Work Text:
“Shit…”
Margot’s voice fails to break the stifled silence in her cramped office. Her words are drained of their resignation by dusty tomes that drink up the character like ancient sponges while her volume is eaten away at by the piles of half-disintegrated newspapers that loathe anything newer than them. Texts in Latin, Ancient Greek, Modern Welsh, and dozens more languages that either lost their names or were never given them to begin with begrudge the husky-accented English its place in the air for barely long enough for Margot to hear herself think.
The mage - or occultist - or crazed spiritualist, depending on how kind or arrogant she feels towards herself in any given moment - reaches out on instinct to bring a mug of tea closer to herself, hoping the presence of something warm in her stomach would quell the frustration. She discards it immediately after, remembering that she didn’t make anything fresh today and had grabbed one of the half-solidified mugs that litter the office with the same perpetuity as the newspapers that they leave ring stains on.
Margot breathes out, long and shallow, tantalisingly desperate for the emotional relief of a well-earned sigh.
“That’s really what it is, isn’t it?”
There’s a horrible temptation to reject the diagnosis. Say it’s something easier to fix, provide some placebo, send the girl on her way. Hope she works out some way to manage.
But no, that would only hurt her.
Magic is ramshackle at best and often callous otherwise, with the wrong person behind the metaphorical scalpel or scrawled sigil, but Margot cannot imagine living with herself after making a mistake with this case.
A stranger, come to her through word of mouth or some suspicious fluke, would be easy to fix even if everything else was the same. Margot’s done it before, for a girl with irrational anger and blood pressure approaching mundane danger, and could do it again for almost any demon that was carried to her door.
But Eloise, Margot’s sister, was the host. She brought one latched onto her sense of desire. And she wasted a lot of time before getting here.
Old, half-rotten desires that pushed Margot to run from home raise their ugly heads for the first time in years.
-🕯-
“A what?!” Elsie lags behind Margot as she’s lead from the crowded front room and through the apartment’s crowded hallway filled with too much eccentric life piled into mundane cardboard boxes. The thinner girl has a much harder time navigating it than Margot, since the space essentially grew around her habits.
“A demon.”
“That doesn’t explain anything!”
Margot sighs, practiced lines tumbling to hurried stops as composure threatens to fail her. An ember of disgust fights with a fluttery hope in her abdomen, and she feels even less of the occultist than she hopes on her bad days to be.
“It’s a thing with desires, that can become sentient given time, and dealing with it incorrectly can lead to disastrous consequences. Those are the aspects that influenced the Christian myth of demons.” She defaults to something that could be graciously called a definition, and feels like she’s hiding behind it. “You won’t sprout horns, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Margot opens a door at the back of the hallway and pulls Elsie into a room that feels like it hasn’t been touched in decades. The wallpaper had peeled into crumbling strands years before, only leaving strips of brittle glue on the plywood beneath as evidence, and there is an old, structurally compromised box in the corner filled with too many things to name and labelled in scratchy pen on the outside with items that it clearly hasn’t contained for a while. The only other thing in the room is a double mattress, bare and forgotten beneath a beaten-up window overlooking a wonderful view of the next building’s brick facade.
Elsie shivers as she gets pulled into the isolated room, not liking the sound of the professional detachment Margot is relying on for her tone.
“That sounds dangerous.” Elsie continues when Margot gives no reply. “How do we get it out?”
“That’s the life-defining question, isn’t it?” Margot’s professional demeanour betrays her as she falls back on it, turning the difficult situation into an appropriately wry grin. She twists away, rifling through the box for a capsule of a red-grey liquid, that she can’t remember if she made from cow’s blood or lamb’s, and a device that looks to Elsie suspiciously like a whiteboard marker broken apart and reconstructed by Frankenstein. “We have two choices.”
Margot talks as she straightens up and slots the cartridge in place, watching the feeding needle sink colour into the felt tip.
“We either starve it, or we overfeed it until it explodes.”
She checks the flow of the liquid before moving to the door frame, where she starts drawing a trail of symbols and words along the wood that Elsie would take years to work up the courage to try and decipher. Margot doesn’t think about the timer ticking down on Elsie’s freedom of choice.
“What are you doing?” The unexpected question suddenly makes Margot feel much more observed than before. The guilt grows hotter while she continues her scrawl.
“Making a threshold.” The stream of letters finishes its loop by crawling along a patch of missing carpet that Elsie just assumed was worn through with age. “Your demon is the thresh. And you, by extension. If I don’t do this your passenger will try and look for a host at some point.”
“Won’t it jump to you, then?”
