"Dinner's ready."
Isabella's voice came from the doorway of the study, laced with a sourness so thick it couldn't be dissolved, as if she had poured an entire bottle of aged balsamic vinegar down her throat.
"You can eat now."
She stood by the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, the skirt of her light blue dress bunching up under her tense posture.
Her braids hung down her chest, and the satin bows at the ends looked wilted, like two butterflies drenched in rain.
Her gaze fell on Cassiopeia's posture straddling Jerry's lap, fell on the open neckline of Cassiopeia's loungewear, and fell on the silver thread of saliva between them that hadn't quite broken yet.
She blushed.
It wasn't the shy pink she had worn at the door earlier, but a deeper, more intense crimson mixed with anger and grievance, burning all the way from the base of her neck to the tips of her ears. Even the small silver stud earrings on her earlobes were flushed pink.
Cassiopeia slid off Jerry's lap, her movements leisurely. As she stood up, the hem of her silk loungewear slid down tracing the lines of her thighs; her black silk stockings reflected an oily luster in the light.
She reached up and adjusted her collar but didn't tie it tight. That deep cleavage was still open, the two full, soft orbs faintly visible at the edge of the neckline.
"Let's go, time to eat."
Her voice returned to its lazy, commanding tone, as if that fierce kiss just now was merely a pre-dinner appetizer.
The dining room was at the end of the first-floor corridor. Pushing open the carved oak doors, a long table capable of seating twelve people occupied the center of the room.
The tabletop was polished black walnut, reflecting the image of the crystal chandelier on the ceiling.
Three sets of tableware had already been laid out on the table; the silver knives and forks glinted coldly in the candlelight.
The main course was steak.
Three thick-cut filet mignons lay on white porcelain plates, their surfaces seared to a fragrant brown. The cut cross-sections seeped pink meat juices, which pooled into a small puddle at the bottom of the plates, mixing with the aromas of black pepper sauce and rosemary.
Cassiopeia sat at the head of the long table, the innermost seat. Behind her was a floor-to-ceiling window looking out onto the yew forest behind the manor. Night had already fallen, and the silhouettes of the yew trees formed a black cutout against the windowpanes.
Her right side was Jerry's seat, and her left side was Isabella's seat.
Jerry sat down in the chair. It was a high-backed style with armrests, and the cushion was very soft. However, he didn't sit very comfortably, because that thing in his crotch was still hard. The shaft was constrained so tightly by the trouser fabric it ached, the tip pressing against the edge of his waistband. Every breath made that thing jump inside his pants.
Isabella sat down on Cassiopeia's left, her Mary Jane shoes scuffing the carpet twice. Her fingers gripped her napkin so tight her knuckles turned white.
"Isabella."
Cassiopeia picked up her steak knife, resting the tip on the edge of the steak, and cut down forcefully. Meat juices squeezed out from the cross-section, spreading across the bottom of the plate.
"Go feed Jerry his steak."
Isabella's fingers tightened on the napkin.
"Why!"
"Because you are his fiancée."
Cassiopeia forked the piece of steak she had cut and brought it to her mouth. As her teeth bit down, the meat juices burst in her oral cavity. Her cheek bulged slightly as she chewed slowly, her gaze resting on Isabella's face.
"At the engagement banquet, you will exchange gifts in front of all the guests, exchange vows, and also!"
She swallowed the steak in her mouth, her tongue-tip licking the residual meat juices from her upper lip.
"Feed each other.
This is a traditional part of the family's engagement ceremony. Don't tell me you don't even know this?"
Isabella's face turned even redder, but she still stood up, carrying her plate over to Jerry's side.
She stood next to Jerry's chair, looking down at the steak on her plate. The knife trembled in her hand; the tip poked the surface of the steak twice, poking two small holes from which meat juices seeped.
She cut off a piece, forked it, and held it up to Jerry's mouth.
"Open your mouth."
Jerry opened his mouth, and Isabella fed the fork in. The tip of the fork touched his tongue; her hand trembled, and the fork lingered in his mouth for two seconds before pulling out.
The meat juices of the steak melted on the tip of Jerry's tongue, mixed with the aromas of black pepper and rosemary. He chewed, his gaze resting on Isabella's face.
"Thank you, Senior!"
Isabella gave a soft chuckle.
Biting her lower lip, she cut another piece of steak. This time, she didn't fork it immediately. Instead, she lowered her head, stuck out her tongue-tip, and licked a circle over the surface of that piece of steak.
Her tongue-tip ground over the seared surface of the steak, ground over the cross-section seeping with meat juices, licking that piece of steak soaking wet. It was covered in her saliva, the saliva mixing with the meat juices, shimmering with a glistening watery sheen in the candlelight.
Then she stuck the fork into that licked piece of steak and held it up to Jerry's mouth.
"Eat."
Her voice carried a hint of petulance, as if declaring some kind of sovereignty.
