Chapter 7: Zara mounts Nabil's face while Almas grinds her dripping pussy against his chest, both sisters laughing as they debate whose juices he swallows more eagerly - until Zara suddenly jerks his head sideways, smearing his face between Almas's thighs with a cruel twist of her wrist.
The wet, sucking sounds Nabil made on Almas’s pointed heel were the only counterpoint to Zara’s muffled groans as she devoured her sister’s pussy. Firelight danced over the scene: Zara’s dark head buried between Almas’s spread thighs, Almas arching back against the bed’s edge, her stockinged leg extended, heel jammed possessively into Nabil’s mouth. He sucked desperately, his eyes wide and fixed on the obscene union happening inches away. Almas’s moans escalated, sharp and guttural.
“Fuck, Zara! Just like that! Right there, you greedy slut!” Almas gasped, her fingers tightening like claws in her sister’s hair, pushing her face deeper. Zara responded with a muffled, hungry sound, her shoulders working as her tongue plunged and swirled. Almas’s hips bucked off the mattress. “Oh god! Oh fuck YES!” Her cry peaked, raw and unrestrained, her body shuddering as climax tore through her. She ground herself hard against Zara’s relentless mouth, the wet, slapping sounds echoing in the opulent room. Nabil flinched as Almas’s leg jerked, the heel digging painfully into his palate. He kept sucking, tears pricking his eyes again, his own arousal a humiliating throb against the silk bonds.
Slowly, Zara pulled back. Her face was a glistening mask of Almas’s slick arousal, strands of dark hair plastered to her cheeks. She looked up at her sister, panting, her own eyes dark with primal satisfaction. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then deliberately licked her fingers clean, her gaze locking onto Almas’s.
Almas slumped slightly, breathing hard, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips as she looked down at Zara. “God, you still devour pussy like a starved wolf,” she purred, reaching down to stroke Zara’s damp hair. Her eyes, heavy-lidded, slid towards Nabil, still diligently sucking her shoe. “Unlike this pathetic worm.” She withdrew her foot from his mouth with a sharp pop. He gasped, a thin trail of saliva connecting his swollen lips to the polished leather. “Look at him,” Almas sneered, gesturing dismissively at Nabil’s bound, trembling form. “Covered in his own useless spunk, still tied up after an hour, reduced to sucking my shoe like a fucking infant. Pathetic.”
Zara stood up, her movements fluid and powerful. She looked down at Nabil, her expression unreadable – fury, contempt, and a chilling detachment warring beneath the surface. The scent of Almas’s climax clung to her. “He always was weak,” she stated flatly. “But tonight… tonight he hit a new low. Begging for that?” She gestured vaguely towards his sticky stomach. “While I was getting properly fucked.” A cruel light sparked in her eyes. “He wanted us both. Remember, Almas? He signaled for it. Like a starving dog begging for scraps.”
Almas stretched languidly, pushing herself off the bed’s edge. She walked around to stand beside Zara, both women looming over Nabil like dark goddesses of retribution. “He did,” Almas agreed, her voice dangerously sweet. “So greedy. So desperate.” She tapped a sharp fingernail against Nabil’s forehead. “But he doesn’t get to choose how he serves us, does he? Not after that pitiful performance.” She looked at Zara, a challenge in her gaze. “His mouth seems to be the only thing that still works. Barely. Shall we see if he can manage something useful with it?”
Zara’s lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. “An excellent idea.” She reached down, her fingers tangling roughly in Nabil’s hair, yanking his head up. “Listen carefully, you worthless piece of shit. You wanted attention from both of us? Fine. You’re going to get it.” She released him with a shove that made his head thump against the headboard. “But we choose the order. We choose how. And you will beg for it.”
Almas sauntered to the other side of the bed, her eyes gleaming with malicious delight. “Strip, Zara. Let’s get comfortable while we watch him squirm.” She began unbuttoning her tailored blouse with deliberate slowness, her gaze fixed on Nabil’s terrified face.
Zara didn’t hesitate. She peeled off her silk robe, letting it fall, standing naked and formidable beside the bed. Firelight traced the hard lines of her body, the dampness still glistening between her legs a stark reminder of her earlier encounter and her recent feast. “Who first, Almas?” Zara asked, her voice low and dangerous.
Almas paused, her blouse hanging open, revealing a lacy black bra. She tilted her head, pretending to consider. “Hmm. Tough choice. He’s tasted my shoe. He’s tasted Raj’s spunk off your ass.” She let her blouse slide off her shoulders. “Maybe he should start with the source of that pathetic dribble he calls an orgasm.” Her fingers hooked into the waistband of her skirt, shimmying it down her hips. “Clean yourself off his chest, Zara. With his face. He can start by licking you clean. Show him what a real woman expects after she’s been fucked properly.” She stepped out of her skirt, clad only in bra, stockings, and heels, radiating predatory grace. “Then I’ll have a turn. See if his tongue can actually satisfy someone.”
Zara nodded, her eyes narrowing. She climbed onto the bed, swinging one leg over Nabil’s torso, straddling his chest just below his sticky mess. She lowered herself, not onto his face, but onto his upper chest, her wet, warm pussy pressing against his skin just below his collarbone. She ground down slowly, deliberately smearing her slickness and the lingering traces of Almas’s taste over the drying streaks of his own semen. The mingled scents – Zara, Almas, Raj, his own come – assaulted his senses. “Get to work, cuck,” she commanded, her voice like ice. “Lick me clean. Every drop. Do it properly, or Almas will use that toy on you again until you scream.”
