The Worst Brat

Sara Vandella's pumping iron at home when her stepdaughter Scarlett Sage creeps up and yanks the pins from her weight machine. Boom. Sara crashes out of the seat, cussing like a sailor. She has zero clue Scarlett's behind it. Then more bullshit keeps happening around the house—lights flickering, doors slamming—and Sara connects the dots. It's her spoiled stepkid pulling every trick. Sara corners her husband, vents the whole damn story. He brushes her off, calls it overreaction, says his precious daughter would never scheme like that. He's heading out on a trip and hopes the drama sorts itself by the time he lands. Later, Sara spots Scarlett bawling on the living room couch, face a wet mess. She asks what's wrong. Scarlett clams up. Sara softens, says she's here to help. Scarlett murmurs she misses her dad. Sara promises they'll figure shit out together. That's when Scarlett rests her head on Sara's chest. The second Sara lets her guard down, Scarlett grabs a handful—straight-up squeezes her tits. Sara freezes, then puts two and two together. Scarlett's fake tears were a ploy to cop a feel. Scarlett owns it: she engineered Dad's trip just to get Sara alone. Sara doesn't hesitate. She yanks Scarlett in, slams their mouths together, tongues and teeth clashing. If Scarlett wants them one-on-one, Sara's down—ready to fuck the tension out till they play nice.