Jerry opened his mouth, and Isabella fed the fork in. Her hand didn't tremble this time; the tip of the fork lingered on his tongue for much longer. She could feel his tongue touching her saliva remaining on the tip of the fork.
Cassiopeia watched this scene from the head of the table, the corner of her mouth curving into a satisfied arc.
"Very good, exactly like that.
At the engagement banquet, you must complete three mutual feedings in front of all the guests.
The first time is the appetizer, the second time is the main course, and the third time is dessert."
She cut another piece of steak, forked it, and put it in her mouth, chewing very slowly, as if savoring something amusing.
"After every feeding, you must kiss.
Not a quick peck like a dragonfly skimming the water, but the kind of kiss where everyone can see your tongues churning in each other's mouths."
Isabella's hand trembled, the fork dropping onto the plate with a clink.
Cassiopeia paid no mind, continuing to speak.
"After kissing, you will exchange gifts.
Jerry will give you a ring, and you will give him a tie clip.
The ring goes on the ring finger of your left hand, and the tie clip must be pinned to his collar."
Cassiopeia swallowed the steak in her mouth, her tongue-tip sweeping over her teeth.
"Then come the vows.
In front of everyone, you must recite the engagement vows that have been passed down in the family for three hundred years.
The vows are very long, consisting of twelve sentences. Every sentence must be spoken clearly, without any pauses or slips of the tongue."
Cassiopeia's foot moved under the table.
Her stiletto slipped off her foot, landing on the carpet with a soft thud.
Her black-silk-wrapped toes rubbed twice on the carpet, then stretched forward, reaching under Jerry's chair, reaching between his spread legs.
Her toes touched his calf; through the fabric of the school trousers, she could feel the tightness of his calf muscles.
Her toes slid upward, slid past his calf, slid past his knee, slid to his inner thigh, all the way up, finally stopping at the position of his crotch.
Her instep pressed against that still-hard meat-root.
Through the fabric of the trousers, she could feel the outline of that thing—frighteningly thick, absurdly long, extending all the way from the base to the edge of the waistband, the tip propping the fabric up into an exaggerated tent.
Her instep began to slide back and forth.
The movement was very slow, very light, like stroking a sleeping cat, but every slide carried a clear purpose. Her instep ground over the side of the shaft, ground over those coiled veins, ground over the massive head of the tip.
"After reciting the vows, you must kiss again.
This kiss must last at least thirty seconds. During this time, you cannot separate, you cannot take a breath. You must let everyone see how your lips are pressed together, see how your tongues are churning in each other's mouths."
Cassiopeia's voice didn't change at all; it was still that lazy, commanding tone, as if narrating the most ordinary thing.
But her foot sped up under the table.
Her instep stroked from the base of the shaft to the tip. Reaching the position of the tip, her toes hooked the coronal ridge, ground it forcefully for a circle, then stroked back, stroking to the base, and then up again.
Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
The rhythm grew faster and faster, the force stronger and stronger. The friction between the black silk and the trouser fabric produced an extremely faint swish-swish sound, which, mixed with Jerry's suppressed breathing, echoed in the quiet dining room.
"After kissing, you will cut the cake together.
The cake will have five tiers; the top tier is for you two. You must hold the knife together, cut down from the center of the cake, cut out a triangular piece of cake, and then feed each other."
Her toes stopped at the position of the tip. Her five toes clamped that massive head through the double layers of the black silk and the trouser fabric, kneading it forcefully. She could feel the tip deforming between her toes. The prostate fluid seeping from the position of the urethral slit soaked through the fabric onto her toes—wet, scalding her toe pads until they were numb.
Isabella cut another piece of steak. This time she didn't use the fork; instead, she picked it up directly with her fingers and put it in her mouth. Her tongue wrapped around that piece of steak, twirling a circle in her oral cavity, licking the steak soaking wet, then spat it out, pinching it and bringing it to Jerry's mouth.
"Eat."
Jerry opened his mouth, and Isabella shoved that licked piece of steak into his mouth. Her fingers lingered on his lips for two seconds; she could feel the wet, hot touch of his lips, and his exhaled hot breath hitting her fingertips.
Cassiopeia's foot moved again under the table.
This time it wasn't the instep, but the sole.
She plastered her entire sole against that meat-root, covering it seamlessly from base to tip. The fabric of the black silk was so thin it was almost transparent; she could feel every bulging vein on the shaft throbbing under her sole, could feel the shape of the tip bulging between her toes.
Her sole began to stroke up and down.
Stroking from base to tip, reaching the tip, her toes clamped tight, grinding forcefully for a circle, then stroking back down, stroking to the base. Her heel pressed against the position of the scrotum, gently grinding twice, then up again.
"After eating the cake, you will dance the first dance.
The music will be a waltz. You must dance for a full three minutes under the gazes of all the guests.
During this time, your bodies must be pressed together. Jerry's hand must rest on your waist, your hand must rest on his shoulder. Your faces must be very close, so close you can feel each other's breath."
