Revenge
Copyright© 2025 by LezDom
Chapter 3
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 3 - A business man hires Althea and her company to destroy a Senator who took his money and broke his promises. He wants the women in the Senators family to be his revenge.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa/Fa ft/ft Fa/ft Coercion Drunk/Drugged Mind Control NonConsensual Rape Reluctant Gay Lesbian Cheating Slut Wife Mother Sister Father Daughter DomSub FemaleDom Humiliation Rough Spanking Black Female White Female Anal Sex Analingus Babysitter AI Generated
Ramona was driving to the Prescott home, she knew that her husband was away on a trip and they would have a lot of time for the next phase of their plan. With Ramona were the two young girls, who looked strikingly like her daughters, with the same hair and body styles. Ramona thought the plan would take the evening and then they would deliver the unsuspecting mother to her new owner.
The sleek black SUV hummed along the tree-lined suburban streets, its tinted windows reflecting the golden glow of streetlights flickering to life as dusk settled. Beside Ramona, the two Crane-resembling girls sat unnervingly still, their strawberry-blonde heads tilted at identical angles as they stared ahead with vacant, doll-like expressions. The taller one designated “A” by Destiny ran her fingers absently over the leather seat, tracing patterns only she could see. The shorter, “B,” chewed lightly on her lower lip, a nervous tic Ramona had noted during conditioning. Both wore identical pastel sundresses, chosen precisely for their wholesome, daughterly appeal.
Ramona adjusted the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of the girls’ reflection. Good. The drug haze had softened their sharp gymnast edges into something malleable, pliant. She flexed her grip on the steering wheel, anticipating the moment Patricia Prescott opened her front door to see or so she’d believe her daughters returned unexpectedly early. The deception was elegant in its simplicity: two broken birds instead of one, their familiar faces the perfect Trojan horse.
A thin smile curled Ramona’s lips as she turned onto the Prescotts’ street. The neighborhood was a study in suburban complacency manicured lawns, porch swings swaying gently in the evening breeze. House number 214 loomed ahead, its yellow porch light buzzing faintly against the gathering dark. Ramona killed the engine three houses down, the silence settling like a held breath. She turned sharply in her seat, examining her charges with clinical precision.
“You remember the sequence,” she murmured. Not a question. Crane-A blinked slowly, her pupils still dilated from Destiny’s cocktail. Crane-B nodded once, a jerky marionette motion. Ramona’s fingers snapped twice their conditioning trigger. Both girls immediately crouched low, slipping from the SUV with unnatural, insectile grace. They vanished into the rhododendron bushes flanking the Prescott driveway before Ramona even opened her door.
The knock was polite. Three measured raps. Pam Prescott answered still wiping her hands on a dish towel, flour dusting her apron. Her smile faltered at the sight of Ramona’s compact, muscular frame filling her doorway. “Oh! I The girls didn’t mention...” Ramona’s smile was a knife wound. “Change of plans.” She stepped forward instinctively, forcing Pam to retreat into the foyer. “Destiny thought they’d be more comfortable here.” A calculated shrug. “You know gymnasts last-minute nerves.”
Pam’s gaze darted past Ramona’s shoulder to the empty driveway. The bushes rustled faintly. “Where are?”
“Parked around the corner,” Ramona lied smoothly, toeing off her boots with deliberate casualness. The hardwood floor creaked under her weight as she shrugged out of her leather jacket, revealing toned arms crisscrossed with faded scars. Pam’s fingers tightened around the dish towel.
“Alison didn’t text about”
“They’re just grabbing their bags,” Ramona interrupted smoothly, watching Pam’s flour-dusted fingers twist the towel tighter. The kitchen smelled of cinnamon and burnt sugar a pie cooling somewhere. Ramona inhaled deeply, cataloguing exits: staircase left, half-open basement door right, sliding glass patio doors beyond the kitchen where dusk painted the lawn purple. The unlocked front door clicked softly behind them.
Pam hesitated that maternal sixth sense prickling but suburban politeness won. “Well, come in, I’ll put on coffee.” She turned toward the kitchen, oblivious to the two pale figures slinking from the rhododendrons toward the porch. Ramona shrugged off her jacket, The leather landed soundlessly on the hall bench as Pam’s voice floated back, “Cream or?”
