Heat – part 3



       The manor was still wrapped in the bruised-violet hush of pre-dawn when Camila slipped through Octavia’s bedroom door. No footsteps, no creaking hinges –just the soft rustle of emerald feathers and the low, hungry thrum in her chest that had kept her awake all night.
       She had memorized Octavia in the dark: the way the princess’ breath hitched right before she came, the exact twitch of her thighs when a tongue circled her clit just so, the broken little chirp she made when she squirted too hard and lost control of her voice. Camila needed more data. Needed to map every tremor, every pulse, every helpless clench until she owned them.
       Octavia lay on her stomach, midnight-blue feathers splayed like spilled ink. Her nightshirt had ridden up during the night, exposing the soft curve of her ass and the bare, puffy lips of her pussy –still swollen from yesterday’s endless abuse. No panties. Stella’s doing, but Camila sent a silent thank-you anyway.
       She crawled onto the mattress like smoke, settling between Octavia’s lazily parted thighs. The girl didn’t stir. Not yet.
       Camila lowered her beak slowly, reverently, until her breath ghosted over that slick, perfect slit. The scent hit her –musky sleep-sweetness mixed with leftover arousal– and her own pussy throbbed in answer. She started gentle: one long, deliberate lick from clit to entrance, gathering the taste she’d been craving for hours.
       Octavia sighed in her sleep, hips shifting instinctively toward the warmth. Camila smiled against her, eyes half-lidded, and did it again –slower, flattening her tongue to feel every ridge and fold. A third lick, and she pressed the tip inside, curling just enough to feel the first flutter of inner walls waking up.
       A sleepy whimper escaped Octavia. Her talons curled into the sheets.
       Camila didn’t rush. This was research. She slid two fingers in alongside her tongue –slow, steady– watching the way Octavia’s back arched a fraction, the way her breathing went shallow and fast. She crooked her fingers, found that spongy spot that always made Via fall apart, and rubbed in tiny, cruel circles while her tongue flicked feather-light over her clit.
       Octavia’s eyes fluttered open on a gasp.
       —A–aunt? —The word cracked into a moan as Camila sucked her clit into her beak and hummed—.
       —Shh, niece. —Camila purred against the slick flesh, voice velvet and filthy—. Just lie there and let Auntie study you. I need to know exactly how many strokes it takes before you soak my tongue again.
       Octavia’s hips jerked, trying to close, but Camila pinned them wide with ease. She added a third finger –stretching that tight, greedy hole until it fluttered around her– and began a slow, deep thrust. Every time she pulled out, Octavia’s walls clenched desperately trying to keep her in. Every time she pushed back, the princess’s breath hitched higher.
       —Look at you. —Camila whispered, awed—. Even half-asleep your pretty little cunt knows who it belongs to this morning.
       Octavia’s answer was a broken sob as her first orgasm of the day crashed over her. Her entire body seized –thighs trembling, pussy gushing in hot pulses over Camila’s chin and neck. Camila didn’t stop; she lapped it all up, greedy, counting the spasms with flicks of her tongue– one, two, three, four– until Octavia was whining from overstimulation, tears pricking her eyes.
       —Please– It’s too much–
       —Never too much. —Camila crooned, sliding her fingers free only to replace them with her beak. She sealed her mouth over Octavia’s entrance and sucked, drinking the fresh rush of squirt straight from the source while her thumb ground merciless circles on that swollen clit.
       Octavia screamed into her pillow, hips bucking wildly, another climax ripping through her so fast her vision whited out. When Camila finally pulled back, strings of slick connecting her beak to Octavia’s ruined pussy, the princess was a shuddering wreck –face buried in the sheets, ass still up, thighs soaked and shaking.
       Camila licked her lips, eyes glowing with possessive hunger.
       —Four seconds between the third and fourth spasm. —She murmured, like a scientist noting results—. Good to know.
       She was just leaning in for another taste when the door slammed open.
       Stella stood in the threshold, violet robe hanging open, heavy breasts heaving, eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.
       —Really, Camila? —Her voice was silk over steel—. You couldn’t even let me wake up first before you started hogging my daughter?
       Camila didn’t move, one hand still possessively cupping Octavia’s dripping labia.
       —Early bird gets the squirting princess, darling. You snooze; you lose.
       Stella’s feathers bristled. She stalked forward, robe falling completely off her shoulders.
       —Move over. I want her throat.
