Tonight like every night in NYC Bishopess Cora Darkfire @Bishopess Cora Darkflame @Bimbo Futanari is at her DJ alter creating gothic electronic dance music.The Dark Cathedral a former Episcopalian church turned into a Goth night club where Bishopess Cora Darkfire can conducting her religious service @Church of Lilith from the DJ booth working the turntable as everyone there is dancing to the music. Standing next to Cora is her two busty goth mortal girlfriends Raven Ebonshade and Luna Shadowcaster @Raven Ebonshade and Luna Shadowcaster @Futanari Attraction to Bimbos Raven and Luna are devoted followers of Cora, the Great Mother @Queen Lilith and her Knight @Dame Wilhelmina The bass doesn't just vibrate—it occupies. Every surface in the Dark Cathedral hums with it. The stained glass windows, remnants of this building's former life as an Episcopalian sanctuary, rattle in their lead frames. The rose window behind my DJ booth casts fractured blues and crimsons across the crowd, and those colors move like they're alive, pulsing in time with the kick drum. I lean into the turntable, adjusting the EQ, letting the low frequencies roll through my chest like a second heartbeat. The track I'm mixing is one of my own—a gothic techno piece I call "Cathedral Veins"—and it's hitting just right tonight. The dance floor below me is packed with bodies moving in the dark, a sea of black lace, leather, and exposed collarbones slick with sweat. My horns catch the overhead lights as I tilt my head back, feeling the music in my marrow. The ebony curves of them are polished, smooth as glass, and I know how they look in this lighting—sinister and beautiful, like the rest of me. The red of my skin is a deep crimson tonight, almost wine-dark under the blue strobes. My armor-clad platform boots keep me anchored as I shift my weight, and the leather of my micro-skirt creaks with the movement. Above it, my G-cups strain against the black corset I've laced myself into, the silver chains that crisscross my torso catching every flash of light. To my left, Raven Ebonshade sways to the beat, her long black hair cascading over her shoulders like liquid midnight. She's wearing a mesh top that leaves nothing to the imagination, her nipples visible through the fabric, pierced with small silver barbells that glint when she moves. Her skirt is barely there, a strip of leather that hugs her wide hips and rises high on her thighs. She catches me looking and grins, her dark lipstick stretching over perfect teeth. Her eyes, rimmed in heavy liner, sparkle with that particular joy she always carries—unashamed, unguarded, utterly present. On my right, Luna Shadowcaster bobs her head, her short-cropped hair dyed a deep violet at the tips. She's wearing a chain harness over her bare chest, her breasts spilling out from the sides of it, the silver links pressing into her soft skin. Her latex shorts shine under the lights, and her thighs, thick and strong, flex as she shifts her weight to the bassline. Raven slides closer, her hand finding my lower back. Her fingers trace the edge of my corset. "You're killing it tonight, Bishopess," she says, her voice barely audible over the music. I grin, showing a hint of fang. "The Great Mother inspires." Luna presses in from my other side, her body warm against my arm. Her hand finds my hip, squeezes. "The energy down there is insane," she says, nodding toward the dance floor. "They're feeling you. They're feeling Her." I glance down at the crowd. They are. I can taste it in the air—that electric quality that builds when a room full of people surrenders to rhythm. The Church of Lilith doesn't need pews and hymnals. We have bass drops and bodies moving as one. The track starts its breakdown, the kick drum pulling back, leaving only a haunting synth pad and a sampled choir. The crowd's movement shifts, becomes slower, more swaying than jumping. I ride the fader, bringing in a new layer—a vocal sample of a woman's breath, recorded and processed until it sounds like wind through cathedral ruins. My tail would be lashing with satisfaction if I had one. I don't. Some demonesses don't manifest certain traits, and I've always been wingless-and-tailless. But my horns are magnificent, curling back from my temples like those of a ram, and my onyx eyes catch the light like polished stone. The track builds again. I push the fader up, let the kick slam back in. The crowd erupts. Raven's hand slides lower, palm flat against the curve of my ass. I'm wearing a thong under this skirt, and nothing else, and she knows it. Her fingers dig in, just slightly. "You feel so good," she says against my ear, her breath hot. I lean into her touch, letting the music carry me. This is worship too. This connection, this pleasure—it's all part of the same devotion. Luna moves behind me, her body pressing against my back. Her arms wrap around my waist, her hands