Chapter 44: Volume 1- [ - 45 ]
I stepped out of the tub.
Stood before them, water running down my body, my cock jutting forward — still hard, still thick, still demanding.
Sera, still in the tub, leaned forward, her mouth following my cock, her lips stretching around the head, her eyes closed. She sucked with the clumsy, eager intensity of a woman performing her first act of oral sex and discovering that the reality was more compelling than the fantasy.
Lira crawled out of the tub. Her body was wet, heavy with water, her breasts swaying as she moved across the wet stone floor on her hands and knees. She knelt beside her sister. Looked at Sera’s mouth on my cock. Looked at me.
‘She is — Sera is — I should — should I — but I already — the taste is still in my mouth — and watching her — it makes me want to—’
I pulled out of Sera’s mouth. Both sisters knelt before me, their faces inches from my cock, their eyes upturned, their mouths open. I stroked myself — the motion of my fist along the shaft, the head flaring, the veins standing out — and they watched, transfixed, as the man who had killed their father minutes ago prepared to mark them again.
Sera reached for it first this time. She gobbled — the word was precise, the motion of her mouth engulfing the head with a wet, hungry sound, her cheeks hollowing, her suction firm. She bobbed. Her head moved forward and back, her lips sliding along the shaft, her tongue working the underside of the crown.
I held her hair. Used her. The rhythm I set was faster than before — my hips driving forward, my cock pushing into her mouth, hitting the back of her throat, the gag reflex triggering, the sound — glck, glck, glck — filling the room.
“Gllck — mmmph — gllck — nnnggh—”
Her nails dug into my knees. Her eyes rolled back. The white foam — saliva and cum mixed together — built at the corners of her mouth, coating her lips, frothing with each thrust, running down her chin in sticky trails that dripped onto her chest.
Lira watched. Her hand was between her legs again — her fingers moving in tight, desperate circles, her arousal meter at 91, 93, 95 — and her internal voice was a whisper:
‘He is — he is fucking her mouth — her throat — the sounds — the foam — she is choking and she is not pulling away — why is she not pulling away — why does it make me — why am I—’
I pulled out of Sera’s mouth. She gasped, coughing, her face a ruin of foam and tears and cum. I stroked my cock — one, two, three rapid strokes — and the orgasm hit.
The first strand hit Sera’s face — thick, white, heavy, draping from her forehead to her chin. The second hit Lira’s cheek — she had leaned in, drawn by a gravity she could not resist, and the strand caught her mid-face, trailing from her nose to her lips. The third — weaker, but still copious — landed on Sera’s chest, between her breasts, pooling in the cleavage.
Lira licked her lips. Tasted the cum. Her eyes met Sera’s.
Both sisters looked away. The embarrassment was instantaneous, electric — the sudden, searing awareness that they were on their knees, faces covered in a lord’s cum, hands between their legs, sisters who had been raised together, educated together, slept in the same room for eighteen years, and were now kneeling before a man they had met hours ago, marked with his seed, competing for his cock like two bitches in heat.
‘We should not — she is my sister — I should not — she should not — this is—’
‘Lira is looking at me. She is looking at the cum on my face. She is — is she jealous? Of me? Because I — because he chose my mouth and not — no. No. This is wrong. We should—’
I stepped back. Looked down at them. Two women, eighteen years old, kneeling on a wet stone floor, their bodies glistening, their faces marked, their arousal meters in the nineties, their internal voices a symphony of shame and want.
“Let’s go,” I said.
I bent down. Grabbed Sera first — my arm around her waist, my shoulder against her midsection — and lifted. She went over my shoulder like a sack of grain, her legs kicking, her hands grabbing my back.
“Wait — my lord — we will fall—”
I grabbed Lira. Same motion — arm around her waist, shoulder against her hip, lifting her onto my other shoulder. She was lighter than Sera, softer, and she squeaked as she went airborne, her legs flailing, her hands gripping my shoulder blade.
“My lord — please — we will fall—’
“Nothing will happen,” I said, and my voice was calm, amused, the voice of a man carrying two women down a hallway as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “I am strong.”
They trembled on my shoulders. My hands gripped their asses — one on each, my fingers sinking into the soft flesh, kneading as I walked. Sera’s ass was firm, athletic, the muscle resisting my grip. Lira’s was softer, plumper, the kind that would spread under a man’s hands and cushion every impact. Both of them were wet, warm, trembling.
Their legs kicked against my chest. Their internal voices were a matched pair of mortified whispers:
‘He is carrying me — naked — through my own house — his hand on my — he is squeezing my — I can feel his fingers — between my — my lord, please—’
‘We are going to — the bedroom — he is taking us to — what is he going to — with both of us — at the same time — I cannot — I—’
I pushed open the bedroom door with my foot. The bed was large — a merchant’s bed, stuffed with feather mattresses, covered in linen sheets that smelled of lavender. I walked to the edge and threw them.
Both sisters hit the bed at the same time, their bodies colliding, limbs tangling, the impact sending a shudder through the feather mattress that made the frame creak. They sprawled — Sera on her back, Lira on her side, their legs intertwined, their breasts heaving, their eyes wide.
I stood at the foot of the bed. My cock, still hard — the Viagra’s chemical guarantee — jutted forward, the head swollen, the shaft dark with blood. I reached into my coat pocket, which hung on the doorframe where I had placed it, and produced the small blue pills.
Two of them. I swallowed them dry.
“What — what are those?” Lira whispered.
“Things that are going to make you both love me,” I said, and the smile I gave them was the smile of a man who had no intention of being gentle.
I crawled onto the bed. Grabbed Sera’s hair. Pulled her face toward my cock. She opened her mouth — not willingly, not entirely, but with the resigned compliance of a woman who had learned in the past hour that resistance only delayed the inevitable. I pushed in. Five inches. Her throat convulsed.
Then I grabbed Lira’s hair with my other hand. Pulled her toward me. Her mouth found the base of my shaft — the part that Sera’s mouth could not reach — and she licked, her tongue working the skin, her lips pulling at the veins.
Two sisters. One cock. One sucking the head, one licking the shaft. Their faces pressed together, their cheeks touching, their eyes closed, their tears mixing on each other’s skin.
‘Her cheek — against mine — her mouth — on the same — we are both — this is — I can feel her breathing — her tears on my face — we are—’