CHAPTER 50: [R-18] TWO TWINS, ONE LEASH

Nyss slowly wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, a predatory smile still glistening with the moisture she had just stolen. Her golden eyes, half-closed, flashed mockingly in the dimness of the tent. The air, saturated with musk and sweat, still vibrated with the broken gasps that had mingled there a few moments earlier.

Liora lay on the ground, her body marked by the ropes cutting into her pale skin. Her chest heaved, heavy, exhausted, but her gaze was not dead: it trembled between fever and shame. She panted like an animal that had run too long, unable to hide the fact that her body had spoken before her.

Opposite her, the Saint had frozen. Her fists were clenched, her lips trembled, and her eyes slid in spite of herself over the silhouette of her naked twin sister. Shame, rage, repressed desire: everything was written all at once on her tense features. She wanted to spit, pray, curse... but what rose in her throat was a hot, panting, uncontrolled breath.

Nyss felt that crack. The moment when the body tilts, when the armor of will cracks. She straightened up, with a supple step, and climbed onto the table like a queen taking her throne. Her clawed fingers brushed the rough wood until they reached the small chest lying there, an insignificant object to anyone... except her.

She lifted the lid with a theatrical gesture. Inside, three small, shiny pills. Red, translucent, like three drops of solidified blood, three beating hearts torn from some still-living beast. The very air seemed to take on a metallic odor when she showed them.

"Your master’s gift," she breathed, a grimace stretching her lips.

She took one between her fingers, brought it to her mouth, and swallowed it without hesitation. The reaction was immediate. Her cheeks flushed, her breathing quickened, and a glistening sweat beaded between her breasts, sliding down her stomach. Her tongue ran over her lips, greedily, as if every fiber of her body was already crying out for more.

A low, vibrant laugh escaped her. Not a laugh of mockery, but of pure intoxication. She climbed down from the table, her hips undulating slowly, approaching the Saint like a wolf circling wounded prey.

"You first, my love."

Her fingers grasped the Saint’s chin, squeezing until her mouth was forced open. And without waiting, Nyss crushed his lips against hers. It wasn’t a kiss: it was a grip, a bite, an invasion. Her tongue plunged in roughly, and with that burning contact, she slipped the second pill into him.

The Saint attempted a recoil, a stifled cry, but the capsule was already passing down her throat, swallowed with a strangled moan. Her eyes widened, her body tensed... then a violent shudder ran through her.

— Hhhhnn... aaah...!

Her raspy breath cut through the air, uncontrollable. Her thighs trembled. Her fists, clenched against the wood, unclenched of their own accord.

Then she untied the Saint.

Nyss laughed again, a softer laugh this time, almost maternal. She turned away and lowered herself to Liora, still on the ground, panting. Her fingers slid through his tangled hair, and she pulled him to her mouth. The kiss was different: wet, desperate, almost tender. But the third pill slipped between their tongues, sucked in by the twin’s moan, who could only obey the desire she was being instilled with.

The succubus then sat up, still holding Liora by a rope that remained knotted around her neck. She tugged on it with a small, sharp gesture, like calling a dog to its pace. Liora moaned, her cheeks flushed, but didn’t resist. Her body moved forward on all fours, docile, subjected to this pull.

Nyss let the rope float for a moment in her hand, her golden gaze resting alternately on the two panting sisters. A slow, cruel smile curled her lips.

"Perfect..." she breathed. "You’re ready."

The heat became stifling. Three bodies, three panting breaths, three fevers colliding. The drug was already working, distilling its poison of lust into every nerve, every fiber. The tent breathed like a saturated lung, its walls swollen with gasps and tremors.

Nyss, standing above them, gently lifted the rope she was still holding. With a sharp gesture, she pushed Liora toward her sister. The twin fell to her knees, her face reddened with intoxication, her eyes bleary.

"No... n-no," the Saint moaned, her voice broken, already half-drowned. "Please... not this... I don’t... aaah...!"

Her thighs, however, parted, imperceptibly, under the effect of the fire devouring them. Her hands trembled against the ground, torn between the desire to reject and the urge to yield.

Nyss leaned down, his mouth brushing the Saint’s ear, his breath hot like a bite.

"Then why are your thighs trembling so much, little saint?" she whispered in a cruel, almost tender tone.

And Liora, drunk, unable to wait, threw herself between those unwillingly offered thighs. Her voracious tongue crushed against the wet flesh, tracing a long, obscene first caress, sucking out every last drop of desire that was already oozing out.