Margot shakes her head and moves across the room to the window, purposefully not looking at Elsie much. She knows what she would find.
A thin form dressed in office friendly pants and blouse, buttons of her shirt undone down to the middle of her sternum and making obvious the mistake of a forgotten bra when, in her dishevelled state, Elsie threw on the closest clothes to her when Margot said she would help on the other side of the phone.
Her black hair, shiny and still behaving despite everything she’s going through, matches black eyes that are unsuited to the uncertainty that also runs anxious habits through Elsie’s limbs. Her curated athleticism fills out her hips and makes her tits obvious even as her nipples stand hard against rain-kissed fabric in the chilled room. Her lips are cracked and bitten with worry.
Margot doesn’t turn back because she would see the lust on her sister’s face, and the disgust flaring in its wake.
Everything she desired, handed to her on a silver platter many years too late.
Elsie watches Margot, while the mage starts on the window’s design, and notices more than she ever bargained for.
Margot quickly tucks her hair behind her ear, pulling the salt-and-pepper strands back from a set of eyes married to deep-purple bags of exhaustion, which look a little closer to bruises than pure tiredness. She stands with a hunch, and with a lazy analysis to her gaze that makes her perpetually appear to Elsie as if she’d just dropped an overstuffed hiking bag and inhaled half a pack of cigarettes.
She looks strong. Her height over Elsie always gave an aloof, gangly quality that she wasn’t truly able to inhabit, but now as more of her arm is exposed by the coiling, graceful, contradictory penwork she’s able to see how much her form has been filled out with muscle. Elsie works hard for her athleticism, and is proud of the results of her effort, but the way every muscle sits together in habit makes it seem like the sturdy layer coating Margot’s body is casually there - simply a result of her work.
It’s when a slip of stomach is exposed by Margot’s writing, sending a glance of stick-and-poke Greek and sturdy, warm muscle to her eyes, that Elsie wonders how much their parents were protecting themselves when they described Margot’s life as easy.
Or perhaps she just hasn’t told them.
Elsie straightens her gaze when she realises her sister is almost finished. She ignores the skin she shouldn’t have been drooling over and instead buries her stare in her sister’s grey-striped hair. It should have been jet black. Margot’s only thirty-three. Elsie refuses to believe her own will look that way in four years.
“No, it won’t jump to me. It’ll struggle to even notice me.”
Elsie slowly recalls what they were talking about, but decides to go further back.
“What does starving it look like?”
Margot breathlessly laughs, realising that a portion of her ability to compartmentalise might not be entirely self-taught. What a stupid family trait. “Two weeks to a month, inside the threshold, while not doing anything that could keep the demon hanging on longer.”
“Alone?”
“I’ll be on the other side of the door, but…” Margot turns to face her sister. “Yes, alone.”
“And, ‘not doing anything?’” Elsie is met by a flat expression that reads as ‘guess.’ She shakes off the feeling. “You mentioned disastrous consequences. What’s the ‘monkey’s paw?’”
Margot resist the urge to correct her sister, to say it’s only a possibility, but she knows Elsie’s demon is too settled in. She gives a straight answer.
“It will use up the part of your soul it’s latched onto like a fat reserve. The part will be desiccated and will struggle to ever recover.”
“So, what, I’ll be ace? That doesn’t sound too bad.” The relief drags a dismissing shrug from her even as she imagines a month of chastity with her new arousal. Elsie has to admit to herself she was imagining worse. That would be manageable.
Margot levels a stare at her sister with a calmness that displays the simmering concern roiling in her heart better than if she had tried to express it directly. Elsie realises it’s the lack of that omnipresent dark humour that sells it. It’s the way her eyes have stopped drooping.
She realises it’s warranted when Margot speaks.
“You will find it hard to feel any kind of desire. Eros, yes, but also storge, agape, pragma- Fuck, even philautia.” Margot stops when she realises Elsie doesn’t recognise the terms. She sighs, mumbles to herself about being too much of an expert to notice, and then switches track. “Artistic desire, desire for friendship - philautia is self-love. If that goes it’ll mean I’ll have to babysit you until you care enough about your own well-being to eat without being told, and to look both ways before you walk into oncoming traffic. I hope its roots in you aren’t that deep… But we’re running out of time.”
Margot closed herself off years ago, a decade and a half by rough count, right after she discovered this supernatural talent and expertise that was on full display in front of Elsie. But in this moment Elsie sees through a crack towards the true Margot. The image of fractured stained glass in a church long forgotten is difficult to shake.
