Chapter 1: The Devil's Bargain
Thunder cracked outside, shaking the old windowpanes and making the candle flames shiver in the dark room. Persephone swirled the blood-dark wine in her glass, her eyes reflecting the erratic light.
“My ass needs fucking,” she said, her voice flat and matter-of-fact over the symphonic din of the storm.
Demi choked on her Cabernet, a fine spray of it misting the velvet couch as she sputtered. “Jesus, Seph, a little warning?” she gasped, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her elaborate silver rings catching the candlelight.
Seph just took a slow sip from her own glass, her kohl-rimmed eyes watching her younger sister over the rim, a smirk playing on her lips. The flickering light traced the sharp angle of her cheekbone and glinted off the small silver hoop in her nose.
“Warning for what? A little entertainment finally?” Seph shrugged, taking a slow sip. “Being stuck in this velvet tomb for two days has me restless, horny and agonizingly aware that I have a virgin butthole.”
Demi wiped her chin with the back of her hand, a smirk playing on her painted lips. “I’ve seen your drawer. You could go wage a private war in your room right now and solve the problem.”
“It’s not a DIY kind of thing, Dem. I need a real dick in my butt.” She leaned forward, her pale, creamy skin glowed in the candlelight, the choppy black layers of her hair framing a face dotted with silver rings as she looked intently at her younger sister. “Have you? You know. Taken the scenic route?”
“Anal?” Demi asked, her tone casually incredulous but not at all shocked; after twenty-one years as Seph’s sister, her brand of blunt outrageousness was as familiar as the smell of their shared incense. She took another sip of wine, the storm outside mirroring the sudden shift in the room’s energy. "No, still virgin territory for me."
Demi set her glass down with a soft clink, her large, expressive eyes widening in the flickering light. Her skin, pale and creamy like her sister's, flushed a soft rose as she tucked a long, wavy lock of dark blue and purple hair behind a delicate ear, her heavily lined gaze darting away from Seph’s challenging smirk.
A slow, knowing smile spread across Seph’s face. “Two backdoor virgins, one stormy night, and a serious shortage of eligible dicks,” she mused, tracing the rim of her glass. “It’s a tragedy worthy of one of my poems.”
“You're looking at like I just agreed to something,” Demi alughed, her full, painted lips curling into a soft, speculative smile.
“I’m just acknowledging a shared deficiency,” Seph said, her smirk widening. She stretched, the movement pulling her tight black top even tighter across her full chest and emphasizing the generous curve of her waist. She always favored tight-fitting, dark clothing that accentuated her thickness rather than hiding it.
“So, what else are we going to do tonight? Watch the paint peel from these godforsaken walls?” Seph dramatically threw back her head and laid back on the couch, her arms spread wide. “I’d rather summon a demon to rail us both.”
Demi smiled and shook her head, her long, dark blue and purple hair swaying. “Oh my god, you are so obnoxious,” she said, her voice a mix of fondness and exasperation. She sipped her wine again as she looked at her sister still sprawled on the couch in mock misery. "You even said there's a shortage of eligible dicks, remember?
Demi smiled and raised her eyebrows in emphasis, her dark-lined eyes glinting with challenge over the rim of her wine glass. "So, genius, keep in mind this is still deeply hypothetical, where exactly are we sourcing this miraculous, storm-ready dick?"
“What about Taylor?” Seph asked, gesturing vaguely with her wine glass. “He’s always lurking around the back of the coffee shop smelling like patchouli and poor decisions.”
“Taylor?” Demi recoiled, her silver rings flashing as she waved the idea away. “No. Absolutely not. He’s always lurking around the back of the coffee shop smelling like armpit and poor decisions.”
“I don’t care if he has the nicest dick in three counties,” Demi continued, shuddering. “Well, maybe that would change my mind. But no. It’s a hard no on Taylor. Please!”