"Hhhhnnn... aaahhh...!"

The saint’s cry burst forth in spite of herself, broken, muffled by her clenched teeth. Her back arched, her hands first tried to push away that unbearable mouth... then her fingers gripped Liora’s hair, pulling it tighter, as if to fill the emptiness she refused to acknowledge.

"Nnhhh... stop... I... aaahh... Liora... not you... not you...!"

But Liora no longer responded. Her tongue lashed out, sucked, and lapped with the frenzy of a thirsty woman. Her red cheeks shone, her moans mingled with her sister’s, swallowing every spasm, every refusal transformed into an offering.

Nyss watched them, fascinated. Her own body vibrated, her fingers plunged between her dripping lips. She sighed, a deep moan that sounded like an order, then she moved closer. Her fingers, sticky with her juices, pressed against the Saint’s mouth.

"Suck," she commanded in a low voice. "Taste."

"Nnnhhh... I... I can’t... aaahhh...!"

The Saint’s lips parted in spite of herself. Nyss’s hand forced gently, her fingers slipping between her teeth. The Saint’s tongue welcomed them, hesitant, trembling. Then it was over: her eyes rolled back, and she sucked with a broken moan, swallowing the mixture of cyprine and shame.

— Hhhhhnnn... nnnnhaaahhh...!

Her tears mingled with her gasps. Each suck drew a hiccup, a strangled cry. Her cheeks burned, her thighs writhed against Liora’s mouth, and her back arched as if begging for more.

Nyss smiled, her fingers still in that mouth that no longer knew how to say no.

— There... she murmured, cruel and tender at the same time. That’s the true prayer of a saint.

And amidst the din of moans—Liora’s devouring, the Saint’s breaking, Nyss’s growling—the crack was complete: the Saint was opening up, no longer as a devotee, but as a defeated whore.

Nyss tilted her head, fascinated. In the Saint’s eyes, the light had just shifted. There was no longer that mixture of hatred and shame, but a murky flame, torn between fever and abandonment. Of the horror... only a cracked mask remained. What was taking hold there was naked debauchery.

Then suddenly, the Saint threw herself at Liora like a woman possessed. Their mouths collided violently, lips against lips, tongue against tongue, a kiss soaked with tears and cyprine. Their cheeks streamed, shining in the torchlight. They panted into each other’s mouths, unable to breathe without biting, without sucking.

They rolled in the messy skin, clutching, almost scratching. Their thighs opened, sought each other, and suddenly their sexes pressed against each other in a brutal friction. The shock brought forth a double cry:

— Aaahhh...!

Their pussies crushed, crushed again, wet, glistening, sliding in a furious scissoring. Juices mingled, splashing their thighs, tracing shiny streaks on their skin. Their heavy breasts collided and crushed in the struggle, hard nipples rubbing against each other like flaming spikes.

— Aaah... I love you... I love you, my sister...! Liora gasped, her nails digging into the Saint’s lower back.

"Me too... harder... rub... more..." the other yelled, already lost, arching her pelvis so that their pussies slapped together even more violently.

Their moans echoed each other, obscene echoes in the musk-saturated air. Each movement drew broken moans, each slide sent spasms through their bellies. They were no longer praying, they were devouring each other.

Nyss, sitting a few feet away, watched them in silence. Her fingers slid between her own thighs, found her dripping pussy, and slowly caressed it. She rubbed herself, her wings quivering, her eyes shining with cruelty. A cruel smile curled her lips, and her voice echoed like a verdict:

"There... my little female dogs... finally become what you should always have been."

His hand pressed harder between her wet lips. The twins’ moans filled the tent, mingling with her succubus sighs, a shattered symphony of flesh and shame.

The Saint collapsed on her back, exhausted by her own frenzy. Her skin dripped with sweat and cyprine, every pore exuding a murky heat. Her chest heaved in short bursts, as if each breath tore away a fragment of her soul, still hesitant between refusal and surrender. Her thighs, spread open, still trembled from the furious rubbing she had just shared with Liora.

Her twin sister, panting, also glistening, slowly sat up. Her eyes burned with a murky glow, and in that gaze, there was no longer any restraint. Liora wordlessly climbed onto the offered body. Her knees planted themselves on either side of the Saint’s head, and her buttocks, glistening and taut, lowered to cover her face.

— Hhhhnnn... aaahh...!

