Andrea/Victoria. R. ~150 words. Incest.
Her mouth tastes of smoke and wine.

Her stained lips part eagerly, and her mouth tastes of smoke and wine. Spoiled luxury on the tip of his tongue. He bares pale skin to his kisses, she feeds him breathless moans. As perfect and practiced as a high-priced whore, she moves for him, spread without shame with her beautiful dress hiked up to her hips.

His fingers dig into her thigh, and she moans the name she thinks is his. Protest or praise, it hardly matters. She hardly matters. She’s used, dirty and desperate. This is what she means to him.

Her back arches, breath catching on a gasp as she shudders tight around him. He closes his eyes and shoves into wet heat, imagines another voice pleading with him, another body writhing under him. A different kind of softness, the warmth of silk and velvet instead of overripe, greedily grasping flesh.

He imagines fucking his bride, with the reek of their mother’s twisted pleasure still clinging to his skin.


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