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lakes of red roses

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The whole thing is obscene at best, and incestuous at worst—Blanche and her own stepmother, fucking each other like this only days after her father’s death.

But what can she do or say? Her stepmother is addicting, like opium, skin as golden as a summer harvest, darkly sloe-eyed, and with a bosom that bursts out of the midnight dresses she walks through the gloomy palace in, sparkling black opals strung glittering over her skirts, tourmaline that winks captivatingly at the curve of her bodice.

A bodice that now heaves in front of Blanche’s face as her stepmother straddles her in her childhood bed, legs bracketing her body, hot center rubbing at the soft goldenrod linen of Blanche’s gown as she props herself above Blanche’s body primly, unfastening the ebony lace that veils her face.

“Come now,” Stepmother says briskly, positioning herself as though she’s seated anywhere else, comfortably rubbing her fleshy ass over Blanche’s legs.

Blanche blinks, almost in confusion, before her pale skin flushes rosily and she sets to work on her stepmother’s bodice, trying to undo the soft brown pearls that glow darkly beneath her stepmother’s skin.

“Stop,” her stepmother orders, shifting slightly, and Blanche moans quietly—she can feel the heat of her stepmother’s cunt on her belly, warm and inviting, she wants to move on from this already, she wants to bury her face there

But her stepmother has a way of doing things, and Blanche is not in the habit of disobeying her. Blanche stills her hands, and the room calms for a moment, no heavy breathing, no rustling of skirts—the daylight that streams through the castle window is wintry, ivory, translucent—divine, almost, in its purity.

“I beg of you,” her stepmother says crisply, vowels curt and precise, a foreign tongue from over the waters, “Don’t be so troublesome. I have need of you, and I wish you would be more good about this."

Blanche nods quickly, pulling her lip into her mouth, dismayed with herself, “My apologies, Stepmother, I—”

“My dear,” her stepmother smooths back a few charcoal strands of hair from Blanche’s face, “There is no need to apologize, I only desire a promise from you that you will strive to better yourself.”

“Yes, of course, of course,” Blanche babbles.

“Alright, my sweet girl,” and her stepmother moves again, all that heavy warm weight moving over Blanche’s own cunt, and Blanche wants to keen, she wishes, again, that her stepmother wasn’t so particular about these things. “You will never know how happy it makes me that you are so eager to please.”

And then her stepmother does what Blanche usually does herself, she reaches with one rubied hand into her own bodice and a single wheatish breast bobbles out, her dark nipple soft and full until the cool December air pebbles it, but even besides that, Blanche is surging forward and taking that angelic bead into her mouth, sucking on it, at it, laving at it with her tongue.

“Yes, yes,” her stepmother coos, “Good girl.” She threads a hand through Blanche’s silken hair, holds her there though there is no need to, fingers firm on the back of Blanche’s head.

Blanche tries to stuff her mouth full with it, pulling more and more of the plump breast into her mouth, spit making the fat of it shine as she suckles at it. Her cheeks bulge with it.  

“Come now,” her stepmother says, voice sweeter than it was before as she leans down and kisses Blanche’s forehead, her pomegranate lip stain marking Blanche’s forehead with her love, “Don’t be too greedy, you have all of me, you know.”

Blanche nods around her breast, before finally letting the breast fall from her mouth with a smack, before lifting one slender hand to gently raise the other teat from her stepmother’s dress.

“You need only kiss it,” her stepmother commands, voice steady as always, “I have need for you in other places after this.”

Blanche nods hurriedly, obediently, leaning forward to press a damp kiss to the other nipple, hardened as it is, tugging it into the warm hollow of her mouth only briefly, the time required to alleviate its neediness.

“Enough,” another command comes, and Blanche lets go.

Her stepmother leans back finally, lap still in Blanche’s, her full-figured body slowly revealing itself as she tugs her skirts up to show her ample thighs, spread, honeyed as they are, on Blanche. Blanche licks her lips and her stepmother sees it, pats her cheek affectionately, and Blanche can’t help it—she glows.

