Chapter 2: Brandi
The apartment hit Dom like a warm, scented wall. It was aggressively pink. Pink shag carpet that swallowed his shoes, pink satin draped over lampshades casting a rosy glow, pale pink wallpaper with a faint sheen. The air was thick with the cloying sweetness of candy-floss perfume and something underneath, musky and animal. A fan whirred in the corner, fighting a losing battle against the stifling heat.
He had a half-second to take it in—the plush white sofa, the glittery throw pillows, the shelf lined with glossy magazines and cheap trophies—before movement caught his eye.
She came from the hallway like a sprung trap.
Brandi was in fact identical to Sonic, all tits on a stick barely contained by a wisp of sheer black lingerie. Her hair was the same platinum, but longer, straighter, a sheet of ice. Her lips, huge, fake, and juciy. Her eyes, a shocking blue, locked onto Sonic with an intensity that felt physical.
“You came back,” Brandi breathed, her voice a low, hungry rasp. She didn’t even glance at Dom.
She crossed the space in two strides, her hands—long-fingered, nails sharp and painted black—clamping onto Sonic’s shoulders. She pushed her back against the doorframe, caging her.
“You came back so quick for me,” Brandi murmured, her face inches from Sonic’s. Then she was on her.
It wasn’t a kiss. It was a consumption. Brandi’s mouth crashed into Sonic’s, but her tongue was out first, a wet, demanding swipe across her sister’s lips. Sonic made a small, choked sound, her body going rigid for a heartbeat before melting into the frame of the door.
Brandi pulled back just enough to speak, her lips slick and connected to Sonic’s by a thin strand of saliva. “Fuck, your mouth is always so perfect,” she growled, the words hot and filthy against Sonic’s skin. “So fat and wet, just like a used cunt.” She dove back in, her tongue plunging deep, a wet, obscene noise filling the hot silence of the room.
Dom stood frozen, his own mouth agape. The coil of pleasure from the car was gone, replaced by a confused burning arousal. Sonic’s hands, which had hung limp at her sides, finally came up. They didn’t push Brandi away. They clutched at Brandi’s bare waist, fingers digging into the pale skin, a silent surrender that made Dom’s stomach twist. Brandi broke the deep kiss with a wet pop, her breathing ragged. She admired her sister’s glistening mouth, her own slick with saliva and gloss.
“Look at this fucking mess. Such a perfect pair of lips,” Brandi whispered, her voice husky with approval. She didn’t use her hands. She leaned in again, her tongue emerging slowly this time. It was a deliberate, obscene performance. Brandi languidly licks Sonics lips, up and down, side to side, like they’re covered in sugar or something. She traced the swollen outline with a torturous slowness, cleaning the wetness she’d left behind, her blue eyes locked on Sonic’s glazed expression.
Sonic shuddered, a low whine escaping her. Her hips gave a tiny, involuntary thrust against the air. “Brandi,” she breathed, the word barely audible.
“Tastes like him,” Brandi murmured against her mouth, finally flicking her eyes toward Dom for a fractured second. A smirk played on her ruined lips. “Tastes a little salty, and a lot sweet,” She turned back, diving in to suck Sonic’s lower lip between her teeth, biting just shy of pain. “Let me clean you up.”
Dom’s own arousal was a hard, shameful knot in his gut, tangled with a rising sense of violation. This was the fantasy, wasn’t it? Two flawless, desperate women, twins no less. But was this normal, could he accept this?—the tears in the car, this cloying heat, the way Sonic’s eyes were screwed shut like she was used to this. Brandi’s hand slid down from Sonic’s shoulder, over the curve of her breast, and hooked under the hem of her tiny top. She used it as a grip as she pulled Sonic closer.
"Stick your lips out in the sexy pouting pose you do. Let me see how big they look." Brandi said as she licked Sonic's cheeks, waiting.
Sonic’s breath hitched, a shallow, ragged sound in the perfumed heat. Her eyes, still glassy from the tears in the car, fluttered open to slits. She looked past Brandi’s shoulder, her gaze landing on Dom for a fractured, unreadable moment before going vacant. Then, with a slow, practiced exhalation, she relaxed her jaw and pushed her lips forward.
They formed a perfect, exaggerated pout, glistening and swollen from Brandi’s assault. It was the same expression from a thousand filtered photos, the signature look she used to help Dom jerk off, but here, now, it was a surrender.
“Good girl,” Brandi cooed, her voice dropping to a throaty purr.