Nabil whimpered, straining his neck upwards. His tongue darted out, tentative and trembling, licking at Zara’s inner thigh, too low, too far away. “Higher, you fucking idiot!” Zara snapped, grinding her hips harder, pressing her swollen lips directly against the messy confluence on his chest. “Taste it! Taste all of it! Clean your wife!”
He obeyed, desperation overriding shame. He stretched his neck, his tongue rasping over the damp skin of her mound, gathering the salty-sweet tang of her arousal mixed with the muskier residue of Almas’s climax and the faint bitterness he now associated with Raj. He licked upwards, his tongue tracing the slick folds of her pussy, tasting her deeply for the first time since her return, the flavor complex and overwhelming. He focused on the swollen bud of her clit, swirling his tongue around it with a frantic, pleading intensity, trying to please, trying to survive.
“Pathetic,” Zara breathed, though her hips made a small, involuntary circle against his mouth. “Soft. Tentative. Like a fucking puppy. Raj didn’t lick. He devoured. Made me scream just with his tongue in the back of a moving cab.” She looked over at Almas, who had discarded her bra and stood watching, slowly stroking her own breasts, her expression one of cool amusement. “Remember Carlos? That Spanish architect in Barcelona?” Zara continued, her voice thick. “His tongue could flick so fast… like a snake. Had me coming in seconds on that balcony. This?” She pressed down harder on Nabil’s face, forcing his nose into her flesh. “This is like being licked by a dying slug.”
Almas laughed, low and cruel. She stepped onto the bed, crawling towards them on her hands and knees, her movements sinuous. “Diego,” she purred, her voice dripping with dark nostalgia. She positioned herself near Nabil’s head, her own wet pussy hovering inches from his other cheek. “He could speak fluent Italian and make a woman come with just his tongue asking for directions. Used it like a fucking scalpel.” She reached down, gripping Nabil’s hair and twisting his face slightly away from Zara. “Enough of this weak shit. My turn.” Her eyes locked with Zara’s. “Hold his head still.”
Zara complied, shifting her weight to pin Nabil’s shoulders with her knees. Her hand clamped onto his forehead, forcing his head back and immobilizing it. Almas lowered herself onto his face, guiding her cunt directly over his mouth. She didn’t hesitate, grinding down hard, the swollen lips of her pussy mashing against his lips, his nose. The scent of her arousal, distinct from Zara’s – muskier, earthier – filled his nostrils. “Open wide, little cuck,” Almas commanded, her voice tight with anticipation. “Show me what that useless tongue can do. And don’t you dare fucking disappoint me.”
Nabil opened his mouth, his tongue instinctively seeking the source of her heat. He licked at her entrance, trying to mimic the fervor he’d just heard described. Almas sighed, a sound of exaggerated disappointment. “Is that it?” She rocked her hips, dragging her slick folds over his mouth, coating his chin. “Diego wouldn’t have just lapped at the door. He’d have kicked it down.” She reached back, fingers sliding between her own legs, finding her clit. She pressed it down against his upper lip. “Here. Focus here. Flick it. Fast. Like you mean it. Like your worthless life depends on it, because right now, it fucking does.”
He obeyed, his tongue darting rapidly over the stiff little nub. Almas gasped, a genuine sound this time. “Faster, worm! Harder! Don’t just tickle it, fuck it with your tongue!” He redoubled his efforts, his jaw aching, his tongue moving in frantic, focused circles and flicks, trying to replicate the skill of the mythical Diego. Almas moaned, her hips beginning a slow, deliberate grind against his face, using his mouth, shaping it to her pleasure. “That’s… better,” she panted, her fingers tightening in his hair. “Not Diego… but… adequate for a worm.”
Zara watched, a strange mix of contempt and arousal tightening her features. She shifted her knees, grinding her own wetness against Nabil’s chest. “He’s trying so hard,” she mocked, her voice thick. “Trying to be Diego. Trying to be Carlos.” She leaned forward, bracing her hands on Almas’s thighs, her face inches from her sister’s. “He’ll never be them, will he, Almas?” Her eyes flickered down to Nabil’s trapped, working mouth. “He’s just… Nabil. Weak. Submissive. A cuckold with a useless tongue and a pathetic cock.”
Almas met her sister’s gaze. A silent understanding passed between them, forged in shared cruelty and a lifetime of unspoken competition. “He is,” Almas breathed, grinding harder on Nabil’s face, forcing his nose deeper. “But he’s our cuckold. Our toy.” She moved her hand from her clit, reaching down to grip Zara’s chin. “Who’s better, Zara?” she challenged, her voice low and husky. “Your Raj? Or my Diego?”
Zara didn’t answer with words. With a low growl that vibrated in her chest, she surged forward, capturing Almas’s mouth in a fierce, open-mouthed kiss. Their tongues clashed, hungry and demanding, a raw display of shared power and burgeoning desire that completely ignored the man pinned beneath them. Nabil could only watch through watering eyes, his tongue still mechanically flicking Almas’s clit as his wife and her sister consumed each other’s mouths above him, moaning into the kiss, their bodies swaying together. The wet sounds of their kiss mingled with the slick sounds of his tongue on Almas and the low crackle of the fire. The world narrowed to the suffocating weight of Almas on his face, the taste of her pussy salty on his lips, the sight of the two dominant women lost in their own dark passion, and the crushing knowledge that he was merely an object, a tool for their pleasure and contempt. His own arousal surged again, hot and humiliating, trapped beneath Zara’s grinding hips. The sisters broke the kiss, breathing raggedly, their foreheads resting together.
“Who’s next?” Almas whispered, her eyes dark pools reflecting the firelight and her own cruel amusement as she looked down at the man whose mouth she was riding. “Or should we just leave him tied up like this while we find the strap-on?”