“That’s… bad.” Elsie’s eloquence surprises even herself. But it seems to drag a tiny chuckle out of Margot, and the illusion fades. She’s back to her usual, shut-away self. Elsie hides a dry swallow. “What’s the alternative?”
“You let the desires it’s putting in your mind run free. You let it gorge itself until it bursts, like a mosquito with eyes bigger than its blood-sack. It shouldn’t take more than a day, if we’re lucky.”
“And the consequences?”
“Everything dimmed I mentioned before is now overly reactive and sensitive. You’ll feel the same as you do now, if not more, for a few days. But it will be you deciding to feel it, not the demon. Which will be better.”
“It turns me into a slut.”
The utilitarian tone sits light as a lead balloon in the room, filled to bursting with distress-ridden hydrogen waiting to leak into the room and send them both mad. Elsie feels like the building is struggling to keep its feet as much as she is.
All Margot manages to say is, “…Temporarily.”
Elsie’s breathing is harsh. Her voice feels ragged and insubordinate, the torn edges of words lodging themselves in her throat alongside the promise of bile surging up from her stomach. What her sister is suggesting butts heads against her desire to pop out the other side recognisable, but it seems like that wasn’t really an option anyway once the blasted thing chose her to host its disgusting fantasies. But then again, the scenes felt so familiar, perhaps it was just breaking down the walls Elsie had relied on all her life.
She’s sure that someone else in her place would be able to pick the starvation option, but something deep inside the untouched parts of her soul knows what she’s going to choose. The experience is nauseating.
Margot isn’t faring much better on the opposite side of the room. The hourglass in her mind is emptying fast, and the feeling she’d eventually need to choose for Elsie settles more concrete in her heart. The last thing to choose is which technique - to force Elsie into maddening isolation where only her self control could secure an outcome, or to force herself onto Elsie, to touch her in a way she should have never wanted. To trap her, or take advantage of her.
She realises she’s just buying time in the hope that the selfish part loses.
Elsie speaks, unsteady for the first time since that improvised phone call, “What else do you need to prepare?”
Margot puts her pen down to inspect her work around the window and door, finding herself satisfied in the design’s security, before responding.
“Not much - simple things. Just to grab some water and sheets for the room, and cut a flap into the door so I can get you food if you choose to starve it out.” Margot turns back to Elsie and finds herself staring down eyes that should have been black but were now some shade of deep brown. “You’re not choosing to starve it, are you?”
“No,” Comes the brief, solid response - spoken in a voice rotted out from the middle by lust and obsession - before Elsie closes the gap between the two of them.
Giving in to the cloud of arousal that has been weighing down her mind feels so good to Elsie. It paints Margot in such vivid colours, draws her attention to the way she braces for impact - reactive and agitated at first, before overruled by a cocktail of relief that softens her arms and helps Elsie lean the half-foot of height difference up to her face.
They both react badly to the kiss. It’s rushed yet intense, and awkward in deciding who will lead. Elsie finds the texture of her sister’s tongue exhilarating and unpleasant in equal parts, her stomach immediately fighting the instinct to throw up as her demon chews happily away at the weak foundation of that disgust. She presses herself further into Margot’s mouth while her sister struggles to keep track of the wandering hands finding the gap between her shirt and her jeans. The question going through both their minds is whether Elsie would want this even without the demon.
Neither are sure.
While Elsie’s tongue learns the tricks to making its home within Margot’s mouth she runs her hands along the skin of Margot’s stomach, her fingers playing with the texture of soft skin interrupted by corded muscle and knotted scars. They plant lines of heat across Margot’s abs, teasing at sensitive spots for bare moments before moving on, each motion ravenously hungry for every seemingly insignificant part of her, but still eager to learn the whole. It makes Margot feel analysed, studied, segmented for the benefit of some soon-to-be expert.
They lose track of time in the kiss, until Margot feels the hands brush under the strap of her bra and is almost shoved backwards into the wall as Elsie’s slow and deliberate pace is overruled by a need to dart upwards and take Margot’s tits in her hands. The rough handling - almost starving in its intensity - draws a strained gasp from her lungs. She’s so sensitive, and they’ve barely been touched since she got them. Her magical meddling in the effects of her HRT are the obvious culprit, but knowing the owner of the hands treating her like a panacea could also be the reason she’s reacting so intensely.
Margot struggles to catch her breath against Elsie’s ravenous tongue while the buds of her breast growth are squeezed, rolled between needy fingers, or crushed against her ribs in a way that made her feel like she would explode before the demon does. But, unlike it, she has an easy outlet.
