Chapter 20: 'You wanted to humiliate me?' Nabil snarls as he guides Zara's strap-on against Almas's asshole, his fingers digging into his wife's hips. 'Now watch your sister fuck you open while I stroke my cock to your tears.' Zara obeys instantly, thrusting forward as Almas's scream shakes the mirror.
The silence after Zara’s slammed exit vibrated like a plucked wire. Almas knelt on the plush carpet, her breathing shallow, the ghost of Nabil’s worship still tingling on her lips and tongue. The scent of bergamot, sex, and Zara’s lingering, expensive poison choked the air. Nabil stood over her, his shadow long in the fading afternoon light slanting through the sheer curtains, his cock already stirring again against his thigh, a testament to the dark engine driving him. His declaration hung between them – hers, forever, after the clock ran out. But now, he was still Master.
A faint vibration hummed against the vanity’s polished wood surface. Nabil’s phone. He didn’t move immediately, his gaze locked on Almas’s upturned face, the defiance simmering beneath the raw vulnerability. He saw the calculation in her green eyes, the predator assessing the wounded stag who’d somehow turned and gored the hunter. Slowly, deliberately, he reached for the phone. His thumb slid across the screen, reading the single line of text. A flicker of something cold and hard passed over his features. He didn’t reply. He simply placed the phone face down.
"Up," he commanded, his voice low, stripped of the ragged edge from moments before. It was pure authority now, honed in the crucible of ruin. "The vanity. Bend over it."
Almas didn’t hesitate. She rose smoothly, the athleticism of her frame evident even in her bruised state. She walked the few paces to the ornate vanity, her reflection ghostly in the large mirror. Without looking at him, she leaned forward, planting her hands flat on the cool wood surface, beside scattered perfume bottles and a hairbrush. She pushed her workout leggings and panties down to her thighs in one fluid motion, baring her ass – high, round, sculpted muscle gleaming faintly with sweat. The marks from his earlier spanking were faint roses against her pale skin. She spread her legs wider, presenting herself. Waiting.
Nabil approached. His footsteps were silent on the carpet. He stopped behind her, his presence radiating heat. His hands landed on her hips, possessive, anchoring. His thumbs traced the swell of her ass, then dipped into the cleft, spreading her cheeks wide. The intimate exposure was brutal, clinical. Her tight, pink asshole, still glistening faintly with the slick residue of his spit from her earlier worship, winked at him in the mirror’s reflection. Almas’s breath hitched, her knuckles whitening on the vanity. She stared straight ahead, meeting her own defiant gaze in the glass.
"See it?" Nabil murmured, his voice a rough caress against the shell of her ear. His fingers pressed, opening her further, exposing the vulnerable pucker. "See how pretty your hole looks, stretched open? Waiting for me?" He leaned closer, his erection pressing against the small of her back. "Remember how you licked mine? Cleaned it like a good little bitch? Now it’s your turn to take it."
Before she could retort, the bedroom door clicked open. Not a slam. A tentative, almost silent intrusion. Zara stood there, framed in the doorway. Her face was pale, stripped of its earlier fury, replaced by a stunned, hollow obedience. In her hands, held out before her like an offering or a shield, was the strap-on harness. The thick, veined silicone dildo, a deep obsidian black, hung heavily between the straps.
Nabil didn’t turn. He kept his gaze locked on Almas’s exposed asshole in the mirror, his fingers still spreading her. "Bring it here," he ordered, his voice flat, devoid of inflection. "Now."
Zara flinched as if struck, but she moved. Her heels, earlier weapons of scorn, now tapped softly, hesitantly, on the hardwood as she crossed the room. She stopped a few feet away, her eyes darting from Almas’s bent form to Nabil’s broad back, then quickly away, unable to hold either gaze. The scent of her fear, sharp and acrid, cut through the heavier aromas in the room.
"Closer," Nabil said, not looking at her. "Hold it where I can reach."
Zara shuffled forward another step, her arms trembling as she extended the harness towards him, the dildo swaying slightly. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the straps.
Nabil finally glanced at her, a cold assessment. "Good girl," he said, the praise chillingly devoid of warmth. He released Almas’s hips with one hand, reaching back to take the harness. His fingers brushed Zara’s, making her gasp and jerk her hand away as if scalded. He ignored her, focusing on the harness. With efficient, almost brutal movements, he unbuckled his belt, shoved his pants and boxers down his thighs, and stepped into the harness straps. He pulled them up, buckling them snugly around his hips, the thick base of the dildo pressing against his own groin, the long, intimidating shaft jutting out rigidly before him, glistening faintly under the vanity lights.
