Chapter 4: The Ass and the Altar
The red bulb was back. Madison had swapped it in on shaking legs after retrieving her camera, killing the sterile white glare. The room drowned in crimson again, a hellish bath that turned their sweat to blood and the damp sheets to a wound. The silence after Eleanor’s proclamation wasn’t silence at all. It was the hum of the filament, the ragged pull of three sets of lungs, the wet, residual sounds their bodies made when they moved.
Eleanor didn’t wait for them to process. She turned her back to Marcus, presenting herself. She knelt on the mattress, her spine straight, her ass lifted. The trickle of his earlier release still glistened on her inner thigh. In the red light, the darker, furled knot between her cheeks was a shadowed target.
“Marcus,” she said, her voice a calm, clear instrument. “Kneel up. Put your mouth on me. Eat my ass.”
Marcus blinked, his eyes glassy. The drug was a warm tide in his veins, muting horror, amplifying sensation. He saw his mother’s body not as a parent’s, but as a landscape of available flesh. He shifted, rising onto his knees behind her. His broad hands settled on the pale globes of her ass, spreading her open. The sight was obscenely clinical, and utterly lewd. He leaned in.
His tongue, broad and warm, licked a long, flat stripe from her perineum up over her tight rosette. Eleanor shuddered, a sharp intake of breath. “Again,” she breathed.
He obeyed. He licked her like an animal, his face buried between her cheeks, his nose pressed against her skin. He circled the tight muscle, his saliva making it shine in the dim red light. The sound was wet, intimate, a slurping quiet that filled Madison’s ears as she raised the camera. Through the viewfinder, she saw the pink furl begin to relax, to glisten, to open minutely under the relentless, slick pressure of his tongue.
“Deeper,” Eleanor growled, pushing her hips back against his face. “Use the tip. Get inside me.”
Marcus grunted, adjusting. He pressed the pointed tip of his tongue against the center of her asshole, applying steady pressure until it breached, sinking a half-inch into the hot, clinging tightness. Eleanor cried out, a raw, guttural sound. “Yes! Fuck, yes, just like that.” Her hips began a slow, grinding circle against his mouth, fucking herself on his tongue.
Madison’s finger pressed the shutter. Click-whir. She captured the detail of her brother’s tongue embedded in her mother’s ass, the muscles of his shoulders straining. Click-whir. Her mother’s face, twisted in a rictus of pleasure, her eyes squeezed shut. The camera was her only shield, her only remaining claim to being separate from this. But her own body betrayed her. A fresh, hot pulse of arousal soaked her, the earlier taste of them both still a ghost on her tongue.
“Madison.” Eleanor’s voice sliced through the wet sounds. She didn’t even turn her head. “Your brother’s cock is going soft in his own mouth. That won’t do. Suck him. Get him hard for me. Now.”
The command left no room for art, for theory. It was a domestic order, filthy and direct. Madison lowered the camera. It hung from its strap, bumping against her naked hip. She crawled forward on the mattress, the texture of the damp sheet like skin under her palms. She positioned herself in front of Marcus, whose face was still buried, his jaw working.
His cock lay against his thigh, semi-soft, slick with saliva and Eleanor’s fluids. The smell was overwhelming—musky, salty, deeply personal. Madison hesitated, her breath catching. She saw the faint stretch marks on his hips, a childhood scar on his knee. This was her brother. The one who’d carried her on his shoulders.
“Now, Madison,” Eleanor demanded, her voice hitching as Marcus’s tongue plunged deeper.
Madison bent her head. She took the soft, thick weight of him into her mouth. The taste was complex, layered: the clean salt of his skin, the bitter tang of his pre-come, and underneath it, the distinct, fermented-sweet flavor of their mother’s cunt. She gagged, her throat seizing, but forced herself to relax. She hollowed her cheeks and sucked.
A deep vibration of a moan came from Marcus, his hips twitching forward. As she worked him, licking along the thickening vein beneath, she felt him grow rapidly in her mouth. He hardened to an insistent, solid pressure against her tongue, the head swelling to nudge the back of her throat. She bobbed her head, using her hand to stroke the base, her own saliva mingling with the other tastes.
While she sucked him, Marcus redoubled his efforts on Eleanor. He was no longer just licking; he was fucking her ass with his tongue, in and out, his nose mashed against her perineum. Eleanor’s moans were continuous now, a low, running soundtrack. “That’s it, baby, get it nice and wet. Make it ready for your cock.”