Elsie has created a warmth in her that sinks like dense air down from her chest and towards her groin, where it flares bright and impossible to ignore. She feels her cock growing, straining against her jeans and throbbing with every hungry swipe of Eloise’s tongue. She twitches and feels the urge to beg before she loses all control.
Margot places her hands around Elsie’s waist and drags her the final little distance that was still held between them. The pressure of hands against her causes a shaky moan to slip out of Elsie, and the pose she’s forced into causes her to be almost bent backwards by the possessive posture of Margot above her. But the thing that takes her breath away, which is so incredibly obvious even as her tongue is forced back into her mouth to make room for her sister’s diving towards the back of her throat, is the sheer size of the stiffening dick that’s now pressing into her stomach.
Elsie’s hand drops without thought. Her right palm clutches the shape Margot is making through the jeans while her left still toys with the nipple trapped between forefinger and thumb. She feels Margot’s body temperature rise a fraction of a degree, and lets out a little giggle when Margot growls down at her through the kiss. She presses down a little harder against her sister’s cock and gasps in joy as it twitches in her grasp.
Her sister’s cock.
The thought resurfaces, bringing full clarity of the situation with it, but Elsie’s hand doesn’t stop. It doesn’t even let up. If anything, she opens her mouth wider, groaning for more of Margot’s tongue, and clamps her hand down tighter.
None of that original disgust remains. It’s been eaten away and fragmented, the shards dissolving away before her soul’s eyes. The only thing left intact is the taboo, which Elsie finds incredibly arousing. She undoes her sister’s jeans and slips her fingers beneath her underwear to better hold her cock, seeking out the clarity of warmth that comes from the direct contact.
Elsie pulls away from the kiss as she grasps the intensely warm length of Margot’s girldick against the flat of her palm, taking in both the stunning width of her, and the artistic combination of the tuft of dark pubes and the sight of panties made of a rich purple, transparent lace. They’re deeply stained with precum and clearly the right size for Margot’s hips but not nearly enough for what she’s tried to shove into them, but the sight is so much more endearing than arousing - despite how wet it’s made Elsie - that she looks back up at her sister with something she might try and convince herself isn’t love later.
What Margot sees, with her cock and tit clamped in the gentle hands, is a look she tries to convince herself isn’t anything close to affection set into eyes that have changed once again. The rusty, damp red soil of the Australian desert after intense summer rains forms a well around irises blown too wide. She’s being stared at with obsession that sits too similar to the shade of hate that a previous demon looked at her with. She made herself so despicable for that girl - how desirable would she make herself for her sister?
What turns her sister on?
The thought is stunning in its clarity, sharp and keening in her mind like a razor catching the wind - she needs to know, and Elsie is far too preoccupied to stop and answer. The only way Margot will find out is through experience. And by the sound she made when Margot dragged her closer…
Elsie practically jumps out of her skin when Margot’s hand darts up to the back of her neck, and then struggles to not collapse to the ground in eager anticipation when she starts being forced to her knees. Her legs turn to jelly as she finds herself on the floor, suddenly keenly aware she wouldn’t be able to pull herself up if she wanted to, and barely stops herself from shoving her hand between her crotch and the floor to have something to grind against. Not for any presence of self control, but because she’s too distracted by the cock she’s slipping out the side of the gorgeously inadequate lingerie.
Elsie swallows hard. She’s surprised by the extent she’s drooling at the sight of her sister still stiffening in front of her, but desire to try and succeed is overruling any other thought in her mind.
Margot makes a high-pitched grunt as she’s roughly handled and watches her tip be guided to her sister’s mouth. Elsie’s tongue is lolling out, barely noticing as drops of saliva slip from her wide-parted lips down into the gap in her blouse and onto the skin of her tits.
When her lips touch the tip she’s shocked by the softness of her sister. Experience told her Margot’s foreskin would be almost rough, a practical layer of skin, but as the hair-trigger nerves of her lips find contact she’s met with delightful sensitivity and a joyful give - even with the stiffness beneath. Elsie kisses it deeply, blissfully half-aware of the hand that has woven its way into her hair, and revels in the taste. It’s salty and unique, wet already from the precum that hadn’t been properly absorbed by the panties that are now haphazardly tugged to the side, and so full of arousal. Elsie darts her tongue towards the tip to get a better taste, and her eyelids flutter shut at the sudden intensity-
Eloise yelps out a moan as she’s tugged back hard by her hair, but Margot keeps a sturdy grip, calling out to her to get her lust-addled mind to focus.