“Fine, fine,” Seph laughed, topping off both their glasses. The storm rattled the roof. “You shoot mine down, you have to volley one back. Who’s on your 'deeply hypothetical' list?” Seph made air quotes with her fingers.
Demi tapped a painted nail against her lips, thinking. “Eric? From the record store?” she ventured. “You hooked up with him before.”
A snort of wine-tinged laughter burst from Seph. “Eric? Oh, honey, no.” She wiped her mouth, her eyes crinkling with genuine amusement. “He has a micro-dick. We’d both still be anal virgins at the end of the night with him, that thing just doesn't have the range”
They both dissolved into laughter, the tension of the storm momentarily broken by the shared, crude joke. They drank more wine, the warm, spicy liquid pooling in their bellies, making the dark room feel softer, the possibilities feel wider.
Seph grew quiet, her laughter fading into a thoughtful silence. She swirled her wine, watching the legs drip down the inside of the glass. A slow, mischievous glint lit her dark eyes as she finally looked up, not at Demi, but past her, toward the rain-lashed window.
Demi noticed her sister’s distant gaze and jokingly followed it toward the rain-streaked glass. “You found a dick over there?” she asked, her voice laced with playful sarcasm. “Is it hovering in the storm, waiting for a summons?”
“Better,” Seph said, turning back with a predator’s smile. “Now, hear me out on this one, but what about Dr. Finch?”
The name hung in the incense-thick air. Demi’s playful smirk faltered, replaced by genuine surprise. “Ancient History Professor Finch? The one whose wife died last year?” She pictured the rumpled, gentle man who teaches at the local university, his eyes perpetually sad behind wire-rimmed glasses.
“The very same,” Seph leaned forward biting her lower lip and raising her eyebrows rapidly. “Think about it. The man is buried in grief and dusty books.” Her voice gaining in excitement for her own idea. “A lonely, sad, brainy dude? Call me fucked up, but that's hot!"
Demi stared, her wine glass forgotten. “Seph... you are fucked up." She said, but unable to hide the humor in the idea. "The poor dude is probably still grieving and he's like… 50.”
“Fifty is not ancient, it’s distinguished,” Seph countered and leaned in. "Plus, you and I both know we have some major daddy issues."
Demi’s mouth fell open, a shocked laugh escaping her. “Okay, that is violently true, but we are not solving them by corrupting a poor widower!”
“Corrupting?” Seph arched a perfectly drawn eyebrow. “We’d be humanitarian aid workers, Dem.
“We’d be humanitarian aid workers, Dem.” Seph’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial purr, leaning in so close Demi could smell the wine on her breath and her bergamot perfume. “Think about it. The man’s been a grieving hermit for a year, buried in books and silence.” She gestured widely with her glass. “He’s probably so lonely he talks to his houseplants.”
Demi shook her head, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “You’re diabolical.”
“I’m a realist,” Seph countered, her eyes gleaming. “A whole year. Can you even fathom the pent-up urges? The sheer biological backlog?” She let out a low whistle, leaning back against the velvet. “I can only imagine how much cum he has stockpiled. Poor guy is probably in pain.” A crack of thunder emphasized her point. "And would you really rather just stay here all night when you can be getting gapped for the very first time?"
Demi took a long, slow gulp of wine, her dark-lined eyes locked on her sister’s triumphant expression as the absurdity of the proposition warred with the thrilling, wine-fueled ache in her own body. The candlelight danced in the void of her glass as she set it down with a definitive clink. “You’re a terrible person,” Demi sighed, the fight bleeding out of her voice, replaced by a low, curious edge.
“I’m a terrible person with a point,” Seph countered, watching the idea take root in her sister’s wide, kohl-rimmed eyes.
Demi bit her lip, a traitorous smile finally breaking through as she swirled the last of her wine. “Well, I do happen to have a thing for older, sad, smart guys. Plus, I do want to try anal." The admission hung in the candlelit air, the not so secret secret finally given shape.
Seph, smelling victory, grinned blindingly.