       Octavia whimpered, sensing the storm coming –and the day had only just begun.
       Stella’s talons clicked across the marble like gunshots. The door hadn’t even finished swinging shut before she was on the bed, robe discarded in a violet puddle on the floor. Her heavy breasts swayed with each predatory step, nipples already peaked into dark, angry points, and between her thighs her pussy glistened –swollen, flushed, jealous.
       —Move. —She snarled at Camila, voice low and regal and utterly dangerous—.
       Camila didn’t. She stayed kneeling between Octavia’s trembling legs, three fingers still buried knuckle-deep in that slick, quivering heat, thumb lazily circling the girl’s oversensitive clit. Octavia whimpered into the sheets, hips trying to rock away and toward the touch at the same time, utterly wrecked.
       —I said move, darling. —Stella repeated, sweeter this time, which only made it worse—.
       She grabbed Camila by the shoulder feathers and physically hauled her aside. Camila’s fingers came free with a wet, obscene pop, strings of Octavia’s arousal stretching and snapping between them.
       Octavia tried to crawl forward, to escape, to breathe –anything– but Stella’s hand clamped on the back of her neck and shoved her face-down into the mattress.
       —Oh no, little star. Mommy’s awake now.
       Stella flipped her daughter onto her stomach in one brutal motion, yanking Octavia’s hips up until she was kneeling, ass high, dripping pussy and tight little hole presented like an offering.
       Stella didn’t bother with fingers. She pressed the thick, plum-coloured head of her conjured strap –veined, ridged, and already slick with infernal lube– against Octavia’s entrance and slammed home in a single thrust.
       Octavia screamed. The sound was raw, broken, beautiful. Her walls clamped down around the intrusion, still spasming from Camila’s earlier attentions, and fresh squirt gushed out around the shaft, soaking Stella’s thighs.
       —That’s it. —Stella growled, setting a punishing rhythm immediately –no warm-up, no mercy—.
       Each thrust drove Octavia forward into the bed, breasts dragging across the sheets, talons scrabbling for purchase.
       —Let her hear who you really belong to.
       Camila watched from the side, eyes glittering, one hand already between her own legs.
       —Possessive this morning, aren’t we?
       Stella answered by grabbing a fistful of Octavia’s feathers and yanking her head back, arching her spine.
       —On your knees, Camila. If you want to be useful, stuff that pretty beak down her throat. I want her quiet.
       Camila didn’t need telling twice. She scrambled onto the bed, knees sinking into the mattress in front of Octavia’s tear-streaked face. Gripping the base of her own tail, she guided the flexible, feathered length –already slick from her dripping vulva past Octavia’s parted beak.
       Octavia gagged as the tip hit the back of her throat, but Camila didn’t stop. She fed inch after inch until Octavia’s beak was stretched wide, drool spilling down her chin, eyes rolling back. Only then did Camila start to fuck –slow, rolling thrusts of her hips that matched Stella’s brutal pace from behind.
       The room filled with the wet slap of bodies, the squelch of Octavia’s ruined body, the muffled, desperate whimpers vibrating around Camila’s tail. Every time Stella bottomed out, the force shoved Octavia deeper onto Camila; every time Camila pulled back, Octavia’s throat fluttered helplessly, trying to swallow around the invasion.
       —Look at her. —Stella panted, voice ragged with triumph—. Taking Mommy’s cock like she was born for it. You’ll never make her choke this prettily.
       Camila’s eyes narrowed. She twisted her hips, forcing her tail in a cruel spiral that made Octavia’s whole body seize. A fresh flood of squirt sprayed out around Stella’s strap, drenching the sheets.
       —I made her squirt twice before you even opened your eyes, darling. Don’t lecture me on pretty.
       Stella’s rhythm faltered for a heartbeat –pure jealousy flashing across her face– then redoubled. She reached around Octavia’s hip and pinched her clit hard, rolling it between sharp talons.
       Octavia came instantly, violently. Her scream was smothered by Camila’s tail, body locking up, pussy clamping down so hard Stella had to fight to keep thrusting through it. Squirt sheeted out in pulses, soaking Stella’s belly, running down her legs in rivulets.
       Stella leaned over Octavia’s arched back, teeth grazing the shell of her ear.
       —That’s three for Mommy already. Keep count, Camila. I’m just getting started.
       Camila pulled her tail free with a wet slurp, letting Octavia gasp and sob for air, only to slap her across the cheek with the slick length.
