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Having Your Cake and Eating It Too

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Zelda.”  Hilda’s eyes are alight.  “You did all this?”  

 

She bites back a “Who else?” and watches Hilda take in the room around her.

 

Most of the open floor is now taken up with pillows and quilts and the occasional fur; a flame burns and crackles in the fireplace but gives off no heat, only light to dance across the walls.

 

A most appropriate nest for a night meant for indulging the flesh.

 

Hilda’s flesh in particular.

 

“You should know by now.”  She circles her sister, smirks at the way Hilda wets her lips and stares openly at the skin exposed by her robe. “There are very few things I would not do for you.”

 

Tonight is absolute proof of that.

 

Zelda’s eyes cast to the third person standing in “Hilda’s room.”

 

He turns pink enough to rival even her sister’s fiercest blushes.

 

It isn’t that he is physically repulsive.

 

He’s just so . . .

 

Not her type.

 

Khakis and a sweater vest have never been particularly appealing to her.

 

Not that her taste in men had served her well of late.

 

But Hilda had asked so nicely.  

 

It was impossible to say no to a request from a mouth that had spent the better part of an evening between her thighs.

 


 

Well, on your knees, incubus.”

 

“It’s Cerberus.”

 

So he speaks. How amusing.

 

“I will call you whatever I like.”

 

“Be nice, Zelds.”

 

Her arms circle Hilda’s waist; her chin drops to her sister’s shoulder.

 

She whispers loud enough for him to hear and close enough for Hilda to shiver: “I don’t think he wants me to be nice.”

 

Hilda smiles at him, says, “Please, Cee,” and suddenly he is much more cooperative.

 


 

When he’s kneeling naked in front of her sister, looking rather lost, Zelda can’t resist adding, “Good boy.”

 

Hilda’s fingers raking through the salt and pepper of his hair stop any further argument.

 

She lets go of Hilda, smiles to see her sister take an unsteady step back before righting herself.

 

She unknots the belt of her robe and shrugs it to the floor.

 

Hilda starts to turn when she sees the ivory fabric at her feet, but Zelda stops her by stepping flush against her again.

 

A curious hand wonders back to her bare hip, then a bit further.  

 

Hilda is pleased by what she finds—or rather, what she doesn’t find—judging by the deep, unsteady breath she takes.

 

She watches as Hilda’s other hand cups Cerberus’ chin.

 

His hands are soon pulling Hilda’s palm to his mouth, kissing the pads of her fingers, her wrist.

 

Hilda herself had come home from their date wearing one of her more “risqué” frocks:  short sleeves and no cardigan, a neckline that exposed quite a bit if only from the right angle.

 

Thank Lilith for those three inches (even in bare feet) that always put her at the right angle.

 

She sets to unbuttoning Hilda’s dress.

 

Her fingers luxuriate in every sliver of skin she exposes, until they meet the lace and silk of Hilda’s slip.

 

She finishes the buttons down to Hilda’s waist more efficiently, pushes it down towards the floor.

 

Cerberus helps Hilda step clear of it; his hands linger on the curve of her calves.

 

There is something to be said for watching someone else appreciate her sister’s body.

 

Hilda raises her arms above her head without prompting to let Zelda rid her of her slip and then there’s nothing left but black and lace and only-for-special-occasions panties and Hilda’s lovely sun-kissed curves.

 

She kisses the back of Hilda’s neck--once, twice--just at her hairline, tastes a hint of sweat and hairspray.  

 

“I approve.”

 

They often argue about what Hilda wears beneath her clothes.

 

“Thought you would.”

 

Her teeth nip into Hilda’s shoulder.  

 

Her thumbs slide beneath the lace at Hilda’s inner thighs just as Cerberus presses a closed-mouthed kiss over her mound.

 

Drawn by the same siren’s song.

 

“Make yourself useful and divest her of these.”

 


 

He does so slowly, reverently. 

 

Slower than she herself has managed in quite some time.

