger circled it lazily, smearing it in, rubbing, spreading.

"You feel that?" she whispered. "My spit on your ass? That's what you deserve."

Juliana moaned.

It was loud.

Raw.

From deep inside her.

She was humiliated beyond reason--and her clit was pounding.

Viola laughed low. "Oh, she liked that."

"Her hole twitched," Elsa said, peering in with fascination. "It's literally blinking for more."

"Wanna say thank you, cow?" Margret purred, her finger still teasing the ring of her hole. "Thank you for letting me spit on your filthy, needy ass?"

Juliana's face was buried in the rug now. Her voice shook.

"Thank you..."

"For what?"

"Thank you... for spitting on my ass."

Margret leaned forward, her hand on Juliana's hip.

"That's better."

And then, with one hand still rubbing slow circles into Juliana's slick, twitching hole, Margret slapped her ass again.

Harder.

Juliana screamed.

And her pussy... dripped.

The carpet beneath her knees was soaked.

She wasn't running anymore.

She was waiting.

Juliana didn't know what she was anymore.

Her face was pressed to the rug, mouth parted, breath trembling. Her ass still stung from the slap, the heat lingering like a brand. Her hands were shaking, her knees damp with her own arousal. She could feel it--how open she was, how ruined, how wet her inner thighs had become.

And then--

Viola stepped in front of her.

Slow. Deliberate.

She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties--thin, dark, damp with sweat and heat--and tugged them down over her toned thighs. Her cunt glistened in the low light, shaved smooth, lips flushed and proud. But that wasn't what she turned toward Juliana.

No.

She turned her back.

And bent.

Her perfect ass--tight, high, round from years of cheer practice--was suddenly inches from Juliana's face. The skin was smooth, warm, flawless. And her asshole was visible now--soft, tight, dusky-pink.

Viola looked over her shoulder.

"Put that mouth to work, housewife."

Juliana whimpered.

"Lick my ass. Deep. Like a good slut."

Juliana froze.

But only for a moment.

Then she obeyed.

She leaned forward slowly, her breath ghosting over Viola's skin. Her lips touched first--trembling, reverent. A kiss. Then her tongue--wet, soft, shy at first--licked along the crease, tasting sweat and heat and something darker.

The room went quiet.

Juliana's face flushed red, but her tongue kept moving--circling, flattening, then darting tighter.

Viola moaned.

"That's it," she breathed. "Deeper. Don't pretend you haven't dreamed of this."

Juliana pushed her tongue inward--licking around the rim, then pressing. She could feel the muscles flex. She could smell her. Taste her. Viola's ass moved back against her face--smothering, using her.

And Juliana didn't pull away.

She moaned into her.

Mouth wide. Tongue deep.

Her hands gripped Viola's thighs, holding tight as she worshipped her hole like it was holy.

Behind her--

Margret moved again.

"Don't think I forgot about you," she whispered.

Juliana barely had time to react before two wet fingers pressed against her own stretched, slick hole. The one Viola had spat on. Rubbed. Marked.

Margret's fingers were coated in lube now--or spit again--Juliana didn't know.

But she felt them.

Inch by inch, they pushed into her ass.

Juliana cried out.

Viola groaned. "Keep licking."

Margret slid in deeper.

Juliana gasped into Viola's skin, her tongue twitching with each thrust. She couldn't think. Her ass was being stretched. Her mouth was full of another girl's taste. Her body was nothing but heat and wetness and trembling need.

"Look at her," Elsa whispered. "She's getting finger-fucked in the ass and still licking like it's dessert."

Juliana moaned again.

Louder.

Shameless.

Because it was.

She was full.

Used.

Completely owned.

And she didn't want it to end.

Juliana's tongue was already out--wet, eager, shaking slightly from strain. She trembled on all fours, her knees slick from her own arousal, her mouth still tasting the salt of Viola's ass when Margret's voice cut through again:

"Crawl," she ordered, stepping aside with a slow, taunting sway. "Face Camila. Show her what that filthy little tongue is really for."

Juliana's head dipped, her hair falling like a curtain around her face as she obeyed--crawling across the rug on her elbows, tits dragging slightly beneath her, plug glinting red between her parted cheeks, pussy glistening and open beneath the tight stretch of her thighs.

Camila stood above her--legs spread, panties pulled tight between her lips. Dark. Satin. Already damp.

Camila didn't speak. She didn't need to.