“I’m choosing to take that as a ‘fuck yes, let’s ruin Professor Finch,” her voice raised in excitement.
“Hold on,” Demi said, holding up a hand. Her expression shifted from playful speculation to sudden, sobering doubt. “Just hang on there, you’re assuming that he would even want this.” She shook her head, the blue-purple strands of her hair catching the light. “How would he even respond to two girls half his age offering their buttholes to him? We’d give the poor man a heart attack, or he’d call the cops.”
Seph rolled her eyes, a fluid, dramatic motion. “We’re not going to ring his doorbell and drop our fishnets, Demeter. We’re going to be subtle.”
“You don’t know the meaning of the word,” Demi deadpanned.
“We’ll get dressed in something… persuasive,” Seph continued, ignoring her. She gestured toward the howling storm outside. “Then we go over there and ask to ‘borrow’ some batteries for the blackout.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “He’ll open the door and see two poor, shivering wet kittens on his doorstep. He’s a gentleman, a sad, lonely gentleman. Of course he'll invite us in!" She sat back, looking immensely pleased with herself. “The rest will… just happen.”
She sat back, looking immensely pleased with herself. “The rest will… just happen.”
Demi stared at the swirling depths of her wine glass, then slowly brought her hands up to cover her face, her silver rings cold against her skin. A burst of laughter, equal parts horror and delight, escaped through her fingers. “Oh my god,” she mumbled, her voice muffled. She dropped her hands, her dark-lined eyes wide with mock despair. “I cannot believe I’m actually agreeing to get my ass fucked by an old widower... with my sister.!
“Yay!” Seph yelled, clapping her hands together once, a sharp, triumphant sound in the candlelit room. She squirmed on the velvet couch, a devilish grin spreading across her features. “I’m getting wet already just thinking about it.”
“Wait,” Demi said, holding up a finger, her expression shifting to practical concern. “A logistical question, you horny creature.” She leaned forward, the candlelight catching the worry in her eyes. “Do you even think the man will have the stamina to break in two buttholes in one night? I mean, we've both got some serious junk in the trunk, that's going to a lot of butt for one fifty-year-old academic.”
Seph’s grin didn’t falter. “Demi, sweet, naïve Demi,” she purred, finishing her wine. “Grief is a powerful aphrodisiac. He’s a powder keg.” She stood up, her silhouette tall, thick and commanding against the flickering shadows. "Besides, I'm sure he has some Viagra lying around if worse comes to worse."
Demi laughed a little at Seph's joke, and while still smiling she said, “I have one last question.” She took a steadying breath, the playful glint in her eye softening with genuine curiosity. “Are we really okay with getting fucked in front of each other?”
Seph didn’t hesitate. “We shared a womb, Dem. We’ve seen each other puke, piss, and cry over every bad breakup since puberty.” She shrugged a shoulder, the black fabric of her top straining. “Watching you take a dick in the ass is just the next logical step in our shared journey. Besides, I promise not to judge your O-face.” Her smirk was sly, but gentle, almost protective. “But are you okay with it?”
Demi snorted, a soft, wet sound. "Okay, fine. I mean, we already know what the other one sounds like jerking off through the wall, so I guess watching you get railed isn't that much weirder." She smiled and widened her eyes in mock glee "But... I will definitely judge your O-face."
Seph laughed, a low, throaty sound that vibrated in the candlelit air. "Now let's get changed into something that screams vulnerable fuck dolls with hungry buttholes," she said, her voice dripping with mischief. She pushed herself up from the velvet couch, her lush, sensual frame jiggling enticingly as she rose, black fabric straining over her generous hips and full breasts. Extending a pale hand dotted with silver rings, she wiggled her fingers at Demi.
Demi giggled, the sound bright and nervous against the storm's growl. "You're terrible," she murmured, but her eyes sparkled with anticipation as she took Seph's hand. Seph pulled her up, and with a shared, giddy laugh, she led Demi by the hand down their dark, narrow hallway to get changed.