 

He is visibly resisting the urge to lean in again once damp, dark blonde curls are revealed.

 

Hilda can’t suppress a giggle when fingers and knickers tickle across the backs of her knees.

 

She feels a wet tickle between her own thighs in response.  She had no idea the effect watching someone else undress Hilda would have on her.

 

She shifts forward and rubs unapologetically against Hilda.

 

“You deserve this.”

 

Her thigh nudges Hilda’s to spread.

 

She slides two fingers inside the glorious warmth of her sister’s cunt.

 

“To—“

 

Every time. Like magic. Being inside Hilda leaves her momentarily speechless.

 

“To be worshiped,” she finishes.  “Like the sweet daughter of Lilith you are.”

 

Hilda arches her back, seeks more.

 

“Taste her.”

 

She can feel his thumbs spreading Hilda's inner lips.

 


 

His tongue occasionally sweeps over her fingers instead of Hilda’s flesh.

 

Hilda is utterly lost in the experience.

 

For someone who had come up with dozens of excuses over the years to avoid just this situation at Coven rituals, Hilda has certainly taken to it.

 

She tightens her arm around Hilda’s waist and promises, “I have you, sister,” even though the thought of Hilda coming weakens her own knees.

 

Her sister tosses her head back and bites out of habit. She catches Zelda’s jaw between her teeth.

 

Her eyes squeeze shut as Hilda clenches tight around her fingers.

 


 

When she glances down finally, the mortal seems satisfactorily in awe of the experience.

 

She pulls her fingers free amid Hilda’s murmured protests, pulls them into her mouth.

 

Cerberus’ tongue sweeps over his lower lip.

 

Hilda seems torn between which of them to watch.

 


 

Hilda’s tongue is the flickering of Hellfire against her:  exquisite agony.

 

She’s held fast by her sister’s arms around her thighs and pinned against the floor with her pelvis deliciously tilted, cunt at Hilda’s mercy.  

 

Her sister is apparently feeling uncharacteristically unmerciful tonight.

 


 

She knows the moment it’s no longer just the two of them.  

 

Hilda’s fingernails pinch into her inner thighs and her mouth stills.

 

She can’t help herself.

 

She opens her eyes, raises up on her elbows, and watches.

 


 

He is in the grip of the same torture she is.

 

And well he should be.  One hand guides himself; the other is caressing the small of her sister’s back.

 

Hilda.  Okay, sweetheart?"

 

A blonde head nods between her legs.

 

His hands grip Hilda’s hips. 

 

The next thrust seats him deep and sends Hilda jolting into her.

 


 

Zelda’s orgasm takes her quite by surprise.

 


 

As does Hilda’s so close on its heels.  

 

She takes a moment to appreciate the irony that even when someone else makes her sister come, Hilda still cries out her release against her.

 


 

She recognizes the signs.

 

Before he can even entertain the notion, she warns, “I will kill you here and now if you come inside my sister.”

 

That’s a line she will not see crossed.

 

He nods but pushes into Hilda again.

 


 

Hilda whines.

 

Cerberus wears a pained expression.

 

But she will have none of it.

 

She sits up and gathers Hilda to her, into her lap.

 

Her fingers curl easily back inside her and soon have Hilda half kissing her, half gasping for breath.

 

When his mouth reaches her throat, Hilda’s head falls back to give him better access--but she is still rocking against her hand.

 

“Is this what you wanted?”

 

Yes.”

 

Zelda’s hand reaches behind Hilda and grips him.

 

Tinges of yellow--despite the ring of steel around his wrist--color his irises, replace the surprise.

 

The things she does for her sister.

 


 

It could be any half-hearted hand job she has given over the years.

 

But his cock is wet from Hilda, same as her fingers currently are.

 

That is a novelty she can appreciate.

 

Especially when Hilda cries out again.

 

A few strokes and those near-feral eyes have snapped shut.

 

He moans into Hilda’s hair and thrusts shallowly against her hand.  

 


 

She’ll make him clean up Hilda’s back.