She didn’t kiss her. She licked. It was a long, flat, deliberate stroke from the divot of Sonic’s chin all the way to the tip of her nose, a slow-motion cleansing that savored the salt and gloss. Brandi’s tongue was wide and wet, leaving a cool, slick trail in the stifling air. She followed the exaggerated contour of Sonic’s upper lip, tracing the inflated curve with agonizing precision, then sucked the lower lip into her own mouth, humming with approval.
Dom felt his own dick twitch, trapped in his jeans, a traitorous response to the raw spectacle. His mind screamed wrong, wrong, wrong, but his body, steeped in a lifetime of cheap fantasies, thrummed with a vicious heat. This was the difficult thing. This crushing, silent compliance. Sonic’s hands now hung loose again, her submission complete.
Brandi was taking her time with her sister's lips. There was no mistaking this for a show. Brandi was desperate for her sister's face. Her fingers, tipped with those sharp black nails, framed Sonic’s jaw, holding her still as if she were a precious, volatile thing. Her tongue, pale and wet, moved with a slow, worshipful intensity that felt surgical in its focus.
“Always so fucking perfect,” Brandi muttered against the corner of Sonic’s mouth, her words a hot, damp slurry. “Like two pieces of warm silicone just begging to be ruined.” She licked a long, slow stripe from Sonic’s chin to her philtrum, her blue eyes glazed with a singular hunger. “Tastes like normal gloss. Definitely Dom's favorite kind, no flavor this time.”
Sonic’s only response was a shallow, trembling inhalation. Her pouted lips, slick and shining, remained offered, a still-life of debasement. Dom could see the rapid flutter of her pulse in her throat. Brandi sealed her mouth over Sonic’s again, but this time the kiss was deep and languid, a grotesque mimicry of tenderness, all wet, sliding friction and low, greedy sounds. He glanced around the room and saw every flat surface filled with numerous flavored lip glosses, body butters, and oils. He realized Sonic must get used this way quite often... and even more so.
Dom’s own breath felt trapped, the perfumed air too thick to pull into his lungs. He should say something, do something. But his feet were rooted to the pink shag, and a treacherous, heated pressure was building behind his zipper, fueled by the sheer visual carnality of it. This was the raw, unfiltered version of every dirty thought he’d ever had, and it was fucking terrifying.
Brandi finally broke the kiss, leaving Sonic panting and smeared. Her blue eyes, sharp and calculating, slid over to Dom. A smirk twisted her wet lips. “You just gonna stand there and watch, or you gonna join?” she asked, her voice casual, as if offering him a beer.
Dom opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His brain was a feedback loop of static and heat.
Brandi shrugged, a fluid movement of her bare shoulders. She released Sonic, who slumped against the doorframe, and took two steps toward a cluttered side table littered with makeup. Tubes and pots glittered under the lamplight. She selected one, a fat cylinder with a tacky pink heart on the cap, and tossed it casually toward her sister.
Sonic caught it against her chest, her movements sluggish, obedient.
“Put it on,” Brandi commanded, her back already to Sonic as she returned. “The strawberry one. I’m in the mood for something sweet.”
Her focus was entirely on Sonic’s torso now. As Sonic fumbled with the cap, her fingers trembling, Brandi moved in close. She didn’t wait. She lowered her head to Sonic’s exposed cleavage, the swell of her breasts spilling from the black lace top.
Brandi’s tongue, broad and pale, darted out. She licked a slow, vertical stripe up the center of Sonic’s chest, from the dip between her breasts to the base of her throat. Sonic gasped, the sound shuddering through her. A soft, wet shlick echoed in the hot room.
Dom watched, paralyzed, as Sonic finally twisted the gloss open. She brought the wand to her mouth with a mechanical, practiced grace. She coated her already-glistening lips in a fresh, glossy layer, the synthetic strawberry scent cutting briefly through the musk.
While Sonic did this, Brandi worked. She mouthed at the lace edge of the top, her teeth tugging it down further. She sealed her lips over one nipple, the fabric straining, and sucked hard. A dark, wet circle bloomed on the black lace. Sonic’s hand, the one holding the gloss wand, froze in mid-air. A low moan vibrated in her throat.
“Fuck, yeah,” Brandi muttered, her voice muffled by flesh and fabric. She pulled back, leaving the nipple taut and visible through the soaked lace. “Now the other one. Get it nice and wet for me.”
She switched her attention, her hands coming up to roughly knead Sonic’s breasts, pushing them together. She buried her face in the deep valley, licking and kissing the flushed skin, biting the soft inner curves. Each mark she left was a violent, possessive pink. Sonic’s breathing was a ragged pant now, the gloss wand trembling so badly she smeared a pink streak on her chin.