The speed of her sole's stroking grew faster and faster. The friction between the black silk and the trouser fabric produced a swish-swish-swish sound. Prostate fluid continuously seeped from the urethral slit, soaking through the trouser fabric onto her sole, soaking a large wet patch. The wet patch emitted a sticky squish-squish water sound as it rubbed between her sole and the shaft.
Jerry's fingers gripped the armrests of the chair so tightly his knuckles turned white.
His breathing grew heavy, his chest heaving with increasing amplitude. His Adam's apple rolled up and down, as if swallowing something bitter.
Isabella cut another piece of steak. This time she shoved the entire piece of steak directly into her mouth, her cheeks bulging like a hamster. she chewed forcefully, chewing until meat juices overflowed from the corners of her mouth, trickling down her chin.
Then she leaned close to Jerry, her mouth opening. Inside was the steak she had chewed to mush, mixed with her saliva, turning into a pink paste.
Her lips pressed against Jerry's lips, and her tongue pushed that paste into his oral cavity, pushing very hard, as if wanting to shove her own tongue in along with it.
"Mmh!"
A muffled grunt came from Jerry's throat. That paste melted in his oral cavity, mixed with Isabella's saliva, a musky-sweet taste filling his entire mouth.
Cassiopeia's foot suddenly exerted force under the table.
Her sole gave a fierce stroke from the base to the tip. Reaching the position of the tip, her five toes clamped tight, kneading with all her might. She could feel the tip swelling to its absolute limit between her toes. The opening of the urethral slit grew wider and wider, the prostate fluid changing from seeping to flowing. The viscous liquid surged through the trouser fabric onto her toes, scalding her entire sole until it was numb.
"After the dance, you must toast together.
Starting from the head table, after toasting the head table, toast the side tables. Every table must be toasted to, every guest must be spoken to for a few words.
When toasting, you must link arms, cross your glasses to clink, look into each other's eyes when clinking, and then drink it all down in one gulp."
Cassiopeia's sole gave another stroke, this time even harder. The frequency of the shaft throbbing under her sole abruptly accelerated; the pulsation of the veins went from once a second to twice a second, three times. The entire meat-root was as hard as a red-hot iron rod, trembling slightly between her sole.
Isabella's lips were still pressed against Jerry's lips. Her tongue churned frantically in his oral cavity, churning until saliva and meat juices mixed together, overflowing from the gap between their pressed lips, trickling down Jerry's chin, down his neck, and into the collar of his school robe.
"After the toasts, you must receive blessings together.
All the guests will form a line, walk up to you one by one, say some words of blessing, and give some gifts.
You must accept them with a smile, say thank you, and act very happy, very loving, very much looking forward to the arrival of the wedding."
Cassiopeia's sole stopped under the table.
Not released, but her entire sole pressed deathly tight against that meat-root, from base to tip, pressing with all her might. She could feel the shaft throbbing violently under her sole, as if it were about to explode.
"Finally!"
Her voice grew even lower, so low it was like a whisper.
"You will leave the banquet hall together and walk into the bridal chamber prepared for you.
The door to the bridal chamber will close behind you, and all the guests will wait outside the door, waiting to hear the sounds you make in the room."
Her toes suddenly clamped tight at the position of the tip.
Her five toes clamped that massive head through the double layers of the black silk and the trouser fabric, kneading, grinding, squeezing with all her might. She could feel the tip swelling to its absolute limit between her toes, the urethral slit opening to its maximum. Prostate fluid erupted from the urethral slit, spraying onto her toes through the trouser fabric, spraying her entire sole soaking wet.
Jerry's body violently stiffened.
His fingers gripped the chair armrests even tighter, his nails digging into the wood grain. His spine arched into an exaggerated curve, a suppressed grunt escaping his throat.
Isabella's lips were still pressed against his lips. She could feel his body trembling, could feel his tongue spasming in her oral cavity, could feel his exhaled breath turn scalding hot.
Cassiopeia's sole gave another stroke under the table.
This was the final stroke. From base to tip, stroking with all her might. Reaching the tip, her toes clamped tight, ground forcefully for a circle, and then—
Jerry's waist jolted violently.
That meat-root inside his trousers throbbed violently three times under Cassiopeia's sole, and then exploded.
The first stream of bodily fluid erupted from the urethral slit, the force so great it seemed as if squeezed out by something from within. The thick white liquid sprayed out through the trouser fabric, spraying onto Cassiopeia's sole, so hot it made her toes violently curl.
The second stream surged out right behind it, thicker and denser than the first, spraying her entire sole soaking wet. The fabric of the black silk was drenched by the bodily fluid, turning into a semi-transparent dark color, the outline of the skin beneath visible.
The third stream, the fourth stream, the fifth stream...
The meat-root continued to convulse under Cassiopeia's sole, every convulsion spraying a stream of bodily fluid. The volume of bodily fluid was absurdly large, spraying out through the trouser fabric, spraying onto her sole, spraying onto her ankle. It trickled down along the black silk, trickled onto her calf, trickled onto the carpet, the drip-drop sound echoing in the quiet dining room.