Her expression was ice. Cold. Unreadable.

She simply looked down at the woman who had given birth to her, and with two fingers, peeled her panties to the side.

Juliana gasped--audibly.

The scent hit her like a wall.

Sweet.

Sharp.

Dripping with want.

Her daughter's bare pussy was flushed, glistening, shaved clean and already slick. Her clit peeked out--bold and swollen, twitching for attention.

Juliana's cheeks flushed hot with shame. Her thighs trembled. And yet...

Her cunt throbbed in response.

Behind her, Margret's voice snapped through the haze. "Put your fucking mouth on her. Now."

Juliana moaned--broken, submissive--and leaned in.

She kissed first.

Right over the soaked satin. A soft, reverent kiss to her daughter's wetness. Her nose dragged along the seam. She inhaled.

Her pussy clenched violently.

She kissed again. Then again. Slower. Longer. Until the heat soaked into her lips.

Then--unspoken permission--Camila pulled the fabric aside entirely.

Her pussy opened like a secret.

Pink. Glossy. Ready.

Juliana's mouth watered.

She moaned--helpless--and pressed forward, tongue out, licking along the tender, dripping folds of her own daughter.

Slow, tentative licks gave way to hungrier laps. Her nose pressed to the soft skin of Camila's mound, her tongue circling and diving.

Each movement was an act of surrender.

Of shame.

Of worship.

Camila tilted her hips forward--just slightly--guiding her mother's face with nothing but presence.

Juliana licked faster now. Tongue flicking up to the clit, down to the sweet hole, then up again. She buried her face between Camila's thighs like a woman desperate to disappear into it.

From behind, Margret sneered: "Look at her. A mother, kneeling like a bitch in heat, eating her daughter's cunt like it's the only thing that matters."

Camila groaned.

"Fuck, Mom," she hissed. "Deeper. Don't stop. Just fucking keep licking--"

Juliana obeyed with feverish devotion. Her hands clutched Camila's thighs, her tongue moving faster now--wild and obscene, slathering and sucking, drinking the slick wetness pouring from her daughter's cunt.

Camila's body rocked against her mother's face.

She used her.

Used her mouth.

Juliana moaned into her daughter's slit, the sound wet and muffled, her face slick with cunt juice.

"Open your legs wider," Camila growled. "I want everyone to see your sloppy little cunt while you serve mine."

Juliana parted her thighs--obedient, red, and glistening. Her pussy hung open, dripping, twitching. The base of her red buttplug flashed with every desperate movement.

Elsa stepped forward beside Margret, her heels clicking against the tile.

"She looks like a trained fuckpet," Elsa murmured. "Look at her hips. Shaking. Begging."

"She's licking like she wants to be bred through her mouth," Margret added, stepping behind her.

Camila's fingers fisted Juliana's hair--tight--grinding forward.

"Right there--fuck--yes--don't stop--don't fucking stop--"

Camila came.

Her thighs locked around her mother's head. Her whole body jolted with release as she ground herself into the willing mouth below her.

Juliana didn't stop.

She licked through it--lapping and kissing and moaning--drinking her daughter's orgasm like nectar.

Camila stepped back, panting, glistening.

Juliana stayed kneeling.

Mouth open.

Face drenched.

Panties still clenched between her teeth like a gag.

Camila looked down, smirking.

"You've got a good tongue, Mommy," she said coldly. "But you're a pathetic mess."

Juliana trembled.

Margret crouched behind her again, spreading Juliana's red cheeks.

"Let's see if her filthy whore mouth still works on boots after it's been bathing in her daughter's pussy," she whispered.

Juliana's body jerked.

But she didn't resist.

She opened her mouth wider.

And waited.

Face dripping. Ass trembling. Cunt leaking.

A mother.

Ruined by her daughter's taste.

But the girls weren't done.

Not even close.

"On your back," Margret snapped. "Now."

Juliana groaned--hoarse, delirious--but obeyed. Her legs shook as she turned over, splayed flat on her back like a hog at slaughter. Her tits flopped heavy to her sides, wet with sweat, her belly rising and falling in ragged sobs.

Her legs remained wide.

Her cunt still open.

Her hole glistened.

Elsa leaned over her and spit.

A fat, warm glob landed directly on Juliana's clit, making her jolt, eyes flying wide.

"You're gonna be our fuckdoll tonight," she said sweetly. "No more pretending to be a woman. You're a hole."

