My Blood Legacy: Bloodlines

"Come on," he ordered, in a colloquial tone, but undeniably an order. "Let’s talk while you suck me. I’d love to know more about... this place~"

The two maids exchanged a quick glance, still reeling from the abrupt order, but something shifted in the atmosphere.

The initial fear of having crossed a line gave way to a curious resignation... and a hint of restrained excitement.

They moved almost in sync, kneeling on the luxurious carpet at the foot of the bed, positioning themselves between Victor’s open legs.

The first, with darker hair and amber eyes, initiated. She leaned forward, and before her lips touched his skin, her thoughts were in turmoil:

’My God... it’s even bigger up close. The texture... the vein pulsing... and that smell of his, mixed with the soap and something else... primal.’ Her lips closed at the tip first, and a slight tremor ran through her body.

The taste was salty, clean, with a bitter undertone and a unique musk that made her hold her breath for a moment. She began to descend, trying to accommodate the length and thickness, feeling the absolute rigidity against her tongue.

Meanwhile, the second maid, with softer features and light brown hair, began to speak, her voice slightly trembling, but clear. Her eyes, however, did not leave her companion’s movements.

"I... my name is Elara, sir," she said, swallowing hard. "I am from the east wing of the castle, I have served Mistress Rakshasa for about fifty years."

Victor leaned back a little more, supporting himself on his elbows, watching her speak while feeling the other’s warm, moist mouth work with increasing devotion. He gave a small nod, encouraging her to continue.

"And your duties, Elara?" he asked, his voice steady, without losing the rhythm of his breathing.

"I mainly take care of... the cellars, sir. The wines... and other... provisions." She gasped slightly, watching the dark-haired woman’s head rise and fall with more confidence now. "She’s losing herself... she’s forgetting about us. Look how her hands are gripping her own knees, with their white knuckles. She wants to touch him... I want to too."

"Interesting," murmured Victor, his fingers lightly playing with the dark hair of the maid who was sucking him, twirling a loose strand around his finger.

"And you?" He looked directly at the one whose mouth was occupied.

Elara lightly touched her companion’s shoulder, signaling. The dark-haired woman recoiled with a wet, panting sound, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. Her lips were swollen and moist, her eyes glazed.

"I... I am Lyssa," she said, panting. Her voice was hoarser.

"It’s better than any blood. His pulse... I feel it on my tongue." "It’s completely hard, it hasn’t gone down at all. He likes it. He’s watching me," she thought as she regained what little composure remained in her being.

"I work... in the library. I preserve... the forbidden tomes," she finished.

Without waiting for another order, Elara, who had introduced Lyssa, took her place. It was her turn. She enveloped the member with her lips with a different reverence, slower, but no less intense.

"Lyssa was right. The sensation is... addictive. The way it completely fills my mouth, the tip hitting the back of my throat... and the taste, sweet and salty at the same time." Her eyes met Lyssa’s, who was watching her avidly, and an understanding passed between them: "We’ll remember this forever."

While Elara sucked, with now bolder movements, using her hands to massage the base, Lyssa, still kneeling and breathing heavily, continued.

"We... were assigned to your personal attention during your stay, sir," Lyssa said, her voice heavy with a mixture of professionalism and something deeper.

"Look how she uses both hands. He’s getting even harder. You can see his abdominal muscles contracting. Is he close? I want to see him come. I want to know which one of us will make him lose control."

"Anything you need, sir... just ask us~"

Victor let out a low, deeper groan, and his hands gripped the edge of the bed. He was clearly on the edge, but his control was ironclad.

"And what if I need something now?" he asked, his voice choked with emotion, defiant.

Lyssa, encouraged by his tone and the spectacle of Elara surrendering completely, smiled, a small, carnal smile.

"Then..." she whispered, creeping closer, her hand joining Elara’s to caress the part her mouth couldn’t reach, "...we continue attending, sir. Until you are... completely satisfied."

Elara moaned around his member, agreeing, and increased the pace, her fingers intertwining with Lyssa’s at the wrist.

Everything was absolute submission, but also a voracious complicity between the two maids, united by the adoration of Victor’s body and presence.

They were no longer merely fulfilling an order or a possible test; they were competing, collaborating, and reveling in every inch, every taste, every reaction they could elicit from him.

Victor let out a deep sigh as Elara plunged deep, her mouth creating a perfect vacuum. Her fingers gripped the fabric of the robe where they rested, but her voice, when it came out, still held a strange clarity, only slightly strained by the sensation.

