Chapter 43: Volume 1- [ - 44 ]
Had declared it sweet. Had said that consuming it bound her to the duke, elevated her status, made her something more than a commoner.
I looked at Lira. Her eyes were on the cum pooling in her palm, her pupils dilated, her lips parted.
‘It looks like — the book said it was pearly white, thick, like warm honey — and it said it tasted — the heroine said it tasted—’
“Do you want to lick it?” I asked.
Lira’s head snapped up. She looked at me. Looked at Sera. The awkwardness in the air was a living thing — thick, electric, the embarrassment of two sisters who were being asked to cross a line that could not be uncrossed.
‘Lira — do not —’ Sera’s internal voice was sharp.
But Lira’s tongue was already out. She brought her palm to her mouth. Her tongue — small, pink, trembling — touched the cum.
She licked.
Her face contorted — not with disgust, not with pleasure, but with the complex, confused expression of a woman whose expectations and reality were in the process of being reconciled.
“It is — strange,” she said, her voice uncertain. “Pungent. Salty. Not — not like the book said—”
I chuckled. “It does not taste good on its own,” I said. “It only tastes good when it comes directly from inside the mouth.”
Lira’s eyes widened. The implication landed — not on her rational mind, which was still processing the taste, but on the part of her that had read the books, that had imagined the scenes, that had lain awake at night with her hand between her legs thinking about the duke and the farmer’s daughter.
‘He means — from his — he wants me to — put my mouth on his — the book said — the heroine said — she took him in her mouth and the seed tasted different when it came directly from — she said it was warm and sweet and it made her—’
“Lira, do not—” Sera said, reaching for her sister’s arm.
I guided Lira’s head. My hand found her hair — the chestnut strands, wet and warm — and I pushed her downward, gently but with the steady, insistent pressure that offered no room for refusal. Lira’s face descended toward my cock, which was already hardening again — the Viagra and the visual and the warm water combining to accelerate the recovery.
Her lips found the head. She kissed it — a tentative, trembling press of her mouth against the crimson dome, tasting the salt and the skin and the remnants of cum that still clung to the surface. Then her tongue came out. Licked. Circled the ridge.
‘Lira!’ Sera’s internal voice was screaming.
I pushed deeper. The head slid past Lira’s lips, over her tongue, and into the wet heat of her mouth. She gagged — a small, startled sound — and her eyes went wide, her hands finding my thighs, her nails digging in.
“Mmph — mmmh—”
I held her head. Began to move — slowly at first, my hips rocking in gentle, shallow thrusts that pushed the head to the entrance of her throat and withdrew. Lira’s mouth was warm, wet, inexperienced, her tongue moving without direction, her teeth occasionally grazing the shaft in a way that was more uncomfortable than pleasurable but which she corrected instinctively, learning in real time.
Sera watched. Her internal voice was a battlefield — horror, jealousy, arousal, shame, all fighting for territory.
‘Her mouth — on his — she is — the seed — he said it tastes different from — does it? Does it taste different? Would it taste different if I — no. No. I cannot. I will not. But — look at her — look at her face — she is — her eyes are rolling — is she enjoying it? Does it feel good? Does she — is she—’
Lira’s eyes were rolling. The taste — the reality of it, the salt and the bitterness and the skin and the faint, underlying sweetness that the books had not lied about entirely — was overwhelming her senses. Her arousal meter climbed: 82, 85, 88. She was enjoying it. Not the act — the act was uncomfortable, her jaw ached, her throat was being invaded — but the meaning. The narrative. The story of a commoner woman serving a nobleman, the fantasy she had read about a hundred times, now happening to her, to Lira Harwick, the merchant’s daughter, on her knees in a bathtub.
I fucked her mouth. Slowly at first, then faster — my hips finding a rhythm, my cock pushing deeper with each thrust, the head hitting the back of her throat, her gag reflex triggering, the sounds — wet, choked, obscene — filling the bathing chamber.
“Gllck — mmmph — gllck — nnngh—”
‘Lira — her eyes — she is — is she enjoying this? How can she — it looks painful — her throat — the sounds — but her hand — her hand is between her — is she touching herself? Is Lira touching herself while she—’
I heard Sera’s thought. Looked down. Lira’s right hand had drifted from my thigh — slowly, unconsciously, the way a hand moves when the body takes over from the mind — and was now between her own legs, her fingers pressing against her pussy, rubbing in slow, circular motions that matched the rhythm of my thrusts.
Sera saw it too. Her mouth fell open. Her internal voice produced a single, strangled note of shock that dissolved almost immediately into something more complicated — something that looked, if you examined it closely, like envy.
‘The book — the scene in the book — the heroine — she did the same thing — she touched herself while — is this — is Lira acting out the — she has read the same books — she has — we both—’
I pulled out. Lira gasped, her mouth trailing a thick string of saliva and cum that connected her lips to my cock for a moment before breaking. She coughed. Her eyes were wet, her lips swollen, her face flushed.
I stroked my cock. One stroke. Two. The climax that had been building — the second one, the one the Viagra was facilitating — surged, and I came again.
This time, the strand hit Lira’s face — across the bridge of her nose, over her cheek, a thick rope that draped from her chin to her collarbone. She flinched. Gasped. Her hand, still between her legs, froze.
Sera — who had been watching with the paralyzed intensity of a woman who could not look away — moved.
“No — wait — do not waste it—”
She lunged. Her mouth found my cock — not the head, not the tip, but the shaft, her tongue extending, her lips closing around the side, licking the cum that was running down the length.
She licked with the desperate, hungry urgency of a woman who had told herself she would not do this and was now doing it with a fervor that belied every protest she had made.
‘Sera — what are you — SERA—’ Lira’s internal voice was the screaming one now.
But Sera was beyond hearing. Her mouth moved up the shaft, tongue working, lips pulling, gathering every trace of cum from the surface. She reached the head. Took it into her mouth. Sucked.
‘What am I doing — what am I doing — it is — the taste — it is — he was right — from the source — it is different — warm — I can feel it — pulsing — his heartbeat — in my mouth—’
I stepped out of the tub.
Stood before them, water running down my body, my cock jutting forward — still hard, still thick, still demanding.