Juliana whimpered.

Viola was behind her now, strapping on a thick, matte-black dildo. Long. Veined. Heavy. She smirked as she tested the weight of it in her hand.

"Open that mouth," she said. "Time to earn your place."

Juliana opened.

Viola slid in.

No warning.

Just one brutal stroke of silicone down her throat.

Juliana gagged--hard. Her hands flailed, then gripped the backs of Viola's thighs. Viola held her head firm, using her throat like a hole, slow and deep.

At the same time, Margret knelt between Juliana's wide-spread thighs. She held up a massive double dildo--flesh-colored, slick, obscenely long. She grinned.

"One end in your cunt," she said. "One in her ass."

Elsa got into position behind Juliana--already lubed, already hungry.

Juliana shook her head--trembling, desperate--but Viola held her mouth stuffed and gagged with silicone. Her moans were guttural, messy.

Margret plunged the toy in.

Her pussy stretched. Wide. Too wide.

Juliana screamed around Viola's strap, legs thrashing, arms useless.

Then Elsa mounted the other end--and pressed.

Juliana's body arched off the floor.

Her cunt and ass were impaled at once--plugged, filled, spread beyond reason. The pressure was too much. Her hips bucked, but there was nowhere to go.

She was stretched between them.

Fucked at both ends.

Viola was pounding her throat.

Juliana's legs were trembling.

Her cunt ached--raw, stretched, pulsing from too many orgasms, too much use. She could barely keep herself up on all fours, her body a sticky, glistening ruin beneath the girls. Her own daughter--Camila--was straddling her face. Her thighs clenched tight around her mother's head like a trap.

And still...

Still she licked.

Because Camila told her to.

"Lick like your fucking life depends on it," she'd growled.

And Juliana obeyed.

Because that was all she was now.

Not a mother.

Not a woman.

Just a hole.

Just a mouth.

A wet, obedient fuckpet.

Camila's pussy soaked her lips, her chin, her cheeks--each grind a cruel reminder of who held the power now. Juliana's nose pressed into her daughter's clit every time Viola rammed her strap-on cock deeper into her throat.

God--her own daughter's scent. That warm, fresh, slick perfume. The musk of a young woman in heat. It filled her lungs. It owned her.

"How did it come to this?" she thought distantly, her mind spinning through heat and shame. "How did I become the thing my daughter sits on when she needs to cum?"

Viola grunted and grabbed Juliana's hair, jerking her face tighter against Camila's soaked folds.

"You're gonna choke," she hissed. "And you're gonna thank us for letting you."

Juliana's moan was muffled--more vibration than sound. She couldn't speak. She couldn't breathe. Her mouth was a sealed, twitching furnace between her daughter's thighs, and still she licked. She licked like a starving thing.

Camila screamed--coming hard. Her thighs clamped. Her slick poured down her mother's face. But she didn't lift off. She pushed down harder. Rocked and grinded until Juliana's face was painted with her daughter's orgasm.

And Juliana?

She came too.

Again.

Harder than she ever had.

It wasn't pleasure. Not anymore.

It was breaking.

Her cunt spasmed. Piss sprayed. Drool flooded from her lips. Her whole body seized in a humiliating, full-body orgasm--raw, convulsing, animal. Her ass clenched around the toy Elsa was still pumping deep into her. Her nipples burned from Margret's slaps.

"You feel that?" Margret spat, perched on Juliana's chest. "You're not a woman. You're a breathing fuckpad. A tit-slapping, ass-gaping, slobbering little toy."

Juliana couldn't respond. She was sobbing into pussy. Her body twitched beneath them like a meat puppet--wrung out and hollowed.

Only then did Camila rise from her face, looking down with disdain.

"She's ruined," she muttered.

Viola leaned close and whispered, brushing matted hair from Juliana's wet, ruined face. "Good girl."

And they laughed.

All of them.

Because their toy--Camila's own mother--was finally broken.

Juliana was still there minutes later, twitching.

Her body glistened with spit, cum, sweat, and piss. Her mouth hung open. Her ass still flexed uselessly around the ghost of Elsa's toy. Her throat ached, burned from the strap-on fucking. Her brain?

Gone.

Empty.

Soft.

Elsa saw it first.

She crouched down beside her, stroking her jaw like a pet.

"You know what you need to do now, don't you?"

Juliana whimpered. "I... I don't know..."