“Elsie? Elsie! Keep your eyes open. Look at me when you can.” Margot makes sure the order has been absorbed by her sister, knowing she needs to keep track of the effects of the demon, but is surprised when she watches in real time as her iris’ hue takes a step towards half-dried blood. She drops deeper into her voice’s gravel as she speaks, “Oh, you like it that way, huh?”
Elsie barely manages to nod, her hair bundled so tight she can barely move her head for Margot’s iron grip.
“Good,” The occultist is no stranger to putting on a show, but this one fits her like a glove. “Now, I’m going to set the pace. You go any slower or faster, or forget to show me your eyes for too long, and I’m correcting you again.”
She demonstrates with another tug of hair that makes Elsie whimper. She’s staring up at her sister with wild abandon.
Without another word Margot drags her sister back to her girlcock and purposefully waits for a moment of hesitation from Elsie that never comes. She was hoping that her sister would wait for some kind of signal, like Margot’s hand pulling her forward, to indicate some kind of pace which would allow Margot to ‘punish’ her for being to slow, but the moment Elsie’s lips meet her tip again almost a third of her shaft disappears into the girl’s mouth.
The warmth is immediate and wonderful. The texture of an adventurous tongue against the base of her too-ignored cock is intense and relieving. The sound of a surprised half-gag at so small a portion of her length is familiar and sadistically inviting.
Margot lets out a happy groan and revels in the sensation wrapping around the end of her cock, but still remembers that she has a job. She puts slight pressure into Elsie’s hair and guides her into the kind of tempo she expects Elsie will struggle with, intending to selfishly speed up to the tempo that will work best to make her cum.
Elsie focuses hard on opening herself up for her sister, and struggles to keep herself under control as the taboo runs an addicting shiver of lightning up her spine whenever she remembers who exactly she’s pleasuring. She takes the cock as well as she can, despite the girth that stretches the back of her throat. She fills her mouth with saliva and gives just enough resistance to give Margot something to push against when her hand guides Elsie along the shaft. She enjoys every small or big noise that comes out her sister as she works the her throat as hard as she can manage.
Every man Elsie has pleasured this way has been unaware or inconsiderate to what she could get out of the act, which quite often turned out to be nothing, but with Margot she finds herself teased and taunted further and further onto the enormous length of her cock by the tight bundle of hair that sends sparks of pain into the pleasure centre of her brain whenever she tries to pull back. She’s eased further and further onto it with tiny, encouraging tugs, like she’s being told that no, she can take it, and she will. It’s a form of arousal she’s never experienced before, and combined with that brutal, cruel order to keep making eye contact even while she’s struggling to even breathe, Elsie finds herself wet enough to feel it crawling down the inside of her thighs.
Margot watches as, after a particularly rough half-choke that Margot tried to extend by not pulling out, her sister drops her hands from their useless position propped against Margot’s thighs to run friction against the outside of her pants. Elsie grips her cunt through the fabric, desperate for any relief, but keeps her focus on swallowing her sister’s cock and attempting eye contact.
Irises the colour of freshly spilled blood set in a face coated in overflowing spit and a deep flush of arousal stare up at a woman churning her mind through analytical study of Eloise’s every desire for the best way to drag them forward and overwhelm them. The physical pleasure is there too, fused with the expression, but being treated as a puzzle that is rapidly unravelling makes Elsie’s body clench in impatient anticipation.
She tries to shove herself forward, to suck Margot’s cock far deeper than she’s managed yet, but is jolted to a stop with an aroused whine by Margot’s hands. Her head is tilted back to let her sister’s other hand join the one threatening to pull several hairs free. She’s forced to look up at Margot. Her hole clenches around nothing as her hand continues to struggle to do anything to make herself feel good.
“Stop.” Margot’s order runs through her body like hot iron. Elsie stops, ready to follow any other task given to her. Margot smirks down at her. Her cock twitches. “Undo your belt. Slide your pants down. Panties too… Good girl. Good sister.” Elsie twitches at the title. “Now continue, while fingering yourself.”
Elsie rushes her hand to her exposed cunt as her tongue lands on the skin of her sister’s cock. Her sense of touch meets slickness, both from her previous work taking the pulsing, hard girldick into her mouth and from being so aroused by the demon in her head and the ludicrous acts she’s using it as an excuse to want. Her fingers slide in so easily, and the immediate pleasure relaxes her throat or distracts her mind enough that she slides all the way to the base of Margot’s shaft.
“Whoah! Elsie! Gods-”
Margot almost buckles as the addicting warmth of Elsie’s mouth suddenly finds itself wrapped entirely around her cock. She’s stunned my the immediacy of it, and then rams herself back into the girl’s mouth before realising the pleasure of pulling out was so intense that she whited out for most of it.