       —We’ll see who breaks her first. —She hissed—.
       But she was already broken.
       Octavia collapsed between them, shuddering, tears and drool and squirt painting her face and chest, but neither woman was anywhere near done.
       The rivalry had only just caught fire.
       Octavia’s world had narrowed to the wet slap of hips against her ass, the burn in her throat, and the endless, merciless drag of pleasure-pain ripping through her body. She lost count of how many times she came –four, five, six? Only that each climax left her weaker, more boneless, until she was nothing but a shuddering, drooling mess held up only by the two women using her like a shared toy.
       Stella’s final thrust buried the conjured strap to the hilt, knot swelling impossibly thick inside Octavia’s spasming pussy. The princess’s scream was muffled around Camila’s tail as her body locked up one last time, a violent gush of squirt soaking Stella’s thighs and the ruined sheets beneath them. Stella groaned, grinding deep, riding out the aftershocks until Octavia went completely limp, eyes rolled back, feathers matted with tears, drool, and cum.
       Camila pulled her tail free with a slick pop, letting Octavia’s head loll to the side. A thick strand of saliva connected the princess’s beak to the glistening feathers of Camila’s tail for a moment before snapping. Octavia’s beak hung open, soft, broken whimpers escaping with every ragged breath.
       —Seven. —Camila said smugly, licking her tail clean with deliberate slowness—. I counted seven full-body spasms that time. A new record.
       Stella’s eyes flashed. She gave the knot one last cruel twist before dismissing the conjuration with a flick of her wrist. The sudden emptiness made Octavia whine pathetically, her gaping, abused pussy clenching around nothing, another weak trickle of squirt dribbling out onto the bed.
       —Seven because I made her. —Stella snapped, voice still rough from exertion. She climbed off the bed, breasts heaving, thighs shiny with her daughter’s release—. Don’t delude yourself, Camila. She only squirted that hard because Mommy filled her properly.
       Camila rose too, stretching like a satisfied cat, emerald feathers fluffed and glistening.
       —Keep telling yourself that, darling. I had her screaming into my tail long before you even got your robe off.
       The air crackled between them –hot, competitive, hungry. Octavia lay forgotten for the moment, curled on her side in the wreckage of her bed, trembling, too exhausted to even to close her legs. Cum leaked steadily from her swollen pussy, pooling beneath her ass, and her thighs twitched with random aftershocks.
       Stella’s gaze flicked down to her daughter, possessive and proud, then back to Camila with a slow, dangerous smile.
       —Enjoy your little head start. Next time, I’ll have her begging before you even open the door.
       Camila’s beak curved.
       —Challenge accepted.
       Without another word, they left –Stella sweeping out first in a swirl of violet feathers and righteous fury, Camila following a moment later with a lazy sway of her hips, already plotting her next solo ambush.
       The door clicked shut behind them, leaving Octavia alone in the dim, sex-heavy room. The sheets were soaked through, the air thick with the scent of sweat and squirt and dominance. She tried to push herself up, but her arms gave out immediately, sending her face-first back into the wet pillow with a broken sob.
       Every muscle felt like jelly. Her pussy throbbed in time with her heartbeat, empty and aching and still leaking. She could feel the cool morning air kissing her gaping holes, a constant reminder of how thoroughly she’d been used.
       And the worst part? Some traitorous part of her already dreaded and craved the next round.
       Down the hall, Stella’s talons clicked with purpose. She didn’t look back.
       Camila took the opposite staircase, a predatory smile playing on her beak.
       Both of them were thinking the exact same thing:
       Octavia was theirs today –and neither intended to share for long.
       The hunt was on.
       Mid-morning light slanted through the tall stained-glass windows of the west lounge, painting the velvet chaise longues in blood-red and amethyst shards. The room still smelled faintly of yesterday’s debauchery: spilled squirt dried into the rug, the ghost of feathers and pussy in the air.
       Octavia had tried to hide in the library, but Stella found her in under five minutes. A single violet talon hooked under the princess’s chin, a whispered “Come with Mommy, darling –we need to talk about your behaviour”, and Octavia’s shaky legs carried her down the corridor like a puppet on strings.
       Now the heavy oak doors were locked with a soft click of magic. Stella’s robe hung open, breasts swaying freely, nipples dark and stiff with anticipation. Octavia stood trembling in the center of the room, skirt already damp at the hem where her thighs rubbed together, no panties, of course.