Almas watched it all in the mirror. Her eyes widened fractionally, a flicker of primal apprehension crossing her face before she schooled it back into defiance. Her breath came faster.
Nabil picked up a bottle of lubricant from the vanity tray – Almas’s own, expensive stuff. He squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers, coating them thickly. Then, without preamble, he pressed two slick fingers directly against Almas’s exposed asshole.
She hissed, her body tensing, her head dropping for a second before she forced it back up, glaring at their reflection. "Fuck," she spat.
"Exactly," Nabil growled. He rubbed the lubricant around the tight ring, circling, applying pressure. His other hand gripped her hip hard, holding her in place. He watched her face in the mirror as he pushed one finger slowly past the resisting muscle. Her jaw clenched, a low groan escaping her lips. He worked the finger in and out, shallowly at first, feeling the incredible tightness, the heat. He added a second finger alongside the first, stretching her wider. Almas gasped, arching her back slightly, her eyes squeezing shut for a moment before snapping open, blazing with challenge.
"Tight fucking whore," Nabil muttered, scissoring his fingers slowly, stretching her. He could feel the tremor running through her body. "But you’ll take it. You’ll take every fucking inch of this cock I give you." He withdrew his fingers, glistening wet. He poured more lube directly onto the head of the black dildo, slicking its length thoroughly, the obscene squelch loud in the quiet room.
He positioned himself behind her, the rigid silicone tip pressing against her stretched, lubricated opening. He gripped her hips tightly, his knuckles white. Zara stood frozen nearby, her hands clasped together, trembling violently, her eyes wide with horrified fascination fixed on the point of contact.
"Look," Nabil commanded Almas, his voice thick with anticipation. "Look in the mirror. Watch me fuck your ass open."
Almas lifted her head, her green eyes locking onto their reflection. She saw herself, bent and exposed. She saw Nabil, harnessed, his face a mask of fierce concentration. She saw the thick, black head pressing insistently against her tiny hole. She saw Zara, pale and shaking, a silent witness.
Nabil pushed forward with his hips.
The resistance was immense. Almas cried out, a sharp, involuntary sound of pain and shock. Her body instinctively tried to recoil, but he held her hips locked in his iron grip. He pushed harder, steadily, relentlessly. The silicone head stretched her impossibly wide, the tight ring of muscle straining, yielding millimeter by agonizing millimeter under the relentless pressure. The obscene stretch burned, a deep, invasive ache radiating through her pelvis. Her knuckles were bone-white on the vanity, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Tears welled in her eyes, but she kept them fixed on the mirror, watching the invasion unfold.
"Fuck... yes... take it," Nabil groaned, his own breath harsh. He felt the incredible tightness enveloping the head of the dildo, the heat radiating through the silicone. He pushed another inch, feeling her inner muscles clench and spasm around the invading shaft. Almas whimpered, a high, desperate sound, her head dropping forward for a second before she wrenched it back up, forcing herself to watch.
He pulled back slightly, then thrust forward again, deeper this time. Another choked cry tore from Almas’s throat. The dildo sank deeper into her rectum, stretching her internally in ways she’d never experienced. The burn was intense, a raw, tearing sensation mixed with a shocking, deep pressure. Her legs trembled violently.
"Look!" Nabil snarled, thrusting again, gaining another inch. The thick shaft was visibly stretching her open, disappearing into her body. Her asshole was a distended, red ring gripping the base of the dildo. "Look at your hole swallowing my cock! Look at how fucking wide I’m stretching you!" He pistoned his hips in short, brutal strokes, each thrust burying the dildo deeper, stretching her rectum further. The wet, squelching sounds of lube and forced entry filled the room, punctuated by Almas’s ragged gasps and low, pained moans.
Zara made a small, strangled sound, her hand flying to her mouth. She looked like she might vomit or faint.
Nabil ignored her. His entire focus was on the mirror, on Almas’s face contorted in pain and unwilling arousal, on the sight of the thick black shaft plunging rhythmically into her tight ass. He fucked her with deep, punishing strokes, each thrust a reassertion of his dwindling mastery. He felt the base of the dildo grinding against his own cock, sending jolts of pleasure through him, feeding the dark fire.