Madison felt Marcus’s hand come down, not gently, onto the back of her head. His fingers tangled in her auburn curls, holding her in place as he thrust shallowly into her mouth. She choked, tears springing to her eyes, but he didn’t let go. He used her, his attention split between the mouth on his cock and the tight heat his tongue was probing.
He used her, his attention split between the mouth on his cock and the tight heat his tongue was probing. The dual sensations, the drug, the overwhelming wrongness of it all coiled in his gut like a sprung trap. A thick, guttural sound welled up from his chest, a warning he didn’t have the language or will to voice.
“Fuck, I’m gonna—” he managed to grunt, the words slurred and hot against Eleanor’s skin.
His hand clenched in Madison’s hair, holding her fast. His hips stuttered, then drove forward hard, burying his cock to the root in her throat. A hot, sudden pulse erupted from him, followed by another, a bitter, salty flood jetting over her tongue and down her constricted esophagus. Madison’s eyes flew wide, gagging as she was forced to swallow, the viscous warmth coating her throat in a tangible claim.
He came in raw, spurting bursts, his body rigid and trembling. But even as he emptied himself into his sister’s mouth, his face remained buried between his mother’s ass cheeks. His tongue never stopped its relentless, plunging rhythm. It was a grotesque synchronization: each pulse of his release into one woman matched the deep, fucking stroke of his tongue in the other.
Eleanor felt his mouth working through his climax and it pushed her over the edge. Her own orgasm ripped through her, a silent, seizing storm. Her back arched violently, her ass clamping down on his invading tongue, her cunt dripping onto the sheets below. A high, shattered whine escaped her, her fingers clawing at the mattress. “Oh god, yes, right there, don’t stop,” she chanted, her body milking the emptiness.
Marcus didn’t stop. Exhausted, spent, his cock softening in Madison’s bruised mouth, he kept eating her ass. His movements were slower now, lazy and spent, but deliberate. He lapped at her loosened, wet hole, sipping at the mingled flavors of sweat and saliva and her own climax. It was a possessive, post-coital cleaning. A maintenance.
Madison finally pulled back, coughing, strings of his come connecting her lips to his slick, shrinking shaft. She spat onto the sheet, her stomach churning, the taste a permanent brand on her palate. She looked at him, his face still devoted to its task, and then at her mother, collapsed and panting. The camera felt like a childish toy in her hand. This was beyond documentation. This was biology.
“He’s soft,” Madison said, her voice a raspy ruin.
Eleanor turned her head, her cheek resting on the sheet. Her eyes were black pools in the red light, satisfied and utterly ruthless. “Then fix it.” She nudged Marcus’s shoulder with her foot. “Sit up, baby. Let your sister see to you.”
Marcus slumped back onto his heels, his mouth and chin glistening. He looked dazed, hollowed out. His cock lay flaccid and wet against his thigh. The blue pill’s warmth was still there, a low ember, but his body was spent.
Madison crawled to him. The directive was clear. This wasn’t about her mouth again. She positioned herself over his lap, her knees on either side of his hips. She was so wet her own moisture dripped onto his stomach. She reached between her legs, fingers sliding through her slick folds, and grasped his soft cock. It was warm, pliant. She guided it to her entrance, the head nudging against her swollen clit.
“Look at me,” she whispered to her brother.
His glazed eyes lifted to hers. There was no recognition in them, only a blank, chemical hunger. She lowered herself slowly, taking the soft, thick tip inside her. The feeling was strange, a yielding fullness without the usual rigid pressure. She ground down in a slow circle, letting her hot, clutching wetness envelop him.
She rolled her hips, a gentle, insistent rhythm, using the muscles inside her to knead and coax. She watched his face. A flicker. A faint twitch in his jaw. Beneath her, she felt a answering throb, a slow, burgeoning stir. She leaned forward, her auburn curls brushing his chest, and took his mouth with hers. She kissed him, letting him taste himself on her tongue.
“Come on,” she breathed against his lips, her cunt working him. “You’re not done.”
His hands came up to grip her hips, his fingers digging in. A low groan vibrated in his throat. Inside her, he began to change, to swell and harden, the blood returning with a vengeful rush. He filled out, stretching her anew, becoming a solid, familiar intrusion. He was fully, painfully hard again in seconds, throbbing against her deepest walls.
Eleanor watched from her side, a faint, approving smile on her lips. “Good girl,” she murmured.