Elsa grabbed her jaw--firm, commanding.

"Crawl to your daughter."

Her whole body flinched.

Her daughter.

Her little girl.

But she obeyed.

Because that's all she could do.

She crawled. Dragged her tits along the carpet. Her plugged, spanked ass up in the air. Her breath was ragged. Her thoughts were shame.

Camila stood with her back to her.

Legs spread.

Panties lowered.

Waiting.

Elsa leaned in, voice hot in Juliana's ear.

"Lick her ass."

Juliana froze.

"No hesitation," Elsa hissed. "That's your daughter. That's your place. Tongue deep in her hole."

Camila bent forward slightly--displaying her ass, soft and golden, perfect. Her little pucker peeked between her cheeks like a challenge.

Juliana sobbed--but her body moved.

She leaned in.

Her breath ghosted over her daughter's hole.

She kissed it--softly, reverently.

Then her tongue came out.

She licked.

Slow.

Humiliating.

And her daughter moaned.

Elsa watched, eyes wide with delight.

"God, look at her. That's her mom. And she's tongue-deep in her own daughter's ass."

Juliana's tongue circled Camila's hole. Then slid in. Gentle. Loving. Hungry.

Camila giggled. "She's better than I thought. I think she likes it."

Viola grabbed Juliana's hair and shoved her face deeper between Camila's cheeks.

"Don't stop," she whispered. "Breathe through your nose, bitch."

Juliana licked harder.

She moaned as her tongue pushed into her daughter's ass, her hands gripping Camila's thighs like anchors.

She didn't know where she ended and her daughter began.

She only knew this:

She was owned.

She was used.

She was theirs.

And she never wanted to be anything else again.

She was eating the younger girl's ass like she was starving--wet, sloppy, desperate licks that made her face shine with spit and shame.

Camila leaned into it, grinding back.

Using her.

Smothering her.

Elsa crouched again, petting Juliana's shaking ass. "Do you feel it now?" she whispered. "Do you understand?"

Juliana moaned into Camila's hole.

"Yes..." she sobbed. "I'm nothing... just a hole... just a tongue..."

Elsa smiled.

"Good. Now lick deeper."

And Juliana did.

Her tongue buried itself in Camila's ass as the girls laughed above her--watching their old, broken housewife disappear into filth, shame, and complete, obedient ownership.

Juliana's face was still buried between Camila's cheeks, her tongue slow now, exhausted, lips raw and wet, her body sinking into the carpet like the pathetic, used-up creature she had become.

Camila finally pulled away--casually, like wiping her ass with the last shred of Juliana's dignity--and reached down to adjust her panties, sliding them back up over her glistening skin with a little satisfied sigh.

Elsa yawned dramatically.

"Well," she said, stretching, "I guess we should get ready for bed. It's late, and our fuck-pet looks about one lick away from passing out."

Margret nodded, casually stepping over Juliana's sprawled body, as if she weren't even there.

Viola crouched again, brushing the soaked, sticky hair from Juliana's tear-streaked face. Her voice was soft now. Almost kind.

"Hey," she whispered, "you actually did a decent job tonight."

Juliana blinked, dazed, unsure if it was a compliment or another trap.

Viola smirked.

"You're a better cunt-licker than my mother, anyway."

The room froze for half a second.

Juliana's eyes widened.

And then... they laughed.

Their laughter was bright, sharp, youthful--like broken glass in sunlight. It cut straight through her. Camila laughed so hard she nearly fell, her hand on the kitchen counter, wiping tears from her flushed cheeks.

"Oh my God--your mom?" she gasped.

Elsa was already choking on her wine, smacking her thigh. "The dinner party? You remember?"

Viola grinned, dark and wicked, the kind of smile Juliana had once warned Camila about. "She tried. When she was drunk. But she never begged like this one. She never got on all fours and licked my ass like her life depended on it."

Juliana sobbed.

But not from pain.

It was deeper than that--an ache in her spine, in her soul. Her cunt still throbbed, bruised and raw from hours of being used. Her ass stung. Her mouth ached from the gag. Her tongue felt stretched and tired like a muscle after too much screaming.

But the pain wasn't the wound.

It was the laughter.

They were comparing her--to their mothers. Measuring her worth as a hole, a toy, a trembling body against the women who raised them.

And she had failed.

I'm not a woman anymore, she thought.

Something had collapsed inside her. She could feel it--like her name no longer fit. Like the title of "mom" was rotting, irrelevant.

