But it was too late.

Her bra was a sinful thing—black lace so sheer it did nothing to hide the dark, puffy areolas of her nipples, the fabric clinging to the full, heavy swell of her tits like a second skin.

They were magnificent—still firm despite her age, the weight of them making them spill over the cups, the nipples already hardened into tight, aching peaks from the cold air and the humiliation of being exposed.

The lace dug into the soft flesh, the cleavage deep and inviting, the pale skin marked with the faintest traces of stretch marks—proof of a life lived, a body that had borne a child but still refused to surrender to time.

And then there was her ass.

The panties were a joke—just a tiny scrap of black lace, the fabric so flimsy it might as well have been a suggestion. The cheeks of her ass were full, round, the lace riding up between them, the outline of her slit visible through the sheer material.

Dark, thick pubic hair curled above the waistband, wild and unkempt, peeking out from beneath the lace like a tangled forest. The scent of her—musky, warm, the unmistakable aroma of a woman aroused despite herself—filled the air, thick and intoxicating.

Angela's laughter filled the room, sharp and mocking, her gaze raking over Nathalie's body with open, lecherous hunger. "Oh, Nathalie," she taunted, her voice dripping with amusement as she stepped closer, her fingers tracing the edge of Nathalie's bra, her touch deliberate and cruel.

"Look at you. Still trying to play the modest mother when we can see every fucking inch of you." Her fingers dipped lower, brushing against the damp lace of Nathalie's panties, making Nathalie flinch. "Those tits? Still so firm. Still so full. I bet they bounce when you ride a cock, don't they?"

Nathalie's breath came in sharp, embarrassed gasps, her body shaking with a mix of shame and fury. "Stop it!" she hissed, her voice trembling, her arms trembling as she tried to cover herself. "Just stop—!"

Angela's laughter only grew louder, her fingers suddenly gripping the lace of Nathalie's bra and yanking it down, exposing one heavy breast, the nipple already hard and begging for attention. "Or what?" Angela taunted, her voice dripping with sadistic delight. "You'll what, Nathalie? Fight back? You already tried that."

She leaned in, her breath hot against Nathalie's ear. "You lost. And now? Now you're just a whore with a body made for fucking." Her fingers trailed down, slipping beneath the waistband of Nathalie's panties, her touch making Nathalie's breath hitch.

"And this ass?" Angela's other hand suddenly smacked Nathalie's exposed cheek, the sound sharp in the room. "Still so tight. Still so fuckable. I bet Dexter's cock would slide right in, wouldn't it?"

Nathalie's face burned with shame, her breath coming in ragged, embarrassed gasps. "Don't you dare—!" she snarled, her voice raw with defiance, but her body betrayed her, her thighs pressing together as if she could hide the dampness between them.

I leaned forward, my gaze raking over Nathalie's exposed form, my voice a low, velvety growl. "Oh, but we will, Nathalie," I murmured, my eyes dark with hunger as I took in every detail—the way her tits heaved with every breath, the way her ass cheeks clenched at Angela's touch.

"We'll take everything." My fingers suddenly gripped her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. "And you'll beg for it."

Angela's laughter was a dark, velvety purr as she stepped behind Nathalie, her hands sliding over Nathalie's hips, her fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass. "Look at this body, Dexter," she purred, her voice dripping with lust.

"Those tits? Perfect for sucking. That ass? Perfect for fucking." Her fingers suddenly slipped beneath the lace of Nathalie's panties, her touch making Nathalie gasp. "And this pussy?" Angela's voice dropped to a whisper, her fingers pressing against Nathalie's damp slit. "Already wet. Already ready."

Nathalie's breath hitched, her body trembling as Angela's fingers teased her, her voice a broken whisper. "No... please..."

Angela's laughter slithered through the room like a serpent, cold and mocking, her fingers already buried between Nathalie's thighs, the lace of her panties doing nothing to hide the way Nathalie's body jerked at the intrusion.

"Oh, but yes," Angela purred, her voice a dark caress as her fingers pressed deeper, her touch violating and possessive.

"You're ours now, Nathalie. And we're going to use you." Her thumb circled Nathalie's clit through the damp fabric, her voice dropping to a velvet whisper. "Until you beg for more."

Tyler's voice shattered the air like glass, a raw, guttural roar tearing from his throat. "Mother—!" His body convulsed violently on the bed, his face twisted in agony, his hands clawing at the sheets—before his limbs went limp, his head lolling to the side as he slumped into unconsciousness.

Angela let out a low, amused chuckle, her fingers slipping from Nathalie's panties as she turned toward the bed, her voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. "You don't have to worry about your son anymore, Nathalie." She smirked, her eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. "He's become your daughter now."

Nathalie's breath hitched, her body stiffening as she whipped her head toward Angela, her voice trembling with shock. "What do you mean?"

Angela's laughter was a slow, mocking purr, her fingers tracing the edge of the hospital gown Tyler wore, her touch deliberate. "Don't you know why he's wearing this?" she taunted, her voice laced with venom.

"He harbored evil intentions toward me, you see. Dexter—mercifully—castrated him." She leaned in, her breath hot against Nathalie's ear, her voice a dark whisper. "Don't you see, Nathalie? Dexter is so merciful. He didn't kill your son. He just made sure he'll never be a man again."

Nathalie's face paled, her eyes darting to Tyler's still form on the bed, her gaze only now truly taking in the way the hospital gown draped over his body—the way it hid something. Her breath came in sharp, horrified gasps as the realization crashed over her, her voice breaking.

"You—how can you be so cruel?" Her hands flew to her mouth, her body shaking violently, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Angela's smirk only deepened, her voice a velvet blade. "Cruelty is a matter of perspective, Nathalie." She stepped closer, her fingers gripping Nathalie's chin, forcing her to meet her gaze.

"Your son deserved what he got. And you?" Her voice dropped to a whisper, her nails digging into Nathalie's skin just enough to draw a whimper. "You're going to learn what real cruelty feels like." She glanced at me, her lips curling into a smile. "Aren't you, Dexter?"

I stepped forward, my voice a low, dangerous growl. "Oh, she will," I murmured, my fingers wrapping around Nathalie's throat, my grip just tight enough to make her pulse race beneath my touch. "And she'll thank us for it by the end." My lips brushed the shell of her ear, my voice a dark promise.

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