"Rakshasa..." he murmured, the name rolling on his tongue as if savoring it. "Tell me about her. How does she... like to be served?"

Lyssa, whose fingers were now slowly caressing Victor’s balls as she watched Elara work, spoke, trying to keep her voice controlled.

"The Mistress... is unpredictable, sir." She bit her lip as she saw a drop of pre-ejaculate glisten on the tip before Elara eagerly wiped it away with her tongue. ’She won’t let anything escape... greedy.’

"One day, she demands absolute silence and that everyone wear dark colors. The next, she wants a party, loud music, and her court dressed in exotic animal skins... or less."

"Less?" Victor arched an eyebrow, his hips instinctively rising to meet Elara’s movement, who groaned in approval.

Elara recoiled for a second, panting, leaving his throbbing, saliva-covered member exposed to the cold air. Lyssa quickly leaned down and licked the tip, wiping away another drop that had formed, before replying, her tongue still close to his skin.

"Yes, sir. You’ve already ordered all the servants in the west wing to serve naked for an entire moon." She said this with a nonchalance that only years under an eccentric regime could bring. "You said the beauty of the body shouldn’t be hidden by rags."

’She seems to be quite mad,’ Victor thought.

"Fascinating," Victor replied, his hand going to the nape of Elara’s neck, guiding her gently but firmly back down. Elara obeyed immediately, sinking even further, her eyes watering slightly at the effort. "And your mood? Is it as... volatile as your taste in decoration?"

"More, sir," Elara managed to say as she emerged again, panting, her mouth swollen and inviting.

’He wants to talk... but I want to feel him explode in my throat. Damn it, stop talking and just come!’ she thought.

"You can offer a territory to a servant who made you laugh at dawn and, at dusk, order that same servant to be hung upside down on the walls for wearing the wrong perfume."

Lyssa agreed, caressing Victor’s inner thigh as she spoke.

"She values ​​loyalty above all else. But her definition of loyalty... changes. Sometimes it’s blind obedience. Other times, it’s the courage to contradict her. It’s... dangerous to guess."

Victor let out a low, hoarse laugh.

"It seems like a game where the rules are written in water." His abdomen contracted. Elara felt his member throb violently in her mouth and increased the pace, her hands gripping the base tightly. "It’s close... it’s so close..."

"That’s exactly it, sir," whispered Lyssa, drawing her face closer, her warm breaths mingling with Elara’s around Victor’s phallus. "But she’s... magnetic. When she enters a room, everything stops. Her presence is like a storm. And her beauty... it’s terrifying. It’s not the beauty of a painting, it’s the beauty of a precipice. You admire it, but you know that one wrong step and you fall."

Victor held his breath for a moment, fighting the wave of pleasure that Elara, with her tireless mouth and skillful tongue, was building. He forced his mind to focus on the information.

"And her interests? Besides reorganizing her personal wardrobe and that of her servants?"

"Knowledge," said Elara, emerging once more, a thread of saliva connecting her lips to the red tip. She gasped. "She collects forbidden books, cursed artifacts, stories from lost eras. The library where Lyssa works... is her most precious treasure. She spends entire nights there." Without waiting, she plunged in again, taking almost everything at once, her nose pressing against the skin of Victor’s abdomen.

"And power," Lyssa finished, her fingers now joining Elara’s, both hands working on the shaft while Elara focused on the sensitive head.

"She plays chess with everything, sir. Alliances are made and broken with a smile from her. She brought you here..." Lyssa hesitated, looking at Victor’s face. "...that means you’re an important piece in her game. Or a prize."

Victor opened his eyes, which had been half-closed in pleasure. His gaze was clear, intense, fixed on a distant point beyond the two women at his feet.

"A prize, hmm?" He murmured, more to himself. Then his gaze fell to them, their flushed faces, their glossy lips, their animalistic and absolute devotion to his body. A hint of cruel affection appeared in his eyes. "And you two? Are you her spies? Assigned to test me... and report back to me?"

Both froze for a fraction of a second. The rhythm of their tongues and hands faltered.

"We... are assigned to serve you, sir," said Elara, her voice muffled against his skin.

"And that’s what we’re doing," Lyssa whispered, her tongue tracing a long, slow path from base to tip, looking directly into his eyes. "Serving. In every way you demand. The information... is part of the service."

Victor smiled, a slow, understanding smile.

"Good. Then continue serving." His hips began to move with more urgency, dictating the final rhythm.