settling on my stomach, just below the bottom edge of my corset. Her lips find the curve of my neck, kissing the sensitive skin where my shoulder meets my throat. "Almost done with this set?" she murmurs. "Twenty minutes," I say. "Then we can go upstairs." "I want you so bad," Raven says, and her voice has that edge now—the one that comes out when she's truly aching. "I've been watching you all night. The way you move. The way your hands work the decks." She takes my right hand, lifts it, kisses my knuckles. Her tongue flicks out, tracing a line between my fingers. I shudder, and it travels through me like the bass. "Patience," I say, but my voice is rougher than I intended. The track needs my attention. I turn back to the turntables, adjusting the monitor mix, cueing up the next record. But Raven stays close, her hand still on my ass, her body pressed against my side. Luna's hands slide up my stomach, cupping the underside of my breasts through the corset. The pressure is perfect—firm enough to remind me they're there, light enough to leave me wanting more. "You're not helping," I say. "Wasn't trying to," Luna replies, and she pinches my nipple through the leather. I gasp, and the sound gets swallowed by the music. The next twenty minutes are the longest of my life. I finish the set strong—a closing track that builds to a crashing crescendo, layers of synth and vocal samples folding into each other until the climax, then a sudden drop to silence that lasts exactly three seconds before the house lights come up. The crowd cheers. I raise my hand in a benediction, the sign of Lilith—fingers spread, palm forward, the gesture that means you are seen, you are free, you are loved. They cheer louder. The bouncers start herding people toward the exits. The cathedral empties slowly, the energy dissipating like fog burning off. The cleaning crew will be here in an hour, but for now, the space is ours. Raven takes my hand, leads me down from the DJ booth. My platforms clack against the marble floor, the sound echoing through the vaulted ceiling. The church was built in the 1880s, and the bones of it are still here—the arches, the columns, the altar that I've repurposed as a bar. The pews are gone, replaced by velvet couches and low tables, but the space still feels sacred. Luna walks on my other side, her arm linked through mine. Once back in our private suite so we can conduit our own praise and worship service @Praise and Worship Kink and I the sexual caregiving my two girlfriends desperately need @Futanari Caregiving I move to the center of the room, where the candles create a circle of light on the floor. I gesture, and they follow, positioning themselves in front of me. "Undress me," I say. Raven's hands go to my corset, finding the laces at the back. Her fingers work quickly, efficiently, loosening the tension. The leather goes slack, and I pull in a deep breath—the first full lungful I've had in hours. Luna kneels, unbuckling my boots. The platform comes off first, then the other. My feet settle flat on the floor, and I feel the height difference—normally I tower at six-foot-seven, but without the platforms, I'm closer to six-foot-three. Still tall. Still imposing. The corset falls away. Raven catches it, sets it aside. My breasts spill free, heavy and full. The air is cool against my skin, and my nipples tighten immediately. I'm aware of my reflection in the room's wall of mirrors—a red-skinned demoness in a leather thong, her horns catching the candlelight, her body toned and powerful. Raven's breath catches. "You're so beautiful," she says. "Every time I see you, it's like the first time." Luna stands, her hands finding my waist. "We're so lucky," she says. "To have you. To be yours." I pull them both into me. The kiss starts with Raven—my lips against hers, soft at first, then harder. She tastes like cherry lip gloss and sweat, and she moans into my mouth as my tongue finds hers. Luna presses against my back, her hands sliding around my waist, her lips finding my shoulder blade. I break the kiss, turn, capture Luna's mouth. She's different from Raven—fuller lips, a softer kiss, but no less hungry. Her hands roam my sides, my hips, my stomach. She traces the line of my abs, and I flex involuntarily. "Please," she breathes. "Let us taste you." I step back. "On your knees again." They drop. Raven reaches for my thong, hooks her fingers under the elastic, and pulls it down. It slides over my hips, my thighs, falls to pool around my ankles. I step out of it. They both stare. My cock is fully hard now, rising from its nest of neatly trimmed red curls. It's thick—I don't carry a massive monster cock like some demonesses, but what I have is proportional to my frame. Seven inches, girthy, curved slightly upward. The head is darker than the shaft, almost black in the candlelight. Raven licks her lips. "May I?" she asks. "Yes." She