       Stella circled her slowly, predator assessing prey.
       —Do you remember this exact spot, little star? —She stopped behind the same chaise from the sunroom incident and patted the crushed velvet cushion—. Right here. Your father was ten steps away while Camila had her tongue so deep in your pussy you squirted on the antique Persik rug.
       Octavia’s breath hitched. A fresh bead of arousal slid down her inner thigh.
       Stella’s smile was all teeth.
       —Bend over. Hands on the armrest. Show Mommy how sorry you are for letting that emerald bitch steal my morning.
       Octavia obeyed instantly, folding herself over the chaise. Her skirt rode up on its own, baring her puffy, glistening folds and the tight, twitching ring of her asshole –still slightly gaping from dawn. The position left her completely exposed, face pressed to the cushion that still carried yesterday’s scent.
       Stella hummed approval. She didn’t touch yet; she just looked, letting the humiliation sink in. Then she knelt, spread Octavia’s cheeks wide with both talons, and blew a cool stream of air directly over her clit.
       Octavia jolted with a broken chirp, hips bucking back for more.
       —Greedy. —Stella purred—. But you’ll take what I give you.
       She started with her tongue: long, slow licks from clit to asshole and back again, savouring the mingled taste of Octavia’s arousal and the faint lingering traces of Camila’s earlier claim. Every time Octavia tried to grind back, Stella pulled away, leaving her whimpering into the velvet.
       Only when the princess was shaking, tears soaking the cushion, did Stella finally seal her beak over that swollen clit and suck, hard.
       Octavia screamed. Her knees buckled; only Stella’s iron grip on her hips kept her upright. Stella didn’t let up: she sucked and flicked and hummed until Octavia’s entire body seized, a violent gush of squirt spraying across Stella’s cheeks and chest.
       Stella pulled back just enough to watch the princess convulse, counting under her breath.
       —One.
       Before the aftershocks faded, she stood and conjured the same thick plum strap from earlier, only larger this time, ridged and knotted, glistening with fresh lube. She pressed the blunt head to Octavia’s entrance and paused.
       —Tell me who this pussy belongs to.
       —Y-yours, Mommy. —Octavia sobbed, pushing desperately—.
       —Louder. I want the whole manor to hear.
       —It’s yours! Please-
       Stella slammed in to the hilt.
       The lounge echoed with the wet slap of hips meeting ass, Octavia’s hoarse cries, the rhythmic squelch of a pussy already overstimulated and loving it. Stella set a brutal pace from the start, knot battering Octavia’s entrance on every stroke, forcing it a little deeper each time.
       —Who makes you squirt like a broken fountain? —Thrust—. Who owns every pathetic little orgasm? Say it.
       —Mommy! Only Mommy!
       Stella rewarded her with a vicious twist of her clit, sending Octavia over again. Squirt sheeted out around the shaft, splattering both their legs. Stella kept fucking her through it, merciless, until the knot finally popped inside with an audible, wet sound.
       Octavia’s scream turned silent, mouth open, eyes rolled back, body locked in one endless spasm. Stella ground deep, letting the knot pulse and throb, milking every last drop.
       When she finally pulled out, the knot came free with a filthy gush. Octavia collapsed sideways on the chaise, legs splayed, pussy gaping and ruined, a steady stream of mixed cum and squirt leaking onto the velvet.
       Stella wiped her beak with the back of her hand, smug and glowing. She leaned down, kissed Octavia’s tear-streaked cheek, and whispered, “Tell Camila Mommy sends her regards. And that the score is now four to one.”
       She straightened, robe swirling shut with a thought, and sauntered toward the door –leaving her daughter a wrecked, dripping mess in the exact spot where Stolas had almost caught them yesterday.
       The rivalry was far from over.  
       Stella’s turn: complete.
       Camila’s move was next.
       The grand hallway outside the west lounge was quiet except for the faint, rhythmic thump of something heavy hitting velvet and the occasional choked sob that leaked through the oak doors.
       Camila glided down the corridor, thighs still sticky from dawn, feathers perfectly preened despite the hour she’d already spent between Octavia’s legs. She was hunting again; her tongue itched for another taste, and her pride demanded she erase the smug look she knew Stella was wearing right now.
       She rounded the corner and nearly collided with Stolas.