Isabella's lips finally left Jerry's lips.
She took a step back, a transparent thread of saliva still hanging from the corner of her mouth. The thread stretched very long with her retreating motion, finally breaking with a snap and landing on her chin.
Her face was so red it looked like it was going to bleed. The watery sheen in her eyes finally fell, two streams of tears trickling down her cheeks, trickling onto her chin, mixing with the residual meat juices at the corner of her mouth.
Cassiopeia's sole finally moved away from Jerry's crotch.
She pulled her foot back, her sole soaking wet. The black silk was covered in the bodily fluid that had seeped through the trouser fabric. The bodily fluid formed patches of dark wet marks on the fabric of the black silk; the wet marks reflected a bizarre luster in the candlelight.
Cassiopeia didn't put her stiletto back on immediately.
Instead, she bent over, bracing one hand on the desktop, reaching her other hand toward the goblet on the table that still held half a glass of red wine. She downed the remaining red wine in the glass in one gulp, her Adam's apple rolling, then set the empty glass in front of her, the bottom of the glass colliding with the desktop with a clink.
"Isabella, come here."
Her voice was very calm, as calm as asking her daughter to pass a napkin.
Isabella stood in place, her fingers still clutching that piece of steak she had chewed on, meat juices dripping from between her fingers, pooling into a small puddle on the white porcelain plate.
"I said, come here."
Cassiopeia's tone didn't change, but that unquestionable sense of command grew stronger.
Isabella put down the steak in her hand, her Mary Jane shoes shuffling two steps on the carpet, walking to her mother's side.
She kept her head down, her braids hanging down her chest, the satin bow at the end of the braid already skewed, looking wilted.
Cassiopeia lifted that soaking wet foot, her toe hooking the edge of the table, her entire leg forming a slender arc in the candlelight. The black silk clung to the curves of her leg from ankle to the root of her thigh in every inch, and at the position of her sole, that patch of dark wet mark was slowly spreading. The bodily fluid trickled down along the weave of the stocking, trickling to the position of her ankle, where it converged into a single drop, hanging precariously.
"Bring the glass over."
Isabella's hand trembled as she picked up the empty goblet and held it under her mother's foot.
Cassiopeia's fingers pinched the cuff of the silk stocking, which was at the root of her thigh. The lace edge of the cuff dug into the tender flesh at the root of her leg, digging out a shallow ring of red marks.
Her fingers hooked the cuff and pulled down.
The silk stocking peeled away from her thigh, emitting a fine rrip— sound.
The fabric slid down against the skin, slid past her knee, slid past her calf, slid to the position of her ankle. Cassiopeia pointed her toe straight, and the silk stocking completely came off her foot. The entire stocking was soaking wet, as if just fished out of the water.
She held the silk stocking in her hand, aimed it at the mouth of the goblet, gripped the two ends of the stocking with her five fingers, and twisted forcefully.
Bodily fluid was squeezed out of the silk stocking.
White, thick liquid carrying a musky-salty scent seeped from the fibers of the stocking, flowing down along her fingers, flowing into the goblet, drip, drop, drip-drop. Every drop that landed at the bottom of the glass emitted a crisp sound, exceptionally clear in the quiet dining room.
The liquid accumulated at the bottom of the glass, going from the initial few drops to a thin layer, and then to nearly half a glass.
Cassiopeia's fingers continued twisting the silk stocking, twisting from the cuff to the toe, squeezing out every bit of residual bodily fluid in every inch of the fabric, squeezing it into the glass.
The liquid in the glass slowly increased, looking to be about a third of a glass. The liquid was milky-white, as thick as melted candle wax. The surface bubbled with fine foam, the bubbles emitting a strong musky-salty scent when they popped, mixed with the perfume and sweat scent remaining on the black silk, turning into a bizarre mixed aroma.
Cassiopeia placed the wrung-out silk stocking on the desktop. The silk stocking lay there limply, like a snake with its bones extracted.
She picked up the goblet, held it up to her eyes, and looked at the turbid liquid inside through the glass wall, the corners of her mouth curving into a satisfied arc.
"Not bad, the volume today is quite plentiful as well."
She placed the glass back on the tabletop, then turned to look at Jerry.
Jerry was still sitting in the chair, leaning back against the backrest. His chest was heaving violently, his breathing not yet calmed.
His crotch was soaked. From the waistband to the root of his thighs, the entire patch of fabric was saturated with bodily fluid, turning a dark color. The fabric clung tightly to that meat-root, which hadn't completely softened yet, outlining the staggering silhouette of the thing—even right after ejaculating, that thing remained frighteningly thick, absurdly long, extending all the way from the base to the edge of his waistband.
"Stand up."
Cassiopeia's voice carried a tone of command.