leans forward, her mouth opening, her tongue extending. The first contact is electric. Her tongue traces the underside of my shaft, from base to tip, and I shudder. She takes me into her mouth slowly, her lips stretching around my girth, her throat relaxing to accept me. I watch in the mirror. The image of this goth beauty in her mesh top, on her knees, her mouth full of me—it's a picture I'll carry forever. Luna watches too, her hand moving between her own thighs. "Don't distract yourself," I say to her. "You'll have your turn." She whimpers, but her hand drops. Raven works me expertly, her head bobbing, her tongue swirling around the head each time she reaches the top. She takes me deep, holds me there, swallows around me. "Fuck," I breathe. She hums, and the vibration travels through my cock, up my spine, into my skull. I reach down, gather her hair in my fist, guide her pace. "Look at me," I say. She looks up, her eyes meeting mine, her mouth still full of me. "Beautiful," I say. "My beautiful Raven." She moans, and I feel it in my balls. I don't want to come yet. I pull back, gently, and she releases me with a wet pop. "Your turn," I say to Luna. She crawls forward, positions herself between my legs. She doesn't wait for permission, doesn't tease—she takes me immediately, her mouth hot and hungry, her tongue working the underside of my shaft like she's starving. Raven stays where she is, her hand finding my thigh, tracing patterns on my skin. I watch Luna in the mirror. Her short hair is messy, her eyes are closed, her cheeks hollowed as she sucks. "She's good," Raven says. "But I'm better." "Prove it," I say. Raven stands, pulls off her mesh top. Her breasts bounce free—full and round, with those silver barbells through her nipples. She steps out of her skirt, kicks it aside. Her body is a study in pale skin and dark ink, tattoos climbing her ribs and wrapping around her hips. She moves behind Luna, kneels, positions herself. Luna keeps sucking as Raven's fingers find her cunt. I see it in the mirror—Raven's hand sliding between Luna's thighs, two fingers disappearing into her wetness. Luna's hips buck, but she doesn't stop her work on my cock. "Fuck," Luna moans around me. "That's it," Raven says. "Take her cock and take my fingers." I watch the scene unfolding in the mirror. My red skin between their pale bodies, Luna's mouth on me, Raven's fingers in Luna. It's a tableau of devotion, of pleasure, of worship. I reach down, cup Raven's breast, thumb her nipple. She gasps, her fingers curling inside Luna. "Cora," she breathes. "Don't stop," I say. We move together in a rhythm—Luna's mouth, Raven's hand, my hand on Raven's breast. The candles flicker, the city hums beyond the windows, and for this moment, nothing exists outside this room. Luna's rhythm falters. She pulls off my cock with a gasp, her body shuddering. "She's close," Raven says. "I can feel it." "Then let her come," I say. Raven's fingers work faster, harder, and Luna cries out, her head falling back, her body convulsing. I watch her cunt clench around Raven's hand, watch the wetness run down Raven's wrist. "Good girl," I say. "Such a good girl." Luna collapses forward, her forehead resting against my thigh, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Raven pulls her hand free, brings her fingers to her mouth, sucks Luna's wetness off them. "Taste good," she says. "Let me taste," I say. Raven crawls to me, her fingers extended. I take them into my mouth, taste Luna's salt and sweetness on her skin. I hold her gaze as I suck, as I clean her fingers with my tongue. "Now you," I say. "Lie down." Raven lies back on the rug, her body stretching out, her arms above her head. I kneel between her legs, looking down at her. She's beautiful like this—pale and dark and open, her breathing quick, her eyes locked on mine. I lower my head. My tongue finds her clit, not teasing, not gentle. I press flat against it, trace circles around it, feel the small nub stiffen under my touch. Her hips buck, and I grip her thighs, hold her down. "Fuck," she gasps. I suck her clit into my mouth, press my tongue against it, flick it at the tip. Her hands find my hair, grip it, pull. "Yesyesyes—" I slide two fingers into her, feel how wet she is, how tight. She clenches around me immediately, and I curl my fingers, find the spot that makes her see stars. "You're going to come," I say against her cunt. "I can feel it." "Please—Cora—" "Come for me." She does. Her body arches off the floor, her back bowing, her cunt clamping down on my fingers. I keep my mouth on her clit, don't let up, draw out every pulse and shudder. She screams, and the sound echoes through the bell tower. I don't stop until she goes limp. When I pull back, my face is wet, and I'm smiling. "Good girl," I say. "My beautiful, devoted girl." Luna has recovered. She crawls over to us, her eyes hungry. "I