Her stepmother’s presence in her life has been such a good one, such a gracious one, that at times Blanche can’t help but feel as though she is an angel sent from the heavens. From the beginning, her stepmother was a solace, a protection, a friend, too, outside of when Blanche warmed her bed, which only really begin after her father fell into senility. Her stepmother is like the warmth of a hearth in winter, the sweetness of a cup of plum cordial, she is a haven. It’s for all these reasons and more that Blanche places so much faith in her stepmother—she won’t listen to a single wicked word against her, her stepmother is so dear to her.

And that dear stepmother shows the dearest parts of her to Blanche every day, as she does now, leaning backwards till she is off of Blanche’s lap and instead is cushioned on Blanche’s array of goose-feather pillows, thick dark hair spread alluringly around her. “Go on, my sweet,” she smiles down at her benevolently, pushing her thighs apart even more. “I know you’ve been thirsting for it.”

And Blanche dimples prettily at her, tucking a few wayward strands of black hair that fell from her braid behind her ear, before pushing the mess of black tulle and silk up over her stepmother’s hips so that she can finally see her stepmother’s lovely, lovely cunt.

“You may gaze at it for a while,” her stepmother instructs, patting down the shimmering fabric.

Blanche does, rubbing at her throat with a hand as she leans back on her haunches, pale yellow dress a bit rumpled. It’s mouth-watering, it is, it truly is—her stepmother stretches her thighs apart a bit more, and her lips part just that much more—between the slightly-damp, netted curls, lies the treasure, so delicate, shining tremulously with its wetness, the color comparable to the pink of dogwood blossoms in the spring, when they bloom abundantly and freshly, dewy in the clear light of morning.

“Go ahead, my sweet,” comes her stepmother’s next instructions, and Blanche’s heart practically skips a beat in her rush, she moves forward to it quickly, there’s no time for subtle licks or soft kisses, the slit is before her open and moist—Blanche tongues desperately at her stepmother’s clit, the sheer liquid already smearing onto her face, before she moves down to her cunt properly, positioning her face between her thighs perfectly, breathing in the sandalwood, musky scent of her stepmother as she laps at her very essence.

Blanche’s face begins to become radiant from her stepmother’s moisture, and her stepmother’s thighs close around her pale face, pushing her even deeper into her stepmother’s cunt. There’s nothing else but that persian pink luxury, and Blanche rubs her nose against her stepmother’s clit, opens her mouth wider as she begins to fuck her stepmother rapidly with her tongue, moving it in and out as her stepmother lies under her mouth, elegant and collected as ever.

Well, until her stepmother finally reaches down and fists a hand in her hair, the slightest bit of roughness as she pushes her even more forcefully towards her center. Blanche can barely breathe, with the hot thighs around her head, the stickiness in her nose, the transparent ivory wetness that coats her cheeks.

Blanche grunts into her stepmother’s cunt, it’s been a little less than a minute now that she can’t breathe, but she doesn’t want to let her desire go, she wants that holy gush over her face and hair, she wants it, she wants it—

“Ah!” Her stepmother gasps, and her hips finally jerk up into Blanche’s face and she squirts out over her, cum covering Blanche as Blanche herself gasps, before the chill air begins to dry it there, making it caky on her cheeks. Blanche lets out a little laugh, and her stepmother sighs, fat thighs falling from around Blanche’s face.

“Clean me up,” her stepmother says softly, stretching a bit but opening her legs again, and Blanche returns to the most blessed place in the world, kissing at the insides of her thighs, licking at damp stretch marks and nuzzling at her stepmother’s hair, brushing her lips as soothingly as possible at her stepmother’s sore cunt.

Her stepmother finally opens her arms after it is done, drawing Blanche up into an embrace, putting Blanche’s face into the warm space between her breasts and petting her head as she allows her to smell her sweat and amber perfume.

“Good girl,” her stepmother says, “You are my sweet, darling girl.”

Blanche nods sleepily, though she is still unattended, and it is to that softness that Blanche falls asleep.