Jerry's fingers released the chair armrests. He pushed himself up, his movements a bit stiff, because that thing in his crotch was still hard. Every movement caused it to rub inside his trousers, and the stimulation from the friction made his breathing grow a bit heavier again.
"Take off your trousers."
Jerry's fingers undid his belt, unzipped his fly, and pushed his trousers down along with his underwear.
The trousers slid down to his knees. That meat-root was finally freed from its constraints, springing out in the air. The tip was still seeping residual bodily fluid; the white liquid bubbled out in small spurts, trickling down the semi-circular curve of the tip, converging into a single drop at the coronal ridge, and then falling onto the carpet with a drip-drop.
Isabella's gaze fell on that thing, her eyes full of desire.
"It looks like... it's gotten bigger again!"
That thing trembled slightly in the air. With every tremble, the veins throbbed, the frequency of the throbbing synchronized with Jerry's heartbeat.
Cassiopeia picked up that wrung-out silk stocking from the table, walked up to Jerry, and crouched down.
Her face was level with that meat-root. Her gray-blue eyes stared at the thing for two seconds, then she reached out, her five fingers spreading, and gripped the base of the shaft.
Her hands were very slender, but when she gripped that thing, her fingers couldn't close around it at all. She could only barely grip half of the shaft; the other half bulged out from between the webbing of her thumb and her pinky, stretching her fingers to an exaggerated angle.
"What a monster."
She murmured, her fingers gently kneading the shaft twice. She could feel the veins beneath the skin rolling under her finger pads—hard, scalding her fingertips until they were numb.
Then she picked up the silk stocking and slipped it over the semi-circular tip from the cuff opening.
The cuff of the silk stocking was very tight; it was the style with a lace edge. The lace edge emitted fine rrip-rrip sounds as it was stretched open.
Cassiopeia pulled the cuff down forcefully, pulling it over the semi-circular tip, pulling it over the coronal ridge, pulling it to the middle of the shaft.
The cuff stuck at the middle of the shaft, the lace edge digging into the skin, squeezing out a red ring of a mark.
The residual bodily fluid seeped through the fabric of the silk stocking, forming a wet, thin film on the surface of the stocking. The film reflected a bizarre luster in the candlelight.
Cassiopeia stood up and clapped her hands, as if she had just finished a piece of art.
"Isabella."
She turned to look at her daughter, the corners of her mouth curving into that half-smile.
"Kneel."
Isabella's body went stiff.
"I said, kneel."
Cassiopeia's voice didn't rise, but that unquestionable sense of command grew stronger.
Isabella's knees bent. The heels of her Mary Jane shoes hit the carpet with a thud. She knelt in front of Jerry, knelt in front of that meat-root wrapped in the silk stocking.
Her face was level with that thing. The distance was so close she could smell that mixed scent of bodily fluid, sweat, and the perfume of the black silk—so strong it made her nose sting.
"Open your mouth."
Cassiopeia stood to the side, her arms crossed over her chest, as if watching some entertaining performance.
Isabella's lips trembled as they slowly opened, revealing the moist oral cavity and pink tongue inside.
"Take it in."
Isabella's fingers clutched the hem of her dress, clutching until the fabric wrinkled into a ball. She leaned forward a bit, her mouth opening even wider, her jaw nearly dislocating, and her lips touched the very end of the semi-circular tip.
The semi-circular tip was too big.
Even though her mouth was opened to its absolute limit, she could only barely take the front end of the semi-circular tip into her mouth a little bit.
The fabric of the silk stocking pressed against her lips. The residual bodily fluid on the fabric mixed with her saliva, turning into a sticky paste that smeared over her lips.
"Harder."
Cassiopeia's voice came from the side, carrying the delight of watching a good show.
Isabella took a deep breath, pushed her mouth forward, and forcefully shoved the semi-circular tip into her mouth.
"Mmh—"
A muffled grunt came from her throat. The semi-circular tip was finally shoved into her mouth, but only barely halfway in; the other half was still exposed outside.
Her lips were stretched white, and a small cut tore at the corner of her mouth, seeping a bead of blood. The bead of blood mixed with saliva, trickling down her chin.
Her tongue touched the surface of the semi-circular tip. Through the fabric of the silk stocking, she could feel the temperature of the semi-circular tip, so hot it numbed her tongue-tip.
The residual bodily fluid on the silk stocking melted on her tongue. The musky-salty taste filled her entire oral cavity, mixing with the smell of the silk stocking fabric itself, and a faint scent of perfume, turning into a bizarre, mixed flavor.
"Lick."
Cassiopeia's voice continued to command.
Isabella's tongue began to move. Her tongue-tip licked over the surface of the semi-circular tip, licking through the fabric of the silk stocking, licking over the position of the urethral slit, licking over the protrusion of the coronal ridge, licking over the side of the semi-circular tip.
With every lick, Jerry's body gave a shudder. That meat-root throbbed in her mouth; the force of the throbbing made her teeth knock against the semi-circular tip, emitting clack-clack sounds.