A cry escaped her as soon as her sister’s tongue pressed against her anus, forcing it open. Her warm lips felt her most intimate fold, caressing, licking, then sucking with animal voracity. The Saint moaned against her, her face buried, her mouth pressed against this shameful orifice that she nevertheless devoured with uncontrollable ardor. Her tongue entered, swirled, and rose, pressing every nerve until it drew uncontrolled moans.

"Aaaahhh... my sister... deeper... more..." Liora begged, arching her back, her hands clenched on her own breasts.

Below her, the Saint gasped, but continued. Her muffled moans resonated in the flesh she licked, her broken words drowned in the bitter taste of the anus she was exploring.

— Hhhmm... nnhhh... I... I’m getting dirty...!

Her voice trembled, her cheeks dripped, but her tongue didn’t stop, probing, sucking, sliding shamelessly.

Nyss watched, a cruel smile on her lips. She moved closer, slid the rope around Liora’s neck again, and with a sharp tug, forced her face between her open thighs. The succubus gasped when Liora’s mouth pressed against her dripping pussy, sucking immediately, moaning with pleasure mixed with submission.

A trio of screams filled the tent, an obscene chorus:

— Aaahhh...! gasped Liora, tossed between Nyss’s thighs and her sister’s face.

— Hhhhhnnn...! choked the Saint, her tongue lost in her twin’s anus while touching herself.

"There... yes..." Nyss whispered, her fingers clenched in Liora’s hair. "No... you’re not getting dirty, little saint... you’re finally becoming real."

The rope pulled, their bodies writhed, and the entire air vibrated with their mingled moans. The Saint, imprisoned by her contradictions, drank shame from her sister’s flesh. Liora, drunk on drugs and lust, convulsed beneath the tongue penetrating her. And Nyss, dominating, reigned above them, enjoying every jolt, every tear, every cry that tore away a part of their former purity.

Then, Nyss lay across their two bodies, imposing her presence in Liora’s place like a centerpiece connecting them all. She spread her thighs, lowering herself slowly until she crushed the Saint’s face.

"Hhhhnnn...!"

The strangled cry was immediately extinguished in the warm flesh. The Saint’s mouth opened, forced to lick, to swallow, to suck in everything Nyss offered her. Her tongue plunged in, soaked with shame, searching every fold, every drop, while her own hand slid between her thighs. Her feverish fingers began to caress her dripping pussy, rubbing her clit with the desperate haste of a broken woman.

"Yes... like that..." Nyss whispered, her eyes half-closed. "Suck well, little saint... suck and touch yourself..."

Under her, the Saint obeyed despite herself, swallowing every jet of wetness, her muffled moans resonating in the flesh she devoured. Her hand beat faster and faster between her thighs, the sucking sounds mingling with the wet slaps of her fingers on her clitoris.

At the same time, Nyss leaned toward Liora. Her lips slid between the panting twin’s thighs, and her tongue immediately attacked, voracious. She delved into her glistening pussy, sucked on her swollen clitoris, sucked on it as if she wanted to steal its soul.

"Aaahhh... Nyss... yes... lick me... harder...!" Liora screamed, her back arched, her hands clenched on the sheets.

The chain was complete. The Saint, at the bottom, suffocated, licked and jerked off frantically. Nyss, in the center, enjoyed that shameful tongue while devouring Liora. And Liora, on top, was already convulsing, drunk, drowning in the imposed pleasure.

The three voices mingled, broken, panting.

Liora was already convulsing under Nyss’s tongue, her thighs trembling, her pussy drowning the succubus’s mouth. Nyss, in the center, vibrated between two flows: swallowed by the Saint below, devouring Liora above. And the Saint, suffocated, choked with cyprine, masturbated frantically, her sticky hand hammering her clit as if her life depended on it.

"Aaahhh...! I’m cumming...!" Liora cried, her back arched, her fingers clenching the carpet.

"Swallow..." Nyss ordered, his deep voice echoing like a verdict. "Swallow it all, my little saint."

"Hhhhnnnn..." the Saint sobbed, her mouth watering, her fingers splashed with wetness. "I... I’m losing myself...!"

Their orgasms erupted in a cascade, bodies shaken by spasms, breaths ragged, tears and sweat mingling with the cyprine. Then silence fell again, thick, saturated with scents, punctuated only by their short breaths.

The torchlight made their stained skins glisten, as if the world had wanted to immortalize this decline.

And the Saint’s last thought was etched in the silence:

The Saint no longer existed. Only a bitch in heat, offered to her twin sister and her mistress.