Camila leaned down, voice syrupy with mock affection, and patted Juliana's head.

"Such a good girl when you stop pretending to be a woman."

Her daughter.

Patting her like a dog.

She used to cry on my lap. I used to wipe her nose. Now she's wiping her cum off my face.

Elsa crouched down, fingers combing through Juliana's damp hair, whispering gently, "Sleep where you are. We don't want the sheets to smell like old cunt."

Juliana nodded.

She didn't deserve the bed.

Viola tossed a blanket over her like she was covering furniture, not a person.

"Stay warm, slut," she said. "You earned your place on the floor."

The lights dimmed.

Footsteps. Laughter. Doors closing. Giggles.

And then silence.

Juliana lay there.

On the rug.

Covered in spit, cum, mascara streaks, and humiliation. Her nipples were hard. Her thighs sticky. Her pussy still dripping a slow, aching trickle onto the carpet.

This is who I am now.

And yet--

She smiled.

Because for the first time... she felt seen.

Even if it was from above.

Morning Light

The kitchen was brutal.

White, sterile, honest.

The candlelight was gone. Now it was daylight and judgment.

Viola sat at the table, back straight, looking like a CEO in silk and control. Camila was lounging in her tennis skirt, hoodie sliding off one shoulder, tits barely caged. Elsa wore a tight jumpsuit and glossy lips. Margret--Margret wore black like she'd come to bury Juliana.

And Juliana?

She was barefoot.

In the sluttiest pink mesh lingerie they could find. It barely clung to her sagging tits and aging skin. Her nipples were erect and obvious. Her thong was soaked and made no attempt to hide the puffiness of her overused cunt. It peeked out, swollen, red, glistening. Her ass--flushed and jiggling--was completely exposed.

Viola had made her wear heels.

"Clip-clop for us, cow."

So she stood, bent at the stove like a kitchen whore. Her cunt leaked with every shift. Her cheeks still flushed with the memory of last night's spit. Her thighs pressed together--trying to hide--but it was pointless.

"Is it just me," Elsa said lazily, "or is her pussy still leaking?"

Camila didn't even look up. "That's not a pussy. That's just a faucet. Someone shouts and it turns on."

Juliana whimpered, clutching the spatula tighter.

Margret tapped her mug.

"Eggs, slut. You forgot the pepper."

Juliana jumped. "I--I'm sorry..."

She reached for the grinder. Her tits bounced. Her nipples poked the mesh.

Viola sipped her coffee. "Look at her wobble. Those tits are like balloons full of tears."

Elsa grinned. "And regret."

Camila tilted her head. "She looks like one of those sad housewives on daytime talk shows. Except instead of crying in a bathrobe, she's flipping eggs with her pussy out."

Don't cry, Juliana told herself. Don't cry in front of your daughter.

Then Margret got up.

Walked behind her.

And pulled the thong aside.

Juliana gasped.

Now her pussy was fully on display--wet, red, wrecked.

Margret leaned in... and spat on it.

The spit dripped over Juliana's clit.

She moaned--loud.

Elsa laughed. "She just clenched. Her pussy actually thanked you."

"Plate the food," Viola said. "But crawl."

Juliana dropped to her knees.

The tray trembled in her hands as her heels clicked. Her tits swung beneath her. Her ass swayed. Her plug shifted slightly as she moved.

Camila sipped her juice, watching.

No judgment.

Just... approval.

She used to call me mom. Now I'm her pet.

Juliana placed the tray on the floor before Viola, tears threatening to fall again.

Viola smiled.

"Good girl," she whispered. "You're almost ready."

"Ready for what?" Juliana asked softly, afraid of the answer.

Viola leaned in.

"To forget your name."

Elsa reached down and took her plate.

"You know," she said, "I've never had breakfast served by a leaking cumdump before."

"It really makes the eggs taste better," Camila added, taking hers.

"Like... power."

Juliana set the last plate down, then knelt back on her heels, thighs apart, head bowed.

Her nipples were stiff.

Her pussy was a mess.

Margret leaned over and rubbed the top of her head like a dog.

"Good girl," she whispered. "Stay kneeling while we eat. You can have the scraps when we're done."

Juliana didn't move.

Didn't speak.

Her face was burning. Her body ached.

But her pussy throbbed.

Because she was finally where she belonged.

And she never wanted to leave.

To be continued...