“Taste,” Brandi ordered, pulling back suddenly.
She gripped Sonic’s jaw again, not gently, and forced her head down. Sonic, her eyes glazed, understood. She leaned forward, offering her freshly glossed, strawberry-smeared lips.
Brandi took them in a kiss that was all tongue and teeth, a messy, devouring exploration. The wet, slick sounds were obscenely loud. She groaned, a deep, greedy sound of satisfaction. “Mmm. Better. Now you taste like candy and come.”
Now you taste like candy and come.”
Brandi said it like a verdict, her voice thick. She didn’t pull away. She kept her mouth sealed over Sonic’s, but her tongue changed its work. It became broad, flat, and methodical, a slow, scraping cleanse that moved from the seam of Sonic’s lips out to the corners. Dom could hear the soft, sticky sound of silicone and saliva mixing.
She was harvesting the gloss. Every synthetic trace of strawberry was gathered by Brandi’s relentless tongue, licked with a thorough, possessive greed until Sonic’s lips, though swollen, looked oddly bare, stripped of their shine. Brandi finally broke contact with a wet, final smack, her own lips glistening with the stolen flavor.
“All mine,” Brandi murmured, swallowing. She turned her head, finally giving Dom her full attention. Her blue eyes were dark, pupils blown. “Isn't she so fucking good? Just the best pair of lips in the game. Fuck, and her face!”
Dom’s face burned. He hadn’t moved. The confusion was a solid block in his throat, but lower, his body throbbed in agreement with the scene. “I don’t… what is this?” he managed, the question sounding pathetic even to him.
“This is the fucking welcome wagon,” Brandi joke, but her hands were already back on Sonic, holding her jaw again as her tongue emerged once again, licking a long stripe from jaw to forehead.
Brandi’s tongue was a broad, wet paintbrush dragging slowly up Sonic’s forehead, smoothing away the tension held there. It left a cool, slick trail through the foundation and highlighter. She moved with a perverse reverence, her eyes half-lidded, utterly absorbed in the task.
“This skin,” she mumbled against Sonic’s temple, her lips moving to the delicate arch of an eyebrow. She licked along it, gathering glittery shadow. “Fucking porcelain.” Sonic stood motionless, a mannequin offered for adoration, her breath shallow. Her gaze was fixed on some distant point on the pink ceiling, her earlier tears now just another ingredient in this ritual.
Dom’s own throat constricted. He watched Brandi’s tongue dip into the hollow of Sonic’s eye socket, a gesture so intimate it felt surgical. She cleaned a smudge of mascara, her movements tender and thorough. The wet sound was soft, private. This wasn’t the frantic kissing from before. This was slower, more claiming. Brandi was tasting her sister’s face, consuming the very composition of her beauty.
She moved down the bridge of Sonic’s nose, a long, lingering lick that wrinkled the skin. She nuzzled her cheek, inhaling deeply before her tongue swiped over the apple of it, removing the blush she’d pinched back into place in the car. “All mine to ruin,” Brandi whispered, hot breath fogging the damp skin. “All mine to put back together.”
Her mouth traveled to Sonic’s other cheek, lapping at the salt-dried path where a tear had carved a line. She suckled the spot, her eyes closing in apparent bliss. “Even your fucking tears taste expensive.” Sonic’s lower lip began to tremble again, but she didn’t pull away. A single, fresh tear welled and spilled over, and Brandi caught it instantly with the tip of her tongue, then rapidly dragged up to Sonic's eye. She started sucking on the corner. "Keep crying, Sonic, fuck, please keep crying my beautiful perfect girl, that tastes so good!"
“Keep crying, Sonic, fuck, please keep crying my beautiful perfect girl, that tastes so good!”
Brandi’s plea was a hungry murmur against Sonic’s skin. She lapped at the fresh tear with the focus of a cat, her tongue darting into the corner of Sonic’s eye, eliciting a flinch. Sonic obeyed, a silent sob shaking her frame, more tears leaking out to be collected. This wasn’t passion. It was harvest.
Dom’s knuckles were white where he gripped the doorframe. The heat in the room was a physical weight. “Brandi,” he said, the name foreign on his tongue.
She ignored him, pulling back to admire her sister’s damp, cleaned face. She traced a finger through the wetness on Sonic’s cheek, then sucked it. “Salty. Perfect.” Her blue eyes, now sharp and clear, locked onto Dom. The vapid hunger was gone, replaced by something calculating and cold. “You’re hard. I can see the tent in your jeans from here.”