Elsie chokes around Margot’s girlcock when a gag and a breath try to happen at the same time. She clamps down around her fingers, digging in her cunt for that magic spot she knows so well but can’t quite focus on finding, and finds herself growing wetter and wetter with every thrust of Margot’s hips. Or, was it Margot’s hands pulling her head back and forth?
And all the time she struggles to keep showing Margot eyes that are twisting towards a passionate scarlet.
Another urge rushes through Elsie’s throat as this time she tries to swallow around Margot’s length. She sends a surging pressure down the near-half of Margot’s cock that’s finding itself habitually shoved into Elsie tight throat and causes a wave of pleasure that darts up Margot’s spine ending in a vast spike of pleasure as the travelling sensation reaches her tip.
Margot groans in pleasure, unable to focus enough to warn Elsie of how good that made her feel, and finds herself suddenly unable to pull out any more than an inch from Elsie’s throat. She follows an instinct, deep and needy, that has decided that she will cum in this tight, warm hole, and it will not let her pull out until she does.
She gives in. She holds Elsie in place and practically grids herself into her sister’s throat, letting the slight movement against the muscle still uncontrollably jittering from too many instincts do the remainder of the work. She listens hard, for any sign of Elsie properly losing her breath, but the pornographic choking noises that flood Margot’s ears only makes the possibility of having to pull out harder to face.
Elsie furiously crushes her fingers into her cunt. She ignores the screaming of her lungs and submerges herself into the desire coursing through every vein in her body. She feels herself thrum with it, feels the walls of her hole ache with it, and she does everything in her power to fulfil it.
She opens her throat as much as she can. She’s ready to accept Margot’s cum. Ready to taste how disgusting and degrading it will be. Ready to find it arousing.
Margot grabs the back of Elsie’s head and yanks her as far onto her cock as the poor, fiend-ridden girl can manage, and cums harder than she’s managed in years down her sister’s throat.
Her girlcock throbs as she cums, pressing out even wider against Elsie’s taut throat, and forcing a shock into the girl’s body that threatens in equal parts to become a gag or a moan.
A warmth floods Elsie’s stomach in a few bursts, making her feel sated in a minuscule way, before a gag wins out and half the girlcum is sent surging up past Margot’s cock to coat the back of Elsie’s throat, surprising her with the taste.
Its salty profile runs over her tastebuds and disguises a layer of gorgeous sweetness and a unique quality to the form that Elsie could spend months parsing and never find a more accurate name for it other than ‘Margot.’ It tastes like a gift, and a jigsaw piece that had been missing from every other attempt to enjoy oral.
Elsie feels another few pumps of girlcum fill her throat before, without any warning, the hands holding her up let go.
Elsie falls backwards in a rushed slump, her legs unable to support her until she’s much closer to the ground, which leads to a rushed, uneven, and hard swallow as she finally stops. A breath rakes past the clinging cum that refused the demands of her bobbing throat and bruised palate and fills her brain with oxygen. Something in her that hungers for more suffocates the fear of drowning in girlcum.
It also belatedly realises that she came around her own fingers somewhere in the whole process. The memories are fresh and hot, indistinguishable from emotional static, but the feeling of her slick clinging to her hand as she shakily extracts them is unmistakable. Her cunt feels callously used and suddenly empty. The hunger latches onto that feeling.
Margot barely gives her sister any time to recover before she crouches down and grabs Elsie’s jaw with all her hand’s strength and forcefully tilts Elsie’s head up to make eye contact easier. Saturated orange, like an established coal glimmering in a sandstone sconce, attempt to stare back at her but keep rolling back into the girl’s skull as aftershocks rock through her body.
Margot leaves her to struggle with the pleasure as she strips herself down to nothing and exposing dozens of protective strings of glyphs and wards tattooed over vital organs - some repeating others where the originals have been broken by old injuries or faded from clarity with time.
The occultist then turns to her still-shaking, still-spaced sister and drags the girl over to the bare mattress. She fights the subconscious motions of the lust-addled girl in order to strip her of her ruined, soaked clothing, and waits for some semblance of awareness to come back to the girl.
When there is only the gentle chill of the room and Margot’s skin contact Elsie is able to focus her mind again to find herself splayed on her back with her sister towering above her, sporting a wry grin of guilty enjoyment. The woman’s cock is resting on Elsie’s stomach, occupying itself with occasional throbs and the task of spreading a thin layer of precum against the soft patch of skin just under her belly button.
Elsie is shocked that she managed to fit it all inside her throat, but is too fascinated by the fact to question whether it’ll fit inside her cunt as well to stop her body from immediately begging for it.