"Tell me," he demanded, his voice guttural, punctuating his thrusts. "Tell me whose ass this is!"
Almas gasped, her body jolting with each deep penetration. "Yours... Master..." The words were ripped from her, raw and strained.
"Louder!" He slammed into her harder, making her cry out.
"YOURS!" she screamed at their reflection, tears finally spilling over. "Your ass! Your fucking hole! Take it! Break it!" Her defiance twisted into a perverse surrender to the violation.
Nabil roared, a sound of pure, dark triumph. He pistoned into her faster, harder, the harness straps digging into his hips, the dildo plunging deep into her bowels with wet, slapping sounds. He watched her face shatter in the mirror, watched her mouth fall open in a silent scream as he pushed her to the edge of her endurance, claiming her most forbidden territory with brutal finality. Zara watched, trembling, her own face pale with shock and a dawning, horrified understanding of the depths Nabil had plumbed, the monster Almas had willingly unleashed, and the terrifying intimacy of the ruin unfolding before her. The clock ticked, loud in Nabil’s mind, each second a grain of sand falling through the neck of an hourglass filled with pain, power, and the terrifying promise of what came after. He drove deeper, harder, chasing oblivion before the sand ran out.
The harness straps bit into Nabil’s hips with each brutal thrust, the thick, black silicone shaft pistoning deep into Almas’s ass. Wet, obscene squelches echoed off the vanity mirror, timed with her choked, ragged gasps. Her knuckles were bone-white on the wood, tears cutting tracks through the sweat on her cheeks, her reflection a mask of violated defiance as she stared, unblinking, at the invasion. Nabil roared, a guttural sound ripped from the pit of his stomach, his own climax slamming into him as the dildo’s base ground against his trapped cock, sending blinding sparks through his vision. He slammed home one final, punishing time, burying the fake cock to the hilt inside her straining rectum, holding her impaled as his body shuddered through the aftershocks.
Silence crashed down, heavy and thick with the stench of lube, sweat, and violated intimacy. Only Almas’s desperate, hitching breaths and Zara’s shallow, terrified pants filled the room. Nabil remained buried inside Almas for a long moment, his own breath ragged, feeling the frantic flutter of her internal muscles around the embedded silicone, a trapped bird beating its wings. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled back. The thick shaft slid out of her stretched hole with a wet, sucking pop. Almas whimpered, her body sagging forward, her abused asshole gaping, red and glistening, slowly trying to clench closed against the sudden emptiness. Thick, cloudy lube mixed with traces of blood slicked her inner thighs and dripped onto the carpet below the vanity.
Nabil ignored the mess dripping from the dildo’s tip. He turned, the harness heavy on his hips, the phantom sensation of his own hardness still throbbing beneath the base. His gaze, sharp and cold as fractured ice, locked onto Zara. She stood frozen a few feet away, her face chalk-white, eyes wide with residual horror and absolute, cowed obedience. The command in his text had been simple, absolute: Bring the strap-on. Now. Say nothing. She’d obeyed. The predator who stormed out was gone, replaced by this trembling shell.
"Zara," Nabil said, his voice low, rough, but carrying effortlessly in the charged silence. He gestured loosely towards Almas, still bent over the vanity, trembling, her exposed ass a raw testament to his dominion. "Look at her." Zara’s terrified eyes flicked to her sister, then quickly back to Nabil, unable to hold the sight. "She humiliated you. Thought she stole me. Laughed while she did it."
He took a step towards Zara, his presence looming despite the absurdity of the harness. The thick, wet dildo bobbed obscenely. Zara flinched but held her ground, rooted by his command. Nabil’s eyes bored into hers, stripping away any pretense. "You want to hurt her, don't you?" He didn't phrase it as a question. It was an accusation, a naming of the hatred simmering beneath her fear. "You want to wipe that fucking smirk off her face for good? Make her pay for every smug glance, every whispered insult?"
Zara’s breath hitched. A flicker of pure, venomous hatred flashed in her eyes, directed at Almas’s prone form, before fear snapped her gaze back to Nabil. Her throat worked, but no sound came out.
"If you want to abuse her," Nabil continued, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, "if you want to really make her scream…" He paused, letting the implication hang, thick and suffocating. He reached behind himself, fingers finding the buckle of the harness strap near his hip. With a sharp click, it released. He slid the entire harness off, the lube-smeared dildo swinging heavily in his grip. He held the harness out towards Zara, the black silicone glistening in the fading light. "...then you’re going to have to fuck your sister."
