Who's the Boss Now!

Megan Rain is a snooty little diva who thinks fame gives her the right to bark at everyone. She usually gets her way. That changed the day she crossed Brett Rossi. Brett had spent hours making Megan camera-ready, but nothing satisfied the star. Every jab and insult finally snapped something in Brett. Brett shoved the dressing-room door shut, took two steps forward and grabbed Megan by the jaw. "On your knees." The command cracked like a whip. Megan dropped, lipstick still fresh, eyes wide with stunned heat. Brett lifted her skirt, bared a smooth, already-wet cunt, and pressed it to Megan's mouth. "Lick like the good little slut you pretend not to be." Megan's tongue darted out, hesitant at first, then greedy. She licked up every drop, sucking on Brett's clit while the makeup artist held her head in place. Spit and slick coated Megan's chin. Brett yanked Megan onto the couch, flipped her onto her back and climbed on top. Skin to skin, their bare cunts met in a slow, wet grind. Brett rolled her hips, sliding her slick folds over Megan's swollen lips, clit kissing clit with every stroke. They moved faster. The wet, slapping sound of tribbing filled the room as both girls moaned, sweat gluing their stomachs together. When Megan's thighs started to shake, Brett slid off and reached for the strap-on she kept in her kit. Thick, black silicone, eight inches, already slicked. She buckled it on, lifted Megan's legs and drove the shaft straight into her dripping pussy in one thrust. Megan cried out, back arching as Brett fucked her hard, deep, and steady. Every stroke bottomed out, hips slapping ass, silicone glistening with Megan's juices. Brett gripped Megan's throat, squeezed just enough to remind her who was in charge, and pounded harder until Megan came hard enough to soak the towel under her. Only then did Brett pull out, let Megan lick the strap clean, and whisper, "Next time you want to mouth off, remember who really runs this set."