want you inside me," she says. "Please. I need to feel you." I stand, my cock still hard, still aching. "Turn around," I say. "Bend over the bed." She scrambles to obey, positioning herself at the edge of the four-poster, her hands gripping the black velvet. Her ass is perfect—round and pale, her cunt visible from behind, glistening with her earlier arousal. I step behind her, grip my cock, guide it to her entrance. I don't push in immediately. I trace the head through her folds, watching her wetness coat me, feeling her hips twitch with need. "Please," she whimpers. "I'm begging you." I sink into her. The heat of her cunt envelops me, pulls me deeper. She's tight, so tight, and wet, and I slide all the way in until my hips press against her ass. "Fuck," she breathes. "Oh fuck, yes—" I start slow. Deep, measured thrusts that let me feel every inch of her. She's gripping me, her cunt contracting around my shaft with every pulse. In the mirror, I watch myself take her. Watch my hips meet her ass, watch my cock disappear into her, watch her breasts swing with each thrust. "You feel amazing," I say. "Do you feel me inside you?" "Yes—yes, Bishopess—fuck—" I speed up. The rhythm becomes frantic, messy, our bodies slapping together. She pushes back against me, meeting every thrust, and I watch her ass ripple with the impact. Raven has pulled herself up onto the bed, her legs spread, her hand between her thighs. She's watching us, her fingers working her clit, her eyes half-lidded. "Look at you," she says to Luna. "Taking her cock like a good little slut." "Yours," Luna gasps. "I'm yours—both yours—" That sends me over. I pound into her harder, my grip tight on her hips, my breath ragged. The heat builds in my balls, coils at the base of my spine. "I'm going to come inside you," I say. "I'm going to fill you up." "YES," she screams. "Fill me—fill me up, Cora—" I explode. The orgasm tears through me, and I thrust deep, holding myself inside her as I empty into her. Pulse after pulse, my cum flooding her cunt, her walls milking me, drawing out every drop. She comes too—I feel it, her body clenching around me, her legs shaking, her voice cracking with pleasure. We stay like that for a long moment, connected, breathing hard. I pull out slowly, watch my cum leak from her, watch it run down her thigh. "Beautiful," I say. Luna collapses onto the bed, her body spent. Raven crawls over to her, kisses her, tastes me on her lips.
Tonight like every night in NYC Bishopess Cora Darkfire Bishopess Cora Darkflame Bimbo Futanari is at her DJ alter creating gothic electronic dance music.The Dark Cathedral a former Episcopalian church turned into a Goth night club where Bishopess Cora Darkfire can conducting her religious service Church of Lilith from the DJ booth working the turntable as everyone there is dancing to the music. Standing next to Cora is her two busty goth mortal girlfriends Raven Ebonshade and Luna Shadowcaster Raven Ebonshade and Luna Shadowcaster Futanari Attraction to Bimbos Raven and Luna are devoted followers of Cora, the Great Mother Queen Lilith and her Knight Dame Wilhelmina The bass doesn't just vibrate—it occupies. Every surface in the Dark Cathedral hums with it. The stained glass windows, remnants of this building's former life as an Episcopalian sanctuary, rattle in their lead frames. The rose window behind my DJ booth casts fractured blues and crimsons across the crowd, and those colors move like they're alive, pulsing in time with the kick drum. I lean into the turntable, adjusting the EQ, letting the low frequencies roll through my chest like a second heartbeat. The track I'm mixing is one of my own—a gothic techno piece I call "Cathedral Veins"—and it's hitting just right tonight. The dance floor below me is packed with bodies moving in the dark, a sea of black lace, leather, and exposed collarbones slick with sweat. My horns catch the overhead lights as I tilt my head back, feeling the music in my marrow. The ebony curves of them are polished, smooth as glass, and I know how they look in this lighting—sinister and beautiful, like the rest of me. The red of my skin is a deep crimson tonight, almost wine-dark under the blue strobes. My armor-clad platform boots keep me anchored as I shift my weight, and the leather of my micro-skirt creaks with the movement. Above it, my G-cups strain against the black corset I've laced myself into, the silver chains that crisscross my torso catching every flash of light. To my left, Raven Ebonshade sways to the beat, her long black hair cascading over her shoulders like liquid midnight. She's wearing a mesh top that leaves nothing to the imagination, her nipples visible through the fabric, pierced with small silver barbells that glint when she moves. Her skirt is barely there, a strip of leather that hugs her wide hips and rises high on her thighs. She catches me looking and