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Sam lay quietly in bed. At least, as quietly as she could, considering the turmoil churning between pleasure and frustration beside her. Her proud, pert breasts rose and fell as she gasped for breath to fuel her impassioned lungs and still it was not enough to feed the fire raging in her cunt. A burning inferno of unfulfilled desire, animalistic, even cruel, all demanding relief.

Sam’s hands ran down the flat expanse of her stomach without any conscious effort, as if she were in a dream and it was the dream acting, not her.

She wanted to fuck Tory so badly, but her stupid mom wasn’t letting her. And stupid Tory had to antagonize her, as always, so now Amanda actually meant it when she said no Tory for the rest of the night. Which meant Sam didn’t get to go to sleep with her strap-on up Tory’s ass, the way she usually would when she felt like this.

Her hands were drawn as if by a strong gust of wind to the hairy little slit between her legs.

Before all of this, her being this turned on would definitely have meant some masturbation, probably a very satisfying orgasm—at least, what Sam would’ve considered satisfying. But now that she’d had Tory, really broken her and forced her into being an anal slave, Sam knew what satisfaction truly was.

The fingertips of both hands crawled gently over her engorged labia, and a jolt of excitement shot through the hungry wetness of Sam’s groin.

She didn’t want to be filled now, she wanted to be the one ruining Tory’s ass, breaking her mind. Dominating her until she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, once more, that she was Sam’s bitch.

Sam kept going, caressing the incredibly tender folds, able to approximate the exhilaration of fucking Tory’s ass by the simplest expenditure imaginable: picking up her phone and looking at the photos Tory had snapped of her splayed asshole after their last hole-destroying fuck.

Holding the phone tightly in her right hand, Sam stretched the slender middle finger of her left down into her soaked and brimming sex. Her lips spread gingerly for it as if they had a mind of their own—then Sam felt the soft, moist folds inside her close around the digit, feverishly grasping at anything that could fulfill their hunger.

Sam heard her bedroom door squealing open and she jerked her hand away from her cunt, dropping her phone on the far side of her body where it would be blocked from view and lifting the covers up over herself. She couldn’t do a thing about the phone’s screen blazing away—still broadcasting an image of Tory displaying her utterly wrecked anus—except hope that her visitor wouldn’t notice the glow before it powered down again.

Her hope was in vain. Amanda slipped into the room, shutting the door behind her. At the sound of the door being shut, Sam opened her eyes and turned her head to see if her visitor had departed. Instead, she was greeted with the sight of Amanda looming over her bed, completely naked except for the harness around her waist, a long strap-on gripped between the white-knuckled fingers of her left hand like some weapon held at the ready.

Sam couldn’t take her eyes off the artificial cock. If she could, she would’ve seen how pleased Amanda was with the ready attention her daughter was focusing on the dildo. Sam wasn’t demanding to know what Amanda was doing there or trying to get away. She seemed to know, instinctively, to submit to what was happening.

“You don’t have to play with yourself, Samantha. I’ve got all the satisfaction you could ever want. Now turn over like a good little girl and let me show you what I mean.”

Sam rolled over, silently obedient, smearing a glistening trail of her arousal across the sheets as she turned. She was equally quiet laying on her stomach, waiting for Amanda to give her more orders. This was the way of things, she knew; mistresses gave orders and bottoms obeyed, since it gave them such exquisite pleasure.

Sam didn’t feel like a bottom, but the thought was arousing her now. Getting on her hands and knees, the penetration going deep, making her feel something of the same delight Tory got out of being a bitch. At least it was better than going unsatisfied. If she couldn’t have Tory’s ass, she would take this reconciliation with her mother, as insane as it was…

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