The words hung in the air like toxic smoke. Almas, still bent over, turned her head slightly, her green eyes wide with shock and dawning terror, fixed on Zara. Zara stared at the offered harness as if it were a venomous snake. Her whole body trembled violently. Her gaze darted from the harness to Almas’s gaping, violated hole, then back to Nabil’s implacable face. The hatred warred with revulsion, with fear, with the ingrained dread of defying him now, after his brutal display of absolute control.
A low, wounded sound escaped Zara’s lips. Not a word. A whimper. But her hand, shaking uncontrollably, lifted. Her fingers, cold and trembling, brushed the sticky straps of the harness. She didn't look away from Nabil’s eyes. Slowly, jerkily, her other hand came up. She took the harness from him. The weight of the dildo pulled her arms down slightly. She stared at it, the instrument of her sister’s torment, now offered as her own weapon. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the straps. Almas watched, frozen, a trapped animal sensing the shift, the new, terrifying predator stepping into the ring. Zara raised her head, her eyes meeting Almas’s in the mirror. No pity. Only a dark, terrifying resolve, forged in shame and stoked by Nabil’s command.
The harness straps felt alien in Zara’s trembling hands, the cold, lube-slick silicone dildo hanging heavy between them. Almas’s reflection in the vanity mirror held her frozen – the raw, gaping hole Nabil had just brutalized, the tear tracks on her cheeks, the defiant fury warring with primal fear in her green eyes. Nabil stood back, a silent, terrifying puppet master, his own spent cock glistening against his thigh, his gaze a command Zara couldn’t disobey.
Make her pay.
Hatred, hot and corrosive, surged through Zara’s veins, momentarily eclipsing the shame. This bitch, preening and possessive, fucking her husband, stealing her place… deserved this. Deserved worse. The phantom sting of Almas's mocking laughter echoed. Zara stepped forward, the movement jerky, driven by that dark resolve and the absolute terror of Nabil’s silent expectation behind her.
Almas flinched as Zara’s shadow fell over her. "Zara, don't—" The plea died, choked off by pure disbelief and terror as Zara shoved the thick, black head of the dildo against her sister’s stretched, tender opening. It was still slick, coated in Nabil’s lube and her own humiliation. "No! Fuck! Stop it, you psycho!" Almas bucked, trying to twist away, her bound wrists pulling uselessly against the vanity’s edge.
"Hold still, slut," Zara hissed, her voice vibrating with a mixture of fury and panic. She pressed harder, leaning her weight against Almas’s lower back, pinning her down. The hard silicone tip slipped against the swollen rim, finding purchase. "You wanted him? You wanted to be his whore?" Zara gasped, her own body trembling violently. "Take this instead!"
With a desperate, sobbing grunt, Zara shoved her hips forward. The thick dildo breached Almas’s traumatized asshole with a sickeningly wet schlllck. Almas screamed – a raw, animal sound of agony that ripped through the room. Her body arched violently, then collapsed, trembling uncontrollably against the vanity. "Oh God! Oh fuck! It hurts! STOP!"
"Does it?" Zara panted, her own breath ragged with exertion and horror at what she was doing, at the sheer, forbidden wrongness of violating her sister’s body like this. But Nabil was watching. He demanded this. And the hatred… the hatred was a furnace. She pulled back the dildo until just the flared head stretched Almas’s rim obscenely wide, then slammed it forward again, burying it deeper than she thought possible. "Hurts like the cunt you are?" Another brutal thrust. Almas screamed again, a high-pitched keen.
"Fuck her!" Nabil’s voice cracked like a whip behind Zara, making her jump. "Harder! Make the bitch feel it! Show her who owns that hole now!"
Spurred by his command, Zara gripped Almas’s hips, her fingers digging into the bruised flesh Nabil had left. She pulled out almost completely, watching the gaping hole clench futilely, then thrust back in with all her strength. The wet slap of silicone against flesh, the squelch of lube, Almas’s choked sobs – it was a symphony of degradation Zara conducted with frantic, trembling movements. She fucked her sister’s ass with short, savage jabs, the harness straps digging into her own hips, propelled by a toxic cocktail of obedience, loathing, and a sickening thrill at Almas’s absolute helplessness. "Scream louder, whore!" Zara snarled, throwing her weight into another deep plunge. "Scream for your fucking master!"