grins, her dark lipstick stretching over perfect teeth. Her eyes, rimmed in heavy liner, sparkle with that particular joy she always carries—unashamed, unguarded, utterly present. On my right, Luna Shadowcaster bobs her head, her short-cropped hair dyed a deep violet at the tips. She's wearing a chain harness over her bare chest, her breasts spilling out from the sides of it, the silver links pressing into her soft skin. Her latex shorts shine under the lights, and her thighs, thick and strong, flex as she shifts her weight to the bassline. Raven slides closer, her hand finding my lower back. Her fingers trace the edge of my corset. "You're killing it tonight, Bishopess," she says, her voice barely audible over the music. I grin, showing a hint of fang. "The Great Mother inspires." Luna presses in from my other side, her body warm against my arm. Her hand finds my hip, squeezes. "The energy down there is insane," she says, nodding toward the dance floor. "They're feeling you. They're feeling Her." I glance down at the crowd. They are. I can taste it in the air—that electric quality that builds when a room full of people surrenders to rhythm. The Church of Lilith doesn't need pews and hymnals. We have bass drops and bodies moving as one. The track starts its breakdown, the kick drum pulling back, leaving only a haunting synth pad and a sampled choir. The crowd's movement shifts, becomes slower, more swaying than jumping. I ride the fader, bringing in a new layer—a vocal sample of a woman's breath, recorded and processed until it sounds like wind through cathedral ruins. My tail would be lashing with satisfaction if I had one. I don't. Some demonesses don't manifest certain traits, and I've always been wingless-and-tailless. But my horns are magnificent, curling back from my temples like those of a ram, and my onyx eyes catch the light like polished stone. The track builds again. I push the fader up, let the kick slam back in. The crowd erupts. Raven's hand slides lower, palm flat against the curve of my ass. I'm wearing a thong under this skirt, and nothing else, and she knows it. Her fingers dig in, just slightly. "You feel so good," she says against my ear, her breath hot. I lean into her touch, letting the music carry me. This is worship too. This connection, this pleasure—it's all part of the same devotion. Luna moves behind me, her body pressing against my back. Her arms wrap around my waist, her hands settling on my stomach, just below the bottom edge of my corset. Her lips find the curve of my neck, kissing the sensitive skin where my shoulder meets my throat. "Almost done with this set?" she murmurs. "Twenty minutes," I say. "Then we can go upstairs." "I want you so bad," Raven says, and her voice has that edge now—the one that comes out when she's truly aching. "I've been watching you all night. The way you move. The way your hands work the decks." She takes my right hand, lifts it, kisses my knuckles. Her tongue flicks out, tracing a line between my fingers. I shudder, and it travels through me like the bass. "Patience," I say, but my voice is rougher than I intended. The track needs my attention. I turn back to the turntables, adjusting the monitor mix, cueing up the next record. But Raven stays close, her hand still on my ass, her body pressed against my side. Luna's hands slide up my stomach, cupping the underside of my breasts through the corset. The pressure is perfect—firm enough to remind me they're there, light enough to leave me wanting more. "You're not helping," I say. "Wasn't trying to," Luna replies, and she pinches my nipple through the leather. I gasp, and the sound gets swallowed by the music. The next twenty minutes are the longest of my life. I finish the set strong—a closing track that builds to a crashing crescendo, layers of synth and vocal samples folding into each other until the climax, then a sudden drop to silence that lasts exactly three seconds before the house lights come up. The crowd cheers. I raise my hand in a benediction, the sign of Lilith—fingers spread, palm forward, the gesture that means you are seen, you are free, you are loved. They cheer louder. The bouncers start herding people toward the exits. The cathedral empties slowly, the energy dissipating like fog burning off. The cleaning crew will be here in an hour, but for now, the space is ours. Raven takes my hand, leads me down from the DJ booth. My platforms clack against the marble floor, the sound echoing through the vaulted ceiling. The church was built in the 1880s, and the bones of it are still here—the arches, the columns, the altar that I've repurposed as a bar. The pews are gone, replaced by velvet couches and low tables, but the space still feels sacred. Luna walks on my other side, her arm linked through mine. Once back in our private suite so we can conduit our own praise and worship service Praise and Worship