Chapter 2: Silas grabs Ariana by the ponytail, forcing her face between Margot's trembling thighs while growling 'Lick her like the desperate little whore you are - I want to hear her scream.'
Silas didn’t speak. He moved to a lacquered cabinet and withdrew two long silk scarves, the color of deep blood. The fabric whispered through his fingers as he approached them. The previous frantic touching had left them damp and exposed, their breathing still uneven.
“On the bed,” he said, his voice devoid of any emotion beyond expectation.
Ariana obeyed first, her movements stiff. Margot followed, the plush mattress dipping under their weight. He directed them with silent pushes and gestures until Ariana was on her back and Margot was positioned above her, facing her feet. The 69. It was a configuration so pornographic, so deliberately demeaning, that Margot felt a fresh wave of nausea.
“Get to it,” Silas said, settling back into his chair. He hadn’t even bothered to fully undress, his open fly a testament to how little this required from him personally.
Ariana’s world narrowed to the view in front of her: the red lace of Margot’s panties, the pale skin of her inner thighs, the faint tremor in her muscles. She could smell Margot’s scent, a mix of expensive perfume and the musk of their previous forced intimacy. She closed her eyes, trying to find that detached place in her mind, the one she retreated to during grueling photo shoots or tedious interviews.
Then she felt Margot’s tongue, tentative and wet, on her own clit.
Ariana jolted, a sharp gasp tearing from her throat. It was one thing to touch, another entirely to taste. The sensation was immediate and electric, a direct line to her nerves that bypassed her mental barriers. Above her, Margot was motionless, her face buried in Ariana’s cunt, seemingly paralyzed by the act.
“I said, get to it,” Silas repeated, his voice a low threat. “Or the deal is off. Right now.”
The words were a spike of adrenaline. Margot’s body jerked into action. Her mouth opened, and her tongue began to move in earnest, a slow, flat pressure against Ariana’s most sensitive flesh.
Ariana cried out, her hands flying up to grip Margot’s hips. Her own professionalism shattered. This wasn’t performing. This was being fed upon. And her body, traitorously, was responding. A low heat coiled deep in her belly, a physical reaction she despised but could not stop.
“You too, Ariana,” Silas commanded. “Don’t just lie there. Eat her out. Show me you’re worth the million I’m depositing in each of your accounts.”
The number hung in the air, vast and obscene. Ariana’s mind flashed to the stack of bills on her kitchen counter, the frantic calls from her mother. She opened her eyes and leaned forward, pushing the red lace aside with her nose.
The sight was utterly vulnerable. Margot was pink and swollen, glistening from their earlier fumbling. Ariana hesitated for only a second before she pressed her mouth to Margot’s cunt.
The taste was salty, musky, profoundly intimate. Margot flinched violently above her, a choked sob muffled by Ariana’s flesh. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, her movements became frantic. Her tongue lashed at Ariana’s clit with a new, desperate fury, her fingers digging into Ariana’s thighs.
It was a feedback loop of shame and sensation. Ariana moaned into Margot, the vibration making Margot’s hips buck. Ariana responded in kind, her own tongue delving deeper, seeking out the source of Margot’ wetness, fucking her with a rhythm that was both practiced and desperate. She could feel Margot’s body tightening, hear the ragged, wet sounds of their mutual oral sex, a filthy symphony for their audience of one.
“That’s it,” Silas breathed, his own stroking becoming rougher, more frantic. “Look at you two. A pop princess and a movie star, tied together eating each other’s pussy like animals in heat. You’re not celebrities in here. You’re just cunts. My cunts.”
His words were a catalyst. Margot came first, a sudden, violent shudder that racked her entire body. She screamed, a raw, torn sound, her mouth locked on Ariana as waves of pleasure that felt indistinguishable from pain wrenched through her. The convulsions of her orgasm against Ariana’s mouth pushed Ariana over the edge. Her own climax crashed over her, blinding and brutal, her cries mingling with Margot’s as she ground her face into Margot’s cunt, milking every last spasm.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their harsh, ragged breathing and the steady hum of the jet.
Silas stood up. He walked to the side of the bed, looking down at them, still tied together in their intimate, degrading knot. He was fully hard, his cock jutting out from his open pants. He didn’t touch them. He just watched them come down, their bodies slick with sweat and each other’s fluids.
“Untie them,” he said to the empty air, though a moment later a discreet attendant entered from a hidden door, averting his eyes as he swiftly loosened the silk scarves.
Silas’s gaze never left them. “Clean up. We’ll be landing soon.”
He turned and left the suite, leaving them lying in the wreckage of their own bodies, the taste of each other’s humiliation thick on their tongues. The money didn’t feel like a victory. It felt like a stain. And the night was far from over.