The front latch clicked. Ramona’s fingers lingered on the deadbolt, twisting it silently open just as Pam disappeared around the corner. Outside, two pairs of bare feet padded across the welcome mat.
Pam filled the kettle with jerky movements, her shoulders tight beneath the faded floral apron. The spoon clattered against ceramic when Ramona materialized beside her close enough to smell the lavender detergent clinging to Pam’s sleeves. “Decaf okay?” Pam asked too brightly.
Ramona set her bag on the counter with deliberate care. The wine bottle emerged slowly, its deep green glass catching the overhead light. “Thought we could toast to their futures,” she murmured, watching Pam’s fingers pause mid-scoop. “Single vineyard pinot. Your daughter’s got expensive taste.” The lie slid out smoothly Alison couldn’t tell Shiraz from soda pop. Pam exhaled a laugh, tension leaching from her posture as she accepted the glass.
The first sip pooled dark on Pam’s tongue, tannins softening under Ramona’s steady gaze. “They’re special,” Ramona said, swirling her own untouched drink. Behind them, the floorboards groaned under unfamiliar weight bare feet ghosting toward the staircase. Pam’s gaze flickered toward the sound, but Ramona leaned in, tapping her glass rim against Pam’s with a crystalline ping. “Chloe’s vault technique ... that heel drive? Pure instinct.”
Pam flushed any mother’s pride irresistible but her fingers tightened around her napkin when a cupboard creaked upstairs. “Do you hear?”
“Napkin?” Ramona interrupted, gesturing to the wine dribble on Pam’s wrist. Her own fingers dipped casually into her jacket pocket as Pam turned toward the paper towel roll. The vial was cold between Ramona’s fingers; two drops of viscous liquid splashed into Pam’s glass before the napkin tore free. Pam returned, blotting her wrist absently. Ramona raised her refilled glass in a salute. “To champions.”
Pam drank deeply, the drug-laced wine coating her throat with deceptive warmth. Her eyelids fluttered just once as the first wave of chemical submission hit her bloodstream. Ramona watched the pulse jump in Pam’s neck, the way her fingers suddenly clutched the counter’s edge. The second pour was purely theatrical; Pam barely registered the burgundy liquid sloshing over the rim as her knees buckled. Ramona caught her elbow, steering her stumbling toward the kitchen stool.
“Jus’ ... dizzy,” Pam slurred, her tongue thick against her teeth. Her pupils dilated further, swallowing the pale blue of her irises. The dish towel slipped from her limp fingers as Ramona guided her firmly toward the staircase. A single strawberry-blonde head peeked from the upstairs landing Crane-A’s hollow gaze tracking their progress. The second sister, Crane-B, crouched behind her, fingers twitching like a marionette awaiting strings.
Ramona’s grip tightened on Pam’s waist as they ascended. The older woman’s thighs brushed together with each step, her breath hitching audibly. By the third stair, her hips jerked forward involuntarily, a damp spot darkening the cotton apron where Ramona’s thumb had begun circling slow, insistent patterns against her pelvis.
The master bedroom smelled of lavender sachets and the faint musk of Patricia’s lingering arousal Ramona noted the rumpled sheets, the lube bottle peeking from the nightstand. She guided Pam onto the mattress, the older woman’s legs splaying open instantly, her cotton dress riding up to reveal the soaked lace beneath. Crane-A materialized soundlessly at the footboard, her doll-like fingers already working the apron ties loose. Crane-B’s breath ghosted across Pam’s neck from behind, stirring the fine hairs at her nape.
Ramona’s palm slid up Pam’s inner thigh, the fabric clinging damply to her skin. “You’ve been lonely,” she murmured, not a question. Pam whimpered, hips arching into the touch as Ramona’s fingers found her swollen lips through the lace. A single stroke slow, deliberate and Pam’s back bowed off the mattress, a moan tearing from her throat. The drug wasn’t just submission; it was amplification, every nerve alight with unnatural sensitivity. Crane-A’s small hands replaced Ramona’s on Pam’s breasts, kneading roughly through the thin dress. Pam gasped, her nipples pebbling instantly under the dual assault.