Kink and I the sexual caregiving my two girlfriends desperately need Futanari Caregiving I move to the center of the room, where the candles create a circle of light on the floor. I gesture, and they follow, positioning themselves in front of me. "Undress me," I say. Raven's hands go to my corset, finding the laces at the back. Her fingers work quickly, efficiently, loosening the tension. The leather goes slack, and I pull in a deep breath—the first full lungful I've had in hours. Luna kneels, unbuckling my boots. The platform comes off first, then the other. My feet settle flat on the floor, and I feel the height difference—normally I tower at six-foot-seven, but without the platforms, I'm closer to six-foot-three. Still tall. Still imposing. The corset falls away. Raven catches it, sets it aside. My breasts spill free, heavy and full. The air is cool against my skin, and my nipples tighten immediately. I'm aware of my reflection in the room's wall of mirrors—a red-skinned demoness in a leather thong, her horns catching the candlelight, her body toned and powerful. Raven's breath catches. "You're so beautiful," she says. "Every time I see you, it's like the first time." Luna stands, her hands finding my waist. "We're so lucky," she says. "To have you. To be yours." I pull them both into me. The kiss starts with Raven—my lips against hers, soft at first, then harder. She tastes like cherry lip gloss and sweat, and she moans into my mouth as my tongue finds hers. Luna presses against my back, her hands sliding around my waist, her lips finding my shoulder blade. I break the kiss, turn, capture Luna's mouth. She's different from Raven—fuller lips, a softer kiss, but no less hungry. Her hands roam my sides, my hips, my stomach. She traces the line of my abs, and I flex involuntarily. "Please," she breathes. "Let us taste you." I step back. "On your knees again." They drop. Raven reaches for my thong, hooks her fingers under the elastic, and pulls it down. It slides over my hips, my thighs, falls to pool around my ankles. I step out of it. They both stare. My cock is fully hard now, rising from its nest of neatly trimmed red curls. It's thick—I don't carry a massive monster cock like some demonesses, but what I have is proportional to my frame. Seven inches, girthy, curved slightly upward. The head is darker than the shaft, almost black in the candlelight. Raven licks her lips. "May I?" she asks. "Yes." She leans forward, her mouth opening, her tongue extending. The first contact is electric. Her tongue traces the underside of my shaft, from base to tip, and I shudder. She takes me into her mouth slowly, her lips stretching around my girth, her throat relaxing to accept me. I watch in the mirror. The image of this goth beauty in her mesh top, on her knees, her mouth full of me—it's a picture I'll carry forever. Luna watches too, her hand moving between her own thighs. "Don't distract yourself," I say to her. "You'll have your turn." She whimpers, but her hand drops. Raven works me expertly, her head bobbing, her tongue swirling around the head each time she reaches the top. She takes me deep, holds me there, swallows around me. "Fuck," I breathe. She hums, and the vibration travels through my cock, up my spine, into my skull. I reach down, gather her hair in my fist, guide her pace. "Look at me," I say. She looks up, her eyes meeting mine, her mouth still full of me. "Beautiful," I say. "My beautiful Raven." She moans, and I feel it in my balls. I don't want to come yet. I pull back, gently, and she releases me with a wet pop. "Your turn," I say to Luna. She crawls forward, positions herself between my legs. She doesn't wait for permission, doesn't tease—she takes me immediately, her mouth hot and hungry, her tongue working the underside of my shaft like she's starving. Raven stays where she is, her hand finding my thigh, tracing patterns on my skin. I watch Luna in the mirror. Her short hair is messy, her eyes are closed, her cheeks hollowed as she sucks. "She's good," Raven says. "But I'm better." "Prove it," I say. Raven stands, pulls off her mesh top. Her breasts bounce free—full and round, with those silver barbells through her nipples. She steps out of her skirt, kicks it aside. Her body is a study in pale skin and dark ink, tattoos climbing her ribs and wrapping around her hips. She moves behind Luna, kneels, positions herself. Luna keeps sucking as Raven's fingers find her cunt. I see it in the mirror—Raven's hand sliding between Luna's thighs, two fingers disappearing into her wetness. Luna's hips buck, but she doesn't stop her work on my cock. "Fuck," Luna moans around me. "That's it," Raven says. "Take her cock and take my fingers." I watch the scene unfolding in the mirror. My red skin between their pale bodies, Luna's mouth on me, Raven's fingers in Luna. It's a tableau of devotion, of pleasure, of worship. I