“God, it’s so hot.” You whine, wiping the beaded up seat from your brow with one hand propped up on your hip as you stop doing your work again.

Anakin sighs and shakes his head, easily lifting another bail of hay onto the tractor from the field “Y’know, if you didn’t complain so much, ya woulda been done already.” He says gruffly.

You groan, almost stomping your feet like a petulant child. “But it’s hot and there’s bugs everywhere.” You complain once more, swatting at the gnats circling you.

“A little sweat and a couple bugs ain’t gonna hurt ya.” His muscles flex under his work shirt as he transfers another bail of hay.

You let out a long groan, huffing as you swat at a bug.

“You’re bein a brat. Y’know that, right?” Your father asks.

“It’s not my fault. I don’t want to be doing this!” You don’t understand why your mother insisted on you spending the summer before college with your nearly estranged father.

“Your mother’s made ya too spoiled,” he points out with disapproval.

“What? It’s not her fault I don’t particularly enjoy hanging out around cow shit.” You kick the toe of your boot into the grass.

“Ay dios mío,” He stops, leaning against the hay bail with one hand as he runs the other down his face in annoyance. “Eres un dolor de cabeza más grande que tu madre.”

You huff, “English please?”

He laughs dryly and shakes his head. Another thing your mother dropped the ball on with teaching you. No work ethic and can’t speak Spanish. “I said, you’re as big of a headache as your mother.”

“Not like you’re a catch either.” You mutter under your breath.

Anakin narrows his eyes at you. “You’re on my last nerve. Get your work done and stop complaining. Last time I’m tellin you.”

You roll your eyes again at your dad, “I don’t want to. It’s boring and hard.” You complain.

“Alright that’s it. Barn. Now. I’m tired of this attitude. Go shovel shit or something.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah seriously. You’re bein’ a brat. Now go.”

“Ugh! I hate it here. This sucks and so do you.” You huff before stomping off towards the barn.

That’s the last straw. Anakin abandons the tractor with hay in favor of easily catching up to you. He grips tightly onto your arm, “Voy a darle un buen uso a esa boca.” He mutters.

“Ow! Let go! I was going!” You protest.

He shakes his head, “Too late.” He drags you into the barn, shoving you onto the spare hay bales.

“Hey!”

“I’ve had enough of your whining,” he grits out, hands reaching to his belt buckle and undoing it.

Your eyes widen and you start shaking your head. “What’re you doing?” You ask, starting to sit up.

“Teaching you a lesson.” He pushes you back down, keeping your back pressed on the hay that pokes your skin. His calloused hands skillfully and quickly rid you of your denim jeans.

“Stop stop, wait, I’ll listen I promise, I’ll stop complaining!”

“Too late.” He pulls his hard cock out from the confines of his pants, pumping it a couple times.

You try to scramble back away from him but his other hand comes down to grip your throat, applying enough pressure to keep you in place. You couldn’t help the familiar tingle starting despite how wrong it was.

Keeping one of his large hands wrapped around your throat, the other guides his tip through your folds to collect some of your slick that’s already accumulated. “Look at that. Gettin’ all wet f’me,” he huffs with an anything but kind smile, “what a dirty little slut.” He spends no time working you up for him, instead just pushing his thick cock into your unprepped cunt.

Your eyes widen and you squeal at the harsh sting, trying to squirm. His hand tightens around your throat, eyebrows scrunching in pleasure as your walls tightly squeeze around him. “Fuck, such a tight lil thing.”

You bat at his arm, your vision starting to get splotchy. He lets go a little just so you can get some air back into your deprived lungs. Anakin forces the rest of his dick into your tight pussy, making you cry out.

“Shut up. I know you like it.” He breathes out, starting to harshly fuck into you, the tip of his dick feeling like it was ramming against your cervix with each rough thrust.

You whine pathetically, reaching up to grip onto the fabric of his sweaty shirt. He grins down at you. “That’s it. Just take it.” The sound of his balls slapping against you fill the walls of the rickety barn. His hand that’s around your throat releases it in favor of pinching the sides of your mouth, forcing it open and he spits into your mouth. “Swallow.” He instructs closing it for you.

You’re in no position to object so you can only oblige. He grins watching your throat bob, signaling that you did what he said.

“Atta girl. I knew you could listen.” He forces two of his thick digits into your mouth, “Now suck.”

Again you listen, suckling on his pointer and middle finger. He moans a little, imagining what your mouth would feel like around his cock instead. He pushes them deeper, causing you to gag around them. He pulls back only slightly, his hips continuing to jackhammer into your poor pussy, relishing in the wet squelches. “Wetter than your mom was,” he groans, “tighter too.”

“Mmph!” is all you can manage with his fingers in your mouth.

“Fuck..” he hisses, his moves getting sloppier. Before he can cum he quickly pulls out and continues to jack himself off the last few seconds, using your slick and his precum to aid his movements. His hips shoot forward as his balls tense up, spurting his hot load all over your shirt, not caring for the clean up or if you even finished.