 


 

It isn’t surprising that Hilda wants to be held by her.

 

She is her sister after all.

 

Cerberus seems content, collapsed next to them.  

 


 

“I don’t want to share you.”

 

“Good.” She pushes a blonde curl out of Hilda’s face. “I did not plan on being shared.”

 

“But you are enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

 

“What do you think?”

 

Hilda shifts a leg over hers, moves until she’s straddling her thigh, stares right at her as she says softly, “How I love my sister,” and fills her up with her fingers.

 

“How--how my sister is loved in return.”

 


 

Hilda’s friend is awake now and fully recovered might be an apt euphemism.

 

It’s the incubus to be sure.

 

“Oh, Cee, love.”

 

Hilda talks to him the way she does a pet.  

 

“Come here.”

 

Like a bird with a broken wing instead of a man with a hard on.

 

He crawls into Hilda’s waiting embrace, mouth immediately gravitating to her breasts.

 

From her position spooned at Hilda’s back, Zelda watches his lips worry her sister’s nipple.

 

Her hand almost reaches between her own thighs but then she reconsiders.  

 

Instead, Zelda grabs him by the hair and pulls him away from Hilda.

 

She lets him go as soon as she has his attention and his face is near hers.

 

“I want you to fuck her tits.”

 

He looks shocked at the very notion, silly man, even as his hips jerk against Hilda’s thigh.

 

“Don’t tell me you haven’t wanted to.”

 

He looks at Hilda apologetically, admits, “I may have thought about it every now and again.”

 

What a waste.  

 

“It’s okay,” Hilda soothes.  “I like it.  Doing that.”

 

He looks confused but Hilda offers no further explanation.

 

It has long been one of Zelda’s favorite pantomimes when they have dug through their chest of toys.

 


 

Hilda leans away to whisper in his ear.

 

“It’s temporary?” He glances at Zelda and she raises an eyebrow.

 

“Yes.  Just until--” Hilda glances downward, her finger strokes upward. “And I promise it’s safe.”

 

“If you really--if you want to.”

 

“Thank you.”  Hilda leans up to kiss him.  “I’ll make it up to you.”

 

“The Bride outfit?”

 

“Even that.”

 

There’s more kissing until Zelda interrupts.

 

“What are you two conspiring about?”

 


 

She’s done this before.

 

It’s nothing more than a parlor trick really.

 

But she has not done this with Hilda.

 


 

Zelda lowers her own body gently to the floor.  

 

She carefully fixes amber curls over her alabaster shoulders.

 

She feels this body react, twitch against its stomach, as she admires herself, feels the Damascus-steel bracelet around her wrist like a vice.

 


 

She’s never cared for the swimmy feeling of being in someone else’s body.

 

But then that body is next to Hilda’s, is on Hilda’s--and nothing else matters.

 


 

The legs on either side of Hilda’s waist are not her smooth, shapely thighs--but his.

 

Only not.

 


 

 

Thinking isn’t best.

 

Feeling is.

 


 

 

Feeling this cock slide over Hilda’s sternum.

 

“Please, Zelds.”

 

Feeling her cock pressed between Hilda’s soft breasts as her sister squeezes them together.

 

She gives in to the impulse to thrust into them, to pull back until just the head remains hidden and to shove forward again to its base.

 


 

Again and again and again.

 


 

How intensely Hilda is watching her.

 

She’s sure it is her Hilda is seeing.

 

Mischief colors her sister’s eyes a darker blue.

 


 

Fingers around her.

 

Mouth around her.

 

Tongue on her.

 

Hellfire.

 


 

Hildie!” comes out in the wrong voice.

 


 

Her own body.

 

Her eyes clear to see Cerberus attempting not to crush Hilda.  

 

He rolls onto his back and says, “That—that was something.”

 

He has no idea.

 

Hilda wipes her mouth on the back of her hand.  

 

Her face scrunches briefly at what is left behind.

 

She looks at Zelda and grins.

 

“It was.”