He was. He hated that he was.
“She sucked you off in the car, didn’t she?” Brandi asked, her voice conversational. She didn’t wait for an answer. She knew. “To get you ready. To calm herself down. She always does that when she’s scared.” Her hand slid down Sonic’s arm, intertwining their fingers. “But she didn’t finish you, did she? Not really. That was just the appetizer.”
She let go of Sonic and took a step toward Dom. The pink light glowed on her shoulders. “You wanna fuck my sister? Really fuck her? Not just get your dick wet in her mouth while she cries in your car?”
Dom’s throat was dry. “I…”
“She needs it,” Brandi stated, as if diagnosing a condition. “She’s all wound up. Look at her.” Sonic stood by the door, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her smudged gaze fixed on the floor. “She needs to be properly used. And you…” She reached out, her finger hovering an inch from the bulge in his jeans. “You need to see what she really is.”
"Brandi, this isn't necessary. Stop." Dom commanded. "Let's talk about this first."
"Talk?" Brandi’s laugh was a short, sharp bark. "You don't get it. Talking's done." Her eyes, those glacial chips, slid from Dom back to her sister. "Sonic. On your knees. Show him what you are. Show him what you're for."
Sonic flinched. A full-body tremor went through her, but her feet shuffled forward, compelled by a habit deeper than thought. Her knees began to bend.
"No." The word tore out of Dom, rougher than he intended. It wasn't just a refusal; it was a fracture in the pink, perfumed reality of the room. He saw Sonic’s tear-streaked face in the car, the hollow terror in her eyes. She was scared and needed to know why, and now.
He moved without planning. As Sonic dipped downward, Dom stepped between them. He didn’t touch Sonic. He grabbed Brandi by her bare shoulders. His fingers dug into the cool, smooth skin. She was lighter than she looked, all engineered curves and no substance. "I said stop."
He didn’t shove her. He guided her down, a firm, decisive pressure that broke her balance. Her knees hit the pink shag carpet with a soft thump. She looked up at him, her perfect lips parted in surprise. The shock in her blue eyes lasted only a second before it melted, transmuted into something else entirely. A slow, wicked smile spread across her face.
"Well, well," she breathed, her voice dropping an octave into a throaty purr. "Look who finally grew a pair."
She stayed on her knees, not trying to rise. Her gaze was locked on the prominent bulge straining his jeans. The submission was a lie—he could feel the crackling energy coming off her—but the arousal was real. A dark flush crept up her chest. "You like that, don't you?" she murmured, more to herself than to him. "Pushing a bitch down. Making her kneel."
Dom’s heart hammered against his ribs. He hadn’t meant to do this. He’d meant to stop something, not start something worse. But the heat in her look was a physical touch. Sonic stood frozen a few feet away, a silent witness, her own arousal a palpable scent in the thick air.
Brandi’s hands came up, but not to push him away. Her black-tipped fingers went to his belt buckle. The clink of the metal was obscenely loud. "She really wants to do it, you know. She loves sucking your dick," Brandi said, her eyes gleaming as she worked the button of his jeans. "Time to see if it's worth the hype."
The zipper hissed down. "My turn to swallow."
She didn’t ask. She yanked his jeans and boxers down over his hips in one rough motion. His cock sprang free, already fully hard, flushed and aching in the stifling room. Brandi didn’t hesitate. She didn’t tease. She leaned forward, opened her mouth wide, and took him all the way to the back of her throat in one deep, slick plunge.
"Fuck!" Dom gasped, his hands flying to the doorframe behind him for support. Her mouth was a furnace, wetter and tighter than anything he’d ever felt. It was nothing like Sonic’s desperate, crying performance in the car, as good as it was. This was aggressive, skilled, and utterly consuming.
She pulled back until just the swollen head remained between her lips, then sank down again, setting a brutal, rhythmic pace. Her tongue was a flat, relentless pressure along his underside. She used her hands, too, one cupping his balls, squeezing just enough to make him see stars, the other wrapping around the base of his shaft, twisting in time with her strokes.
"Look at her," Brandi gagged around him, pulling off for a second, a thick strand of saliva connecting her lip to his tip. She jerked her head toward Sonic. "Look at her watching me suck her boyfriend's dick."
Sonic can't believe what's happening, and hope starts spilling over in her. She expected Dom to be disgusted, but if Brandi was sucking him off, there's no way he's disgusted. Sonic joins Brandi's blow job.