"Take it deeper."
Isabella's mouth continued to push forward. The semi-circular tip squeezed deeper into her mouth, squeezing against her upper palate, squeezing to the opening of her throat.
Her throat was propped open, her breathing mostly blocked. She could only suck in a bit of air through her nose, her nasal cavity emitting huff-huff sounds.
"Urp!"
A dry heave came from her throat, and her body shrank back a bit. But Cassiopeia's hand pressed against the back of her head, five fingers threading into her hair, pressing her head forward.
"Don't stop."
Isabella's eyes turned red, tears welling up, blurring her vision. Her mouth ached from being stretched so wide, her jaw joints emitting cracking sounds as if they were going to dislocate.
Her tongue continued licking, licking over the semi-circular tip, licking to the shaft, licking over those coiled veins.
The fabric of the silk stocking became even wetter under her tongue—so wet that saliva and bodily fluid mixed together, overflowing from the corners of her mouth, trickling down her chin, trickling onto her neck, and trickling into the collar of her dress.
"Suck."
Cassiopeia's voice carried an instructional tone, as if guiding her daughter through a household chore.
Isabella's cheeks caved in as her mouth sucked forcefully. The suction made the semi-circular tip expand a size larger in her oral cavity. The fabric of the silk stocking was stretched even tighter, so tight she could see every detail of the semi-circular tip beneath the fabric.
Squelch!
A loud water sound came from her mouth. It was the sound of saliva and bodily fluid mixing together and being sucked—sticky, wet, exceptionally clear in the quiet dining room.
Jerry's fingers gripped the chair armrests so tightly his knuckles turned white. His breathing grew even heavier, his chest heaving violently. His Adam's apple rolled up and down, as if swallowing something bitter.
That meat-root began to expand in Isabella's mouth, going from seventy percent hard to ninety percent hard. The frequency of the veins on the shaft throbbing grew faster and faster. The semi-circular tip swelled even larger in her oral cavity, so large her mouth was almost stretched to the point of tearing.
"Use your hands."
Cassiopeia's voice continued to command.
Isabella's hands released the hem of her dress, trembling as they reached for the base of that meat-root. Her five fingers spread, gripping the part of the shaft not yet covered by the silk stocking.
Her hands were very small; when she gripped that thing, her fingers couldn't close at all. She could only barely grip a third of the shaft; the other two-thirds bulged out from between her fingers, stretching her fingers to an exaggerated angle.
"Stroke."
Isabella's fingers began to stroke up and down, stroking from the base upward, stroking to the position of the silk stocking cuff, and then stroking back down, stroking to the base, then up again.
Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
Her hands and mouth coordinated. When her hands stroked up, her mouth took it deeper; when her hands stroked down, her mouth retreated. The rhythm grew faster and faster, the water sounds louder and louder—squish, squish, squish—mixing with the dry heaves from her throat, mixing with Jerry's suppressed pants, echoing in the dining room.
Cassiopeia stood to the side, watching this scene, the arc at the corners of her mouth growing deeper and deeper.
Her finger tapped her own lips, then reached for the goblet filled with bodily fluid on the table. She picked it up, brought it to her lips, and took a small sip.
The thick liquid melted on the tip of her tongue, the musky-salty taste filling her oral cavity. Her Adam's apple rolled, swallowing that small mouthful down.
"From now on, I want to drink this every day!"
The speed of Isabella's fingers stroking the shaft grew even faster—so fast her wrists ached, so fast her fingers went numb.
Her mouth sucked even harder on the semi-circular tip—so hard her cheeks caved into two deep pits, so hard saliva continuously overflowed from the corners of her mouth, trickling down her chin to her neck, to her chest, soaking a large patch of the collar of her dress.
Jerry's body began to stiffen, his spine arching into an exaggerated curve. His fingers gripped the chair armrests even tighter, his nails digging into the wood grain.
That meat-root throbbed violently in Isabella's mouth and hands. The frequency of the throbbing abruptly accelerated; the pulsation of the veins went from twice a second to three times a second, four times. The entire meat-root was as hard as a red-hot iron rod, trembling slightly in her mouth and hands.
"It's coming."
Cassiopeia's voice carried a predictive certainty.
"Don't let go of your mouth; swallow it all."
Isabella's eyes widened. The reflection of the candlelight was mirrored in her pupils, along with a trace of terror.
And then!
Jerry's waist jolted violently.
That meat-root convulsed violently three times in Isabella's mouth and hands, and then exploded.
The meat-root continued to convulse in Isabella's mouth; every convulsion sprayed a stream of bodily fluid. The volume of bodily fluid was absurdly large, so large she couldn't swallow it in time. The liquid surged out of her mouth, sprayed out of her nose, plastering her entire face.
Glug! Glug!