You’re breathless and dazed, head spinning. “Huh-..? W-wait..what-“

Chapter Three: Beverly

Primitive, my sister was, a feasting animal, and I gave myself up to the ferocity of her desire with an abandon that was strange to me, retentive to the last, but for that night. Her mouth between my legs was as though I had summoned a thoughtform of myself to pleasure me, or else called on my own ghost through time, such was the exactness of her understanding of me, her taut lips and rasping tongue waking me to star scapes of ecstasy.

I caught my own scream in my hand before it ever left me, bunched my shoulders to stop my back from buckling into an unseemly arch as she unlatched every tightly wound want I had in answer to her.

My hands closed like ferns upon the couch cushions, drawn in by Elliot's contact upon me, the velvet light that each rough curve of tongue and fingertips struck bright, inducing a blindness in which I saw only her, my sister; she raised her head like a desert wanderer from a mirage, and her eyes flashed, black jewels studding the satin of her beauty, that was mine.

"That feels good," she crooned, through that red mouth, her lips and tongue awash with me. "Doesn't it?"

I couldn't answer, only yawned in silence over the cries that I could never let go for fear that I could not stopper them in the glass bottle of myself again. So down between my thighs she went, my loose-haired doppleganger, her free hand clawing my breasts, my waist, my hips with a greed that told me it wasn't quite enough, would never be enough unless, by some eldritch miracle, she were able to plunge her whole form within me, or draw me into her, making us one sole idol of pleasure.

My feet dashed a pillow from the end of the sofa, digging as they did into the fabric beneath me for purchase, something to pin me to the earth that I longed to leave in the ether of that feeling. Only Genevieve had ever come close to achieving that flawless Eden, yet she was an ancient memory in the face of all I that I endured, then, the unwriting of myself on the tongue of my twin.

"Ellie," I whimpered, at last, through lips drawn so thin as to pretend I had not spoken.

She scrambled up my body with a sloppy eagerness to kiss me, filling my mouth with the musk of my own pleasure, with the wine-darkness of the saliva I swallowed without question, as though, like water, it might ease the thirst that haunted me in even my happiest times. I gave myself entirely to that kiss, my hands on her cheeks, holding her to me with a force that left pale marks when she drew back to lap me to my vertices again.

"Good girl," said Elliot, against my sodden thigh, so sweetly that I moaned like a crow with a broken wing, unfit to fly. "I want you to come for me, Beverly. You are going to come for me, Beverly. Do you hear me? Tell me."

Tears of joyous desire crystallised in the corners of my vision, cracking my vision into a dream as seen through frosted glass.

"Yes," I said. "I hear you, Ellie. I love you. Please..."

Her fingers had returned to me, inciting such sensation where I had once known nothing but the shadows of her own achievements, the lovers Elliot had hunted for me as a wild cat in some sensuous wood. My hands went out to her, wishing to entice her mouth back to the seam that craved her cunning repair.

"Then don't be so fucking quiet," said Elliot, laughing, the lovely devil. "I want to hear you. Moan for me. Say my name. Tell me you need me."

She saw the difficulty of it, how desperately I suppressed the carnal madness that Elliot inhabited as simply as a selkie its skin. That was how it was, always, between my sister and I: she, the first primal hunter to set fire to a spear and prowl beyond the cave in whose safe darkness I remained. Now I saw that I had no option but to follow, a shallow mimic, echoing the sounds I hoped that she would make for me, in return.

"Ellie," I cried. "I need you."

Her eyes were night gems, all precious, wicked mystery in which I saw the moon of my own face from afar. Then her tongue was parting my heat again, and I gasped as, in that anointing fire, I sensed every mote of resistance give itself over to sin, and sumptuousness, and sugar lacquered symphony. I moaned, and Elliot's arm went about my hips, hauling me so flush to her mouth that it was though we were joined there, sealed forever in that rapturous stance.

My orgasm made me realise how long I'd been a somnambulist, a listless wisp that, through existence, walked sleeping, feeling nothing of it but a colourless suggestion of things. Now it seemed the world had awoken into lurid colour, the red of a tongue and the inner aperture of me, all crimson, all-knowing, the ruby eye of Elliot's God watching us take our fists to the ten commandments.

My back curved off the couch in a coiling 'C', and I released a dozen calls of soft pleasure that moved the quiet house with their melody. Then down I fell, breathless and flushed all over in my sister's arms, who had risen from my pink thighs to lie across me, her head at my breast, planting a kiss with saucily nipping teeth to one nipple.

"That," I said, when I could find the air to speak. "That was... I've been waiting all my life for this, I think."

Elliot raised her head and smirked at me with such coquettish self-satisfaction that I was almost shy.

"I love how you taste," she declared. "I could eat you for every meal of the day, and I'd never be bored. Yum."

She rubbed one hand across her face, smearing my wetness away, and then licked a kittenish stripe across her palm, gathering the salt of it.

I tried to sit up, my legs near helpless to assist me, and settled in a half slouch, nursing my brow, watching Elliot stride a lap of the room, the wine glass back in her hand again. It was impossible not to look at her. Her beauty was so bold, mine but a faded replica of she, who had been born first.

"Elliot," I said, gently. "Come and sit down."

"The General and her orders," Elliot retorted, but she obliged, tangling herself back amidst my limbs in an embrace that was comfort and desire all at once.

She turned her face to mine, garlands of hair looped against her wet cheek.