Margot laughs and slides her hips back to props her tip against her sister’s entrance, enjoying the hiccupy gasp sparked in the girl by the simple contact, and begins to press herself in slowly.
Elsie feels her entrance forced open faster than she’s ever managed by Margot’s warmth, and the intensity of the stretch is eased both by her overflowing arousal and the locked-away masochistic desires that her demon has managed to set loose inside her mind.
The room is filled by the combined noise of Margot’s groan of pleasured focus and Elsie’s squeal of increasingly anticipatory apprehension. It’s a wonderful noise and a beautiful contrast in her mind as she takes more and more of her sister’s painfully large girlcock, addicted to the wait for the feeling of Margot’s hips making contact with hers, and the difficult balance of opening herself up enough to make it happen.
Margot forces herself in with a single, smooth thrust which Elsie finds every inch of painted in her mind in dazzling detail. The way Margot gently gets wider after her tip, and curls slightly towards herself along the entire length, and is so hard there isn’t a moment of give along her entire length, stuns her. Eloise feels spread open in every moment, filled in search of her breaking point, but still that point is further ahead than she predicts, so the process keeps going.
Breathing gets harder with the intensity of the feeling, and her hands find something - anything - to grip onto while it happens, so it’s a sharp-clawed and lightheaded flinch that happens when she feels the tip of Margot’s cock press fiercely against her cervix before pushing hard into it for a few more inches before Margot bottoms out inside the girl, stretching Elsie’s cunt to its limit.
A breathless scream tumbles down the mountain of intensity towards a parseable phrase as Elsie feels the muscles of her hole ache in time with her heartbeat before easing and relaxing in tiny increments around the enormous invasion of her sister’s dick.
“Oh God, oh- God-”
“Wow, you managed to- Fuck, haaaah…” Margot’s voice curls between the small space between them with a saturated bliss before being interrupted by a hoarse moan, “-to take it all… I couldn’t help myself, Elsie, sis, it’s like you were… made for me.”
Elsie feels herself clench around her sister as the taboo is invoked again, and finds herself unable to control her grinding hips afterwards. She begs, with her body and soul, to be fucked. She stares out at Margot with amber flecked with lost gold and bronze.
“God- Margot- fuck me, please! Please, sister- ffff-fuck me-eeeee!”
The relief Elsie feels as Margot pulls her hips away and releases the pressure on Elsie’s cervix is overwritten as the slick friction against the occultists’ cock replaces one storm of static with another. ‘Filled to bursting’ is replaced with the feral pleasure of sex: nerves with an open highway to the centre of her brain are flooded with comfortable wool; the vacuous retreat triggers pattern recognition for the thrust back in.
The pull out is slow, like before, but the thrust back in is fast and desperate.
Elsie gasps as Margot spreads her apart like a javelin of warmth, the passing speed sparking the wool running her nerves into a coursing river of fire, the source of which erupts like a volcano to coat her soul in fire as Margot’s cock rams into her cervix with enough force to send nebulae spinning in Elsie’s vision.
Coherency leaves her further as her sister keeps fucking her. The strength of the thrusts only gets stronger, and the pace only gets faster, so Elsie decides to not keep track and simply enjoy what’s happening to her.
Margot on the other hand is too amazed to let her attention slip.
She’s never met anyone able to take her this easily, and with so little preparation. It’s always been brave partners and ample stretching - which led to enjoyable sex, of course, but it was a struggle. She’s always wished to simply be able to enjoy her size. And then along comes her sister, forced to embody desires that have been locked away in Margot’s heart for years, taking her ludicrously easily.
She started slow, expecting some harsh resistance to stop her, but watched in amazement as her sister’s cunt swallowed every inch Margot was brave enough to give. And now she isn’t able to control herself.
She’s never had anyone take her like this: she’s going to make the most of it.
None of that is to say it’s a cakewalk to fuck Elsie. The girl is tight, fiercely hot, and clamped around Margot’s cock with intent, so pulling out or fucking back into the girl’s cunt takes all of Margot’s strength. Which is another reason she’s so amazed. But, as she speeds up and vigorously encourages the muscles to loosen, the fascination takes a back seat to pleasure.
She pulls herself down to keep her face barely an inch away from her sister’s, feeling as the pattern of her thrusts and Elsie’s breathing go in and out of sync, watching her face as the patterns course rough and desperate expressions across Elsie’s face when they’re conflicting.