Sounds of swallowing continuously came from Isabella's throat. Her Adam's apple rolled up and down, desperately swallowing the liquid surging into her oral cavity, but the volume of liquid was too great, she couldn't keep up. Liquid continuously overflowed from the corners of her mouth, trickling onto her neck, onto her chest, soaking a large patch of the front of her dress.
Cassiopeia's hand finally released from the back of her head.
Isabella's body fell backward, her buttocks sitting on the carpet, her mouth wide open. A large amount of white liquid still remained inside; the liquid flowed out of her mouth, trickling down her chin onto her chest, soaking a dark wet patch into her dress.
Her face was covered in bodily fluid, from her forehead to her chin, from her left cheek to her right cheek. The thick white liquid plastered her entire face, mixing with tears, mixing with saliva, turning into a pink-and-white mixture.
Her braids had come undone, her hair a tangled mess, sticking to her face, sticking to her neck. The satin bow at the end of the braid had fallen off to who knows where.
Cassiopeia crouched down, her fingers pinching Isabella's chin, lifting her face. Her gray-blue eyes stared at her daughter's fluid-plastered face, the corners of her mouth curving into a satisfied arc.
"Very good."
Her thumb wiped across Isabella's lips, wiping away the residual bodily fluid at the corner of her mouth. Then she put her thumb into her own mouth, her tongue-tip curling over the pad, and gave it a suck.
"In this manor, you need to get your attitude straight."
Cassiopeia stood up, walked back to the seat of honor, sat back down, picked up the goblet that still held nearly half a glass of bodily fluid, brought it to her lips, and drank it all in one gulp.
"You still have three days; prepare well."
Cassiopeia placed the empty glass back on the desktop. The sound of glass colliding with wood echoed in the dining room with a clink.
Jerry stood in place, his trousers still lowered to his knees. That meat-pillar, having just ejaculated, was slowly softening, but still maintained a staggering size. The silk stocking was still slipped over it, soaking wet, covered in a mixture of bodily fluid and saliva.
Jerry's gaze fell on Cassiopeia's face. He stared at her for a few seconds, his brow furrowing.
"What's wrong with you?"
Jerry's voice carried a trace of confusion.
"Why does it feel like your temperament has drastically changed?"
Cassiopeia turned her head, her gray-blue eyes sweeping over Jerry. A green luster flashed in the depths of her eyes; that luster lasted less than a second before disappearing, but Jerry saw it.
She didn't answer, just curved the corners of her mouth into that half-smile. Then she turned and walked toward the door of the dining room. The hem of her dark purple loungewear swayed left and right with the swing of her hips as she walked. That bare foot stepped on the carpet, her toes curling into the plush pile.
The door closed behind her with a click, leaving only Jerry and Isabella in the dining room.
Isabella was still sitting on the carpet, her buttocks pressing down on her calves, the heels of her Mary Jane shoes digging into the tender flesh of her thighs.
Isabella's face was still plastered with a massive amount of bodily fluid. From her forehead to her chin, from her left cheek to her right cheek, the thick white liquid slowly flowed down her skin, flowing onto her neck, flowing into the collar of her dress.
Her fingers braced against the carpet. Her chest heaved violently, her breathing not yet calmed, every breath carrying that musky-salty scent remaining in her throat.
Isabella looked up at Jerry. Her eyes were still red, teardrops hanging from her eyelashes. The teardrops mixed with the bodily fluid on her face, turning into a pink-and-white mixture.
She let out a long sigh.
That breath squeezed from deep within her chest cavity, carrying an exhaustion and helplessness, and a trace of sweetness hidden in the deepest part that even she hadn't noticed.
"Did you just realize it?"
Isabella's voice was very hoarse, as hoarse as wood sanded by sandpaper, every word carrying a rawness from her throat.
"Mother, she..."
She paused for a moment, her fingers grabbing at the carpet, the plush pile crumpled into a ball between her fingers.
"Was injured by Voldemort's dying curse."
Jerry's frown deepened.
"Her soul was damaged."
Isabella continued speaking, her voice intermittent, like piecing together a torn story.
"If she hadn't transplanted the Basilisk bloodline long ago, she probably would be dead by now."
Isabella's fingers released the carpet. She braced against the floor to stand up, her movements a bit unsteady. Her knees let out a pop the moment she stood up, like joints dislocating and popping back into place.
"But this is not irreversible."
Isabella steadied herself, her hands hanging by her sides, her fingers still trembling slightly.
"With time, she will be able to recover eventually.
It's just..."
Isabella looked up at Jerry, a trace of warning in her gray-blue eyes.
"It's best not to make her angry."
Isabella's footsteps shuffled two steps forward, her Mary Jane shoes scraping against the carpet with a scuff-scuff sound. Isabella walked up to Jerry and stopped. The distance was so close she could see the few drops of bodily fluid staining his school robe, could smell the scent on him—a mixture of sweat, bodily fluids, and a certain aura belonging to the boy himself.
Then she suddenly thrust her face forward.