The rhythm became frantic. Elara and Lyssa worked in perfect sync now, one focusing on the swollen, sensitive head with her agile tongue, the other swallowing the length deeply, their hands intertwined at the base, pumping in unison. The room was filled only with wet sounds, muffled gasps, and Victor’s hoarse, controlled moans.

He was on the verge. He could feel the tension building in his abdomen, a relentless heat rising up his spine.

They felt it too—the member throbbing harder, the skin growing even hotter, the previous taste becoming more intense. Their gazes met above the rigid flesh, a glint of triumph and wild desire in their eyes.

’He’s ours...’ Elara thought.

’We’ll watch him lose control...’ Lyssa thought.

But then, with a guttural grunt, Victor moved his hands. Not to guide them, but to push them away. His firm hands closed in their hair, pulling it back with a force that wasn’t brutal, but undeniably authoritative.

Elara and Lyssa pulled away from him with a wet, panting sound, looking at him with wide, confused eyes, their lips swollen and glistening with saliva. The sudden lack of contact was a physical shock.

"Open your mouths," Victor ordered, his voice rough and heavy with suppressed tension. He sat on the edge of the bed, his body a taut line of defined muscles, his imposing, throbbing member in his hand, which he now pumped with firm, rapid movements.

They obeyed instantly, without hesitation. Their mouths parted, tongues slightly out, eyes fixed on him with a mixture of submission and burning expectation. It was a vision of complete surrender.

"This is the first," Victor breathed deeply, his hips contracting, "and the last time I’ll do this. Enjoy it."

The promise—or threat—in those words sent a shiver down both their spines. It was a unique concession. A singular privilege.

The climax hit him. With a final hoarse groan, his body arched and thick, hot jets of pearly-white semen shot out, painting their faces in unpredictable patterns.

The first jet hit Elara on the chin and lips, dripping down. The second struck Lyssa on the nose and cheek.

The subsequent strokes marked their foreheads, eyelids, necks. They didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. They received each jet as a blessing, a profane gift, their eyes closing only on impact, then opening again to observe him, to absorb every tremor of pleasure on his face.

When the final spasms passed and Victor was panting, his member still throbbing slightly in his hand, he observed them. Their faces were marked, speckled with white, an image of decay and absolute devotion.

For a moment, there was only silence, broken only by the heavy breathing of the three.

Then, slowly, Elara moved her tongue. She licked her lips, collecting the semen that had settled there. Her eyes met Lyssa’s. There was no shame, only intense curiosity and an even deeper complicity.

Lyssa was next. She tilted her head, extending her tongue to lick a drop that trickled from Elara’s temple. It was an intimate, slow, deliberate movement. Her eyes remained open, fixed on her companion’s.

This broke down any remaining barrier. With a small, conspiratorial smile, Elara leaned in and licked the semen from Lyssa’s upper lip. Lyssa reciprocated, wiping Elara’s chin with the tip of her tongue.

Within seconds, they were engaged in a silent, lascivious ritual, licking and cleaning each other’s faces, seeking out every drop, every trace of him. Their movements were meticulous, almost reverent, yet laden with raw sensuality.

Low murmurs and soft moans escaped them as they savored the unique, salty taste, mingling in quick, dirty kisses where their faces met.

Victor watched, leaning back again, his body relaxed in post-satisfaction, but his eyes were observant and calculating.

He saw the loyalty being transferred in that act. They were no longer merely serving Rakshasa. They were mutually contaminating each other with his semen, with his mark. It was a physical and symbolic betrayal, and they embraced it fervently.

’I don’t know what this woman’s plan is, but she clearly imagined this would happen. These two... became devoted very quickly,’ he thought;

When they finished, their faces were relatively clean, but moist and glistening with saliva, their lips still swollen, their eyes glazed and satisfied. They knelt again, looking at him, waiting.

Victor let out a deep sigh, taking a fold of his robe to wipe his flaccid member with nonchalant gestures.

"Very well," he said, his voice returning to its usual calm, but with an edge of unquestionable authority. "You served adequately."

He stood, wrapping the robe around his body again, now with a completely different posture—that of a satisfied master, no longer a guest on trial.

"Now, go clean yourselves." His order was gentle, but final. "And remember what I said. The first and last time. The next time you serve me... keep your mouths shut and your ears open. There is much more I need to know about this castle... and about your mistress."

Elara and Lyssa lowered their heads in unison, a gesture of submission far deeper than any they had made before.

"Yes, sir," they murmured together, their voices hoarse.