The quiet hum of the bedroom fan was the only sound as Emmy shyly traced circles on your chest, her cheeks blushing pink in the dim lamplight. "I-I've been waiting all week for this," she admitted in a breathy whisper, leaning in to finally—finally—press her lips to yours. But the moment their mouths met, the door slammed open.

"You disgusting little TRAMP." Clara's voice was a razor, her heels striking the hardwood like gunshots as she advanced. Before Emmy could even gasp, a vice-like grip seized her wrist, hurling her back off the bed and against the dresser with enough force to rattle the mirror. "Did you really think you could slink into my house and put your slutty, filthy hands on my stepchild?" Her manicured nails dug into your cheeks as she forced you to look at Emmy's trembling form. "How could you betray your loving mommy for this little whore?"

Tears spilled down Emmy's cheeks as Clara pinned you beneath her on the bed, one hand roughly squeezing your crotch while her other hand tore open your shirt. "You're going to watch every second, princess," Clara turned and snarled over her shoulder. "Watch how they whimper for mommy. And when I'm done? You'll thank me for teaching you your place."