Not leaning in slowly, but a sudden movement driven by some instinct. Her entire face pressed against Jerry's chest, her nose pressing against his school robe, and she took a deep breath.
Sniff!
Isabella's nose began to twitch.
Her nostrils flared open and closed, open and closed, the rhythm very fast, like a puppy sniffing something interesting. Isabella's nose rubbed against Jerry's school robe, rubbing from his chest to his shoulder, from his shoulder to his neck. Every time she rubbed a spot, she took a deep breath, inhaling so hard her nasal cavity emitted sniff-sniff sounds.
Sniff, sniff!
Isabella's face moved upward, her nose grinding past Jerry's chin, grinding past his lips, grinding past the tip of his nose, finally stopping on his forehead. Her nostrils were still flaring open and closed, the sound of inhaling growing more and more rapid.
Isabella's fingers grabbed Jerry's school robe, her five fingers gripping the fabric so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Isabella's body pressed forward, pressing so close she was practically hanging onto Jerry. The two soft orbs on her chest, wrapped in the dress, pressed against his chest; he could feel her heartbeat, so fast it felt like it was going to jump out of her chest cavity.
"Your scent..."
Isabella's voice squeezed from her nasal cavity, muffled, carrying a nasal tone.
"Is so strong..."
Isabella's nose moved down again, moving to Jerry's neck. Her nose pressed against the position of his carotid artery, where the skin was so thin the blood vessels could be seen throbbing beneath it, and the frequency of his pulse could be felt.
Sniff, sniff, sniff...
Her nostrils flared frantically, the sound of inhaling turning into bursts of rapid sniff-sniff-sniffs, like a puppy tracking the scent of prey.
Isabella's tongue stuck out.
Her tongue-tip emerged from her lips and licked Jerry's neck. It licked over the position of the carotid artery, licked over that thin patch of skin, licked the residual sweat on his skin—salty, carrying a faint musky scent.
"Mmh..."
A satisfied hum came from Isabella's throat. Her tongue licked again, this time harder. The flat of her tongue ground over his skin, grinding a wet trail.
Isabella's fingers released the school robe and slid down. They slid past Jerry's chest, slid past his abdomen, slid to the position of his belt. Her fingers hooked the belt and pulled down.
His trousers were pulled down from the position of his knees, landing on his ankles.
That meat-pillar still encased in the silk stocking was exposed to the air. Although it had just ejaculated, it still maintained a staggering size. The coiled veins on the shaft were clearly visible beneath the fabric of the silk stocking. The tip was still seeping residual bodily fluid; the white liquid bubbled out from the urethral slit in small spurts, seeping through the fabric of the silk stocking, and trickling down the curve of the tip.
Isabella's nose twitched again.
She crouched down, bringing her face close to the front of that meat-pillar. Her nose was almost plastered to the tip as she took a deep breath.
Sniff!
That scent—a mixture of bodily fluids, sweat, the perfume of the silk stocking, and a certain more primal aura—drilled into her nasal cavity, drilled into her lungs, drilled into every one of her cells.
Isabella's pupils dilated. The gray-blue irises were squeezed by the pupils until only a thin rim remained. Her entire eyes looked pitch-black, like two bottomless holes.
"So strong... so strong..."
Her voice grew even hoarser, so hoarse it almost didn't sound human, more like the whimper of some animal in its throat.
Her tongue stuck out again, this time licking directly on the tip. Through the fabric of the silk stocking, she licked over the position of the urethral slit, licked over the protrusion of the coronal ridge, licked over the sides of the tip, licking the tip soaking wet. The fabric of the silk stocking was once again saturated by her saliva, turning into a semi-transparent dark color again.
"Mmh... mmh..."
Bursts of satisfied hums came from her throat. Her tongue licked frantically on the tip, licking until saliva overflowed from the corners of her mouth, trickling down her chin to her neck, to her chest, mixing with the residual bodily fluid on her face, turning into a pink-and-white mixture.
Her fingers gripped the base of the shaft. Her five fingers gripped that thing very tightly; she could feel the shaft throbbing in her hand, the frequency of the throbbing growing faster and faster. The veins rolled beneath her finger pads—hard, scalding her fingertips until they were numb.
"Jerry..."
She looked up, looking at Jerry. The black pupils in her eyes slowly contracted, the gray-blue irises reclaiming her eye sockets, but a trace of a crazed luster still remained in the depths of her eyes.
"Your scent..."
Her voice was still very hoarse, but a bit clearer than before.
"Makes me... unable to stop..."
Her tongue licked the tip again, this time harder. The flat of her tongue ground over the fabric of the silk stocking, ground over the surface of the tip, grinding a deep trail.
"I want..."
Her fingers gripped the shaft even tighter, gripping it until the shaft deformed slightly, the veins bulging between her fingers.
"I want to..."
"Eat..."
"All of you..."
Isabella's voice squeezed from deep within her throat, muffled, indistinct, as if something were blocking her throat.
"But, I have to help you wash up first... because... it's stinky!"