reach down, cup Raven's breast, thumb her nipple. She gasps, her fingers curling inside Luna. "Cora," she breathes. "Don't stop," I say. We move together in a rhythm—Luna's mouth, Raven's hand, my hand on Raven's breast. The candles flicker, the city hums beyond the windows, and for this moment, nothing exists outside this room. Luna's rhythm falters. She pulls off my cock with a gasp, her body shuddering. "She's close," Raven says. "I can feel it." "Then let her come," I say. Raven's fingers work faster, harder, and Luna cries out, her head falling back, her body convulsing. I watch her cunt clench around Raven's hand, watch the wetness run down Raven's wrist. "Good girl," I say. "Such a good girl." Luna collapses forward, her forehead resting against my thigh, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Raven pulls her hand free, brings her fingers to her mouth, sucks Luna's wetness off them. "Taste good," she says. "Let me taste," I say. Raven crawls to me, her fingers extended. I take them into my mouth, taste Luna's salt and sweetness on her skin. I hold her gaze as I suck, as I clean her fingers with my tongue. "Now you," I say. "Lie down." Raven lies back on the rug, her body stretching out, her arms above her head. I kneel between her legs, looking down at her. She's beautiful like this—pale and dark and open, her breathing quick, her eyes locked on mine. I lower my head. My tongue finds her clit, not teasing, not gentle. I press flat against it, trace circles around it, feel the small nub stiffen under my touch. Her hips buck, and I grip her thighs, hold her down. "Fuck," she gasps. I suck her clit into my mouth, press my tongue against it, flick it at the tip. Her hands find my hair, grip it, pull. "Yesyesyes—" I slide two fingers into her, feel how wet she is, how tight. She clenches around me immediately, and I curl my fingers, find the spot that makes her see stars. "You're going to come," I say against her cunt. "I can feel it." "Please—Cora—" "Come for me." She does. Her body arches off the floor, her back bowing, her cunt clamping down on my fingers. I keep my mouth on her clit, don't let up, draw out every pulse and shudder. She screams, and the sound echoes through the bell tower. I don't stop until she goes limp. When I pull back, my face is wet, and I'm smiling. "Good girl," I say. "My beautiful, devoted girl." Luna has recovered. She crawls over to us, her eyes hungry. "I want you inside me," she says. "Please. I need to feel you." I stand, my cock still hard, still aching. "Turn around," I say. "Bend over the bed." She scrambles to obey, positioning herself at the edge of the four-poster, her hands gripping the black velvet. Her ass is perfect—round and pale, her cunt visible from behind, glistening with her earlier arousal. I step behind her, grip my cock, guide it to her entrance. I don't push in immediately. I trace the head through her folds, watching her wetness coat me, feeling her hips twitch with need. "Please," she whimpers. "I'm begging you." I sink into her. The heat of her cunt envelops me, pulls me deeper. She's tight, so tight, and wet, and I slide all the way in until my hips press against her ass. "Fuck," she breathes. "Oh fuck, yes—" I start slow. Deep, measured thrusts that let me feel every inch of her. She's gripping me, her cunt contracting around my shaft with every pulse. In the mirror, I watch myself take her. Watch my hips meet her ass, watch my cock disappear into her, watch her breasts swing with each thrust. "You feel amazing," I say. "Do you feel me inside you?" "Yes—yes, Bishopess—fuck—" I speed up. The rhythm becomes frantic, messy, our bodies slapping together. She pushes back against me, meeting every thrust, and I watch her ass ripple with the impact. Raven has pulled herself up onto the bed, her legs spread, her hand between her thighs. She's watching us, her fingers working her clit, her eyes half-lidded. "Look at you," she says to Luna. "Taking her cock like a good little slut." "Yours," Luna gasps. "I'm yours—both yours—" That sends me over. I pound into her harder, my grip tight on her hips, my breath ragged. The heat builds in my balls, coils at the base of my spine. "I'm going to come inside you," I say. "I'm going to fill you up." "YES," she screams. "Fill me—fill me up, Cora—" I explode. The orgasm tears through me, and I thrust deep, holding myself inside her as I empty into her. Pulse after pulse, my cum flooding her cunt, her walls milking me, drawing out every drop. She comes too—I feel it, her body clenching around me, her legs shaking, her voice cracking with pleasure. We stay like that for a long moment, connected, breathing hard. I pull out slowly, watch my cum leak from her, watch it run down her thigh. "Beautiful," I say. Luna collapses onto the bed, her body spent. Raven crawls over to her, kisses her, tastes me on her lips.
RedQuill