Julian chuckled, then without a word, he fisted both Shayla's and Aryl's hair and pulled—not too rough, but firm enough to make them gasp. Their heads tilted back, mouths open, eyes half-lidded from submission.
Julian turned his head toward the Marquis, a sly, satisfied grin curling at the corner of his mouth.
"That's a compliment, coming from me, Marquis," he said, glancing back down at the two women kneeling before him. "In fact, I'd say they should be proud."
He wiped a rope of spit from Aryl's cheek, then smeared it onto Shayla's lips.
"They are whores," he murmured. "But they're my whores now."
The marquis raised an eyebrow, watching as his once-proud wife and innocent daughter melted under Julian's hand.
And he said nothing.
Because deep down…he was hard, too.
At the same time,
Aryl gasped involuntarily—her breath catching in her throat as her soaked panties clung to her slick folds. The humiliation of his words struck like a fire in her belly… But it didn't make her pull away.
Rather, it made her thighs twitch.
"Hmm... ~" She whimpered softly, her eyes fluttering shut for a second as a rush of shame and arousal hit her all at once. She should've felt disgusted.
But gods… she didn't.
She loved it.
She leaned further into Julian's grip, her tongue darting out to suck his fingertips like a obedient little whore she was.
Beside her, Shayla's breath trembled as well, her chest rising fast as her cheeks flushed a deeper red. Her eyes flicked to the Marquis, her husband… the man she had once vowed herself to. And here she was—kneeling before another man, letting their daughter share his cock with her mouth.
"my whores"
The word played over and over in her mind, eating her deliciously from the inside.
She glanced at Aryl, and something inside her snapped. Leaning in, she captured Aryl's mouth in a filthy, hot kiss—full of tongue and the taste of Julian's cock still heavy on both their mouths. Their tongues tangled as their moans fed into each other, the atmosphere growing filthier than before.
Julian released their hair, letting them pull back slowly. "Say it," he whispered.
Aryl looked up first, her voice barely a breath.
"I… I'm your whore, Your Grace…"
Shayla followed, smiling faintly now. "Your whore, my lord… yours alone."
Clap, clap, clap.
The marquis tilted his head and chuckled. "Astounding....Your Grace, I must say—you've brought out something truly magnificent in them."
Julian raised his brow, turning to the Marquis. "Did I now?"
"They were beautiful before," the Marquis nodded, raising his glass, "but now?"
He took a slow sip, letting the moment sink in.
"Now they're divine."
Julian's hand returned to Aryl's hair, caressing it gently. "You don't mind, Marquis? That they are both choking on my cock?"
The Marquis smiled wider. "Mind? No, no, quite the opposite. I've always known their worth. But to see them like this—"
He sighed, sated.
"It's art, Your Grace."
Aryl bit her lips, her breath hitching. Something about her father watching—enjoying—was making her wetter, needier, and more desperate than ever.
Julian leaned forward, his voice a devil's whisper.
"Then enjoy the masterpiece, Marquis."
He pressed his cock between their lips again—one side to Shayla, the other to Aryl. The two women did not waste any seconds. They kissed around his cock, tongue to tongue, spit trailing from lip to lip. Their hands roamed each other's bodies now—Aryl squeezing her mother's breast, Shayla stroking her daughter's soaked inner thigh.
Julian smiled, enjoying how eagerly the two women were worshipping him.
But his eyes weren't on them anymore. They shifted toward the silent figure near the edge of the bed.
"Hmm," he hummed, amusement curling in his voice. "But it seems Vigg here… might be thinking otherwise, Marquis."
Vigg flinched, his entire body stiffening, as if pulled out of a trance. His eyes had been locked on the sight before him for what felt like eternity.
He tried to compose himself, but the words cut through him like a blade.
His father's voice followed. "Is that true, Vigg?"
The Marquis turned his head slightly, his gaze settling on his son now. "Do you disagree with your mother and sister serving the Archduke?"
Vigg could feel a lump growing in his throat. "Umm… what, Father…?" he stammered, trying to play dumb—but the tremor in his voice gave him away.
The Marquis's tone dropped, his smile fading into something serious now.
"Do your mother and sister not look good?"
He gestured toward the kneeling pair.
"Look at them. On their knees, mouths full of cock. Do they not look perfect?"
Vigg didn't answer. Couldn't.
His breath was shallow. His chest ached. His stomach twisted into knots.
He had been watching. Watching every second of it.
With horror.
With helpless, bitter agony.
Julian chuckled darkly, dragging his cock against Aryl's flushed cheek.
"He's still clinging to the fantasy," he said. "That they're his. That they're pure."
The marquis scoffed. "Then let him look harder."
He stood up slowly, stepping toward his broken son.
"Open your eyes, Vigg."
Vigg tried to turn away.
The Marquis grabbed his jaw and forced him to look.
"To see your noble mother—tongue out, licking spit and cum off another man's cock like it's her place."
Shayla moaned softly, her hand fondling Julian's balls like she'd done it a hundred times.
"To see your sister—mouth ruined, gagging around his cock like the little slut she has always been."
"Gllkkk... hrrkkk...!" Aryl let out a gagged cry as Julian pressed deep again, spit bubbling around her lips.
Vigg's vision blurred.
"No," he whispered.
But the Marquis didn't stop.
"Look at them, boy. Look. And remember—this is who they are now. His whores."
Vigg trembled in his father's grip. The burn in his chest spread—rage, grief, and humiliation all boiling in his gut.
And there, in front of him, Shayla and Aryl kept going. Kept moaning. Kept licking. As if he wasn't even there.
As if he didn't matter at all.