Sometimes Elsie is able to look back, shining an electric gold up at Margot, but often the difficulty breathing, the moans running their course through her body, or the kissing get in the way of her maintaining that crucial eye contact. Margot doesn’t really care, there will be other ways to tell when it works, and she’s too focused on fucking Elsie to try to predict it any more. All she knows is it’s going very quickly.
The emotions painting Elsie’s face do something wild to Margot. They’re hungry, masochistic, and delirious. Margot finds them intoxicating, or addicting. She does everything she can to make more of those emotions.
The occultist, much taller and stronger than her sister, uses her body’s advantage to further trap Elsie and stop the quivering and squirming. She curls around to her sister’s neck and runs a tongue down the line of sensitive nerves placed just above the vein in Elsie’s neck, and enjoys the hitch of breath that escapes the girl as she goes.
She toys with the play of sharp teeth against her sister’s delicate skin, and groans deep as Elsie suddenly gets tighter and more active beneath her in response to the tiny, nipping bites she used to test the water.
One of the girl’s hands finds the back of Margot’s neck, a limb filled with shaky digits and distracted arousal, but she pulls on the back of her sister in a wordless beg or half-conscious gift of permission.
Margot wraps herself further around Elsie, and pulls more muscle into her mouth. The girl whines as the occultist warms her jaw - and her bravery - up, but her arousal beats them to the punch and she finds herself sinking her teeth into Elsie’s muscle.
Hot and comfortable waves of chaotic pleasure are scoured away by the sharp and distinct static of the pain in Elsie’s shoulder. Harsh breath shears through a constricting throat as the urge to scream is interrupted by the sheer weight of the pain rushing straight into her brain. It’s only when the teeth start to loosen that the sound escapes the girl’s throat. It’s a release that’s immediately followed by an orgasm.
The moment seems to last forever, but Elsie recovers from a roiling boil to an infinite simmer as soon as Margot’s teeth pull away from the heavy indents and developing bruise and replace the focus with a deep and hungry kiss.
Margot feels her tempo slow as she digs her tongue deep into Elsie’s mouth, and decides to lean into it, grounding herself in a gentler, more-loving pace as she allows the endorphins in her body run through her addled brain. But she certainly doesn’t stop - Eloise feels too good for that.
The realisation is very delayed. It’s only once the sisters break the kiss to catch up on breath and Margot pulls away far enough to focus on Elsie’s eyes that she fully works it out.
She almost pants the words, “I think I came in you…”
Elsie’s immediate reaction is to clamp around Margot’s cock again and to open both her eyes and mouth in shock, which gives Margot a very clear view as Elsie’s irises shed all their saturation in a gradient from incandescent gold to near-blinding off-white.
“W-what? You did?”
“Yeah…” Margot nods as she keeps her hips moving, letting the exertion bleed out of her body but keeping Elsie warmed up enough to keep going for as long as they need to kill the demon.
“Well,” Elsie bites her lip as she tries to tame her shifting hips, attempting to return some semblance of maintainable speed to their fucking before it inevitably goes off the rails again. She also finds it satisfying, to some newly exposed part of her heart, to see Margot’s face flush with ebbing pleasure. “At least there’s no chance-”
Eloise cuts off her sentence as she sees the embarrassed expression creeping over Margot’s face. It’s weirdly proud, as well.
“About that…” Margot shies her eyes away. If she was watching she would have seen the tone of Elsie’s eyes grow true white, but instead she stops her hips and pulls her weight ever so slightly off of Elsie.
“Tell me.” Elsie’s words are shaken by lust.
“I’m the world-leading expert in magically-enhanced hormone replacement therapy.” The words feel practised, like she’s been looking forward to an opportunity to say them for a while, but lilted in an awkward way given the situation. She says it to the wall. “Which is to say… The fusion with internal perception heavily affects what impacts are exaggerated or- diminished… And I get really, really turned on at the idea of breeding someone.”
There’s a pop beneath the layer of perception Margot used to think was the only one. It’s like a sneeze, or the clearing of a pressurised ear, or a submarine succumbing to the reality of never again returning to the surface in one very brief moment. The energy fills the room with a potent scent that sits tangential from roses, blood, and lust, waiting for one of the thresholds to be broken so the space can be aired out. But it’s clear what has happened.
Margot looks back at her sister and finds the family’s dim, black irises sitting in an expression of intense arousal and taboo desire.
Elsie is biting her lip very hard, staring down at herself and clearly thinking about the risk they just took. When she looks up at Margot, she hopes beyond hope that the question in her heart is clear and obvious to her sister, but when nothing happens for a few moments she masters her shaky voice and whispers.
“Then breed me, sis.”
Margot obliges.