Almas’s body jerked with each invasion. Her screams dissolved into guttural sobs, her face pressed against the cool wood of the vanity. She could see their reflection – Zara’s face contorted with effort and fury, her own tear-streaked visage a mask of utter devastation, the thick black shaft pistoning into her brutally stretched ass. The pain was blinding, a deep, tearing agony that radiated through her pelvis and up her spine. The humiliation was absolute. Being fucked by her own sister. At the command of the man who’d just claimed her as his own. Her green eyes, glazed with pain, locked onto Nabil’s reflection over Zara’s shoulder. He watched, his expression unreadable, a dark sentinel overseeing the ruin. Her defiance was ashes. Only raw, animal suffering remained.
Zara found a brutal rhythm, grunting with the effort, lost in the horrific mechanics of the act. The dildo plunged deep, scraped out, slammed home. Almas’s internal muscles convulsed around the invading shaft, a traitorous, unwanted clenching that sent jolts of sickening sensation through her. "Tightening up, sis?" Zara gasped, sweat dripping from her brow onto Almas’s back. "Like it rough? Like being raped by family?"
Suddenly, a sharp, insistent electronic BEEP-BEEP-BEEP shattered the air. It cut through the grunts, the sobs, the wet slapping sounds. It came from Nabil’s discarded phone on the vanity. The alarm. His 24 hours. Up.
The sound was a bucket of ice water. Zara froze mid-thrust, the dildo buried deep inside her sister. Her eyes widened in sudden, stark terror, the haze of hatred and obedience evaporating. She looked at Nabil, her face paling from flushed exertion to ashen fear. Almas went utterly still beneath her, a desperate, ragged breath catching in her throat. The relentless beeping filled the sudden vacuum of sound.
Nabil stepped forward. He didn’t look at the phone. His eyes, cold and decisive, locked onto Zara. He reached out, not to stop her, but to the buckle on the harness strap at her hip. With a sharp click, he released it. "Get it off," he commanded, his voice flat, the authority undiminished even as the clock ended. "Now."
Zara fumbled frantically, her fingers shaking violently, releasing the other buckle. She let the harness, with the dildo still obscenely lodged inside her sister, drop to the carpet with a wet thud. She stumbled back, trembling, staring at her hands as if they were covered in blood.
Almas collapsed forward onto the vanity, a low moan escaping her as the thick silicone pulled free from her ravaged hole. She pushed herself up slowly, painfully, turning on the stool. Her green eyes, red-rimmed and hollow, burned with a terrifying intensity. Not pain now. Fury. Pure, undiluted, volcanic rage. She ignored the agony radiating from her ass, the mess between her legs. Her gaze, like twin lasers, locked onto Zara, who stood shaking, arms wrapped around herself.
"Get out." Almas’s voice was a raw, guttural scrape, barely recognizable. It held no plea, only absolute, terrifying command.
Zara flinched, shrinking back. "Almas, I—"
"FUCK OFF!" The scream ripped from Almas’s throat, raw and primal, echoing off the walls. The force of it made Zara physically recoil. "Get out of my sight! Get out of this house! Get out of our fucking lives!" Almas pushed to her feet, swaying slightly but radiating a terrifying power. She pointed a shaking finger towards the door. "You disgusting, pathetic coward! You think crawling to his command makes you anything? You’re nothing! Less than nothing! GET OUT!NOW! And if I ever see your fucking face again, I swear to God I’ll tear it off!"
The venom, the sheer, unadulterated hatred in Almas’s voice, was paralyzing. Zara stared, her mouth working soundlessly, the color draining completely from her face. She looked at Nabil, desperate for… something. Permission? Protection? He met her gaze, his expression granite. No mercy there. Only the cold assessment of a liability finally being discarded.
With a choked sob that sounded like breaking glass, Zara turned. She fled. Her feet stumbled on the discarded harness. She didn’t look back. The bedroom door banged open, then slammed shut behind her. The sound reverberated through the room, followed by the frantic, fading clatter of her heels on the hallway floor. Silence descended, thick and heavy, broken only by the fading electronic beep of the phone alarm and Almas’s ragged, furious breathing. She stood trembling, her body a landscape of pain and violation, her eyes fixed on the closed door where her sister had vanished. Then, slowly, her gaze shifted. It settled on Nabil, standing naked amidst the wreckage. The rage didn’t fade. It deepened, focusing on him with terrifying intensity. The Master. The architect. His time was up. Hers had just begun.