Crane-B slithered between Pam’s legs like a pale eel, her sundress pooling around her waist. She didn’t hesitate just buried her face against Pam’s soaked panties, inhaling deeply before her tongue pressed flat against the lace. Pam cried out, fingers knotting in the girl’s strawberry-blonde hair as Crane-B’s mouth worked hungrily. The lace tore easily under Crane-B’s teeth; Pam’s thighs trembled as the first hot swipe of tongue found bare skin. Crane-B hummed against her, the vibrations sending shockwaves up Pam’s spine. She was merciless, her pointed tongue flicking over Pam’s clit in rapid, erratic circles just enough to tease, never enough to satisfy.
Crane-A climbed onto the mattress with eerie grace, her knees bracketing Pam’s face. The older woman barely registered the movement until the girl’s wetness dripped onto her parted lips. The scent musky and thick filled Pam’s nostrils, her drug-fogged mind drowning in it. Crane-A lowered herself slowly, her swollen cunt hovering just above Pam’s mouth. A single drop landed on Pam’s tongue. Salty. Electric. Pam moaned, her own hips bucking against Crane-B’s relentless mouth as her tongue darted out instinctively to lap at Crane-A’s folds.
Beneath her, Crane-B’s fingers dug into Pam’s thighs, spreading her wider as she buried her face deeper into Pam’s dripping cunt. The girl’s tongue plunged inside, fucking her with quick, shallow thrusts that left Pam gasping. Crane-A ground down harder, her slick coating Pam’s chin as she rocked against her lips. Pam’s tongue swirled around Crane-A’s clit, tasting the girl’s arousal, her own muffled moans vibrating against Crane-A’s sensitive flesh. The duality of it being devoured while devouring sent sparks of pleasure shooting through her drug-addled body.
Then Ramona’s hands gripped her hips, pulling her ass up into position. The cold press of the vibrator against Pam’s tight hole made her jerk, but Crane-B’s mouth latched onto her clit, sucking hard, anchoring her in place. Ramona didn’t hesitate. She pushed in with one brutal thrust, the thick silicone stretching Pam open in a way that bordered on painful. Pam screamed, but Crane-A’s thighs clamped down on either side of her head, muffling the sound into a wet, shuddering moan. The vibrator buzzed to life, the deep vibrations radiating through Pam’s core, amplifying every flick of Crane-B’s tongue against her clit.
The girls shifted seamlessly Crane-A sliding down to straddle Pam’s chest, her small breasts swaying as she ground her dripping cunt against Pam’s collarbone. Crane-B’s lips found Pam’s, her tongue pushing past her slack lips to taste herself on Pam’s breath. The kiss was messy, desperate, their teeth clashing as Pam’s hips rocked back onto Ramona’s relentless thrusts. The vibrator hummed louder, pressing deeper. Pam’s vision blurred, her thoughts fragmenting under the assault. The girls so beautiful, so familiar their soft skin, their sweet scent. Alison? Chloe? The names floated through her drugged mind like a half-remembered dream. Crane-A’s fingers twisted in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat as she licked a hot stripe up to her ear. “Mommy,” she whispered, and Pam shivered, her body arching as pleasure coiled tighter.
Ramona withdrew with a wet pop, the vibrator slick with Pam’s arousal. She pressed it into Crane-B’s waiting hand, their fingers brushing as the girl eagerly took it. Crane-B didn’t hesitate she flipped Pam onto her back, spreading her thighs wide before pressing the buzzing toy directly against Pam’s clit. Pam’s cry was raw, her back bowing off the bed as Crane-B circled the vibrator in slow, torturous spirals. Crane-A straddled Pam’s face again, her thighs trembling as Pam’s tongue lapped at her hungrily. Ramona watched, her own fingers tracing idle patterns over Crane-A’s bare shoulders before sliding down to cup one small breast. She pinched the nipple hard, drawing a sharp gasp from the girl as she bucked against Pam’s mouth.