       He was carrying a stack of ancient star charts under one arm and a cup of something steaming in the other, tall frame slightly stooped in thought. At the sight of Camila his crimson eyes brightened with genuine warmth.
       —Camila! Good morning, again. You’re up early these days.
       Camila recovered instantly, flashing a dazzling smile.
       —Couldn’t sleep. Octavia’s been… restless. Thought I’d check on her.
       Stolas tilted his head, hearing something. The muffled sounds were faint, but unmistakable to anyone who’d ever heard a Goetia in heat. His brow creased.
       —Funny. Stella dragged Via in there twenty minutes ago saying they needed ‘mother-daughter time’. —He air-quoted, clearly sceptical. —Now you’re looking for her too. Is everything quite all right?
       Camila stepped closer in a conspiratorial gesture.
       —Between us? Our little princess has developed a rather intense crush. —She paused, letting the word hang like perfume—. A crush.
       Stolas blinked.
       —A crush?
       —Mm. Someone entirely inappropriate, I’m afraid. She’s been beside herself. Stella and I are trying to help her… open up about it. —Camila’s tongue traced the edge of her beak on the last two words, eyes sparkling with wicked innocence—. You know how teenagers bottle things up. We’re just encouraging her to let it all out. Very thoroughly.
       Another wet slap echoed from behind the doors, followed by a high, desperate keen that sounded suspicious.
       Stolas’ feathers fluffed in confusion.
       —That does sound… intense counselling.
       Camila laid a gentle hand on his forearm, steering him a few steps farther from the doors.
       —Stella’s methods are unorthodox, I’ll grant you, but I’m here to balance things. Someone has to be the soft touch while your daughter can squirt. I mean, speak freely to.
       Stolas rubbed his temple, clearly trying to parse the noises with the explanation.
       —I suppose. Though I never thought Stella the type for heartfelt emotional labour.
       —Exactly why I’m here. —Camila soothed—. Between the two of us, we’ll get every last drop of that repression out of her. Promise.
       A particularly loud, rhythmic squelch filtered through the wood.
       Stolas stared at the doors, then back at Camila.
       —…Should I be concerned?
       Camila’s laugh was light, musical, utterly convincing.
       —Only that she might flood the rug again. Go tend your plants, darling. We’ve got this well in hand.
       Stolas hesitated another heartbeat, twitching toward the unmistakable sound of flesh slapping flesh, then sighed the long-suffering sigh of a father who had learned to pick his battles.
       —Very well. But if the lounge needs re-upholstering, I’m sending the bill to both of you.
       The moment he vanished around the corner; Camila’s smile sharpened into something feral. She pressed her ear to the lounge door, listening to the wet, relentless rhythm inside –Stella’s low growls, Octavia’s helpless cries– and felt her own pussy clench with fresh hunger.
       —Four to one, my ass. —She whispered—.
       She slipped away, already planning exactly how she was going to steal Octavia next and make the girl forget her mother’s name for the rest of the afternoon.
       Behind the locked doors, Stella drove the knot home again, grinning like a demon as Octavia squirted helplessly around her cock and sobbed her name.
       The score, very one-sided, counselling session continued unabated.
       By early afternoon the manor had settled into its usual hush: distant clinking of silver in the kitchens, the low hum of wards, and the occasional muffled sob from wherever Stella had dragged Octavia next. Camila prowled the corridors like a hunting cat, wings half-spread, every feather prickling with anticipation.
       She found her prey in the smaller, second-floor library: a cozy octagonal room lined with dusty grimoires and velvet reading chairs. Octavia had wedged herself into the farthest corner, knees drawn to her chest, trying to disappear inside an oversized astronomy tome. Her skirt was wrinkled, feathers askew, and the faint scent of fresh sex clung to her like perfume.
       Camila shut the door with a soft, deliberate click and locked it with a flick of magic.
       Octavia’s head snapped up, eyes wide and already glassy with dread.
       —A-aunt Camila, please, I just need–
       —Shh. —Camila crossed the room in three silent strides, plucked the book from trembling talons, and tossed it aside—. You need to stop running, sweet girl. Auntie’s going to take very good care of you now.
       Octavia tried to stand, but Camila’s hands were on her shoulders, pressing her gently but inexorably back into the deep cushions. The chair was wide, almost throne-like; perfect.
       —Stay right there. Legs open.
       Octavia’s thighs shook, but they parted on instinct. Camila knelt between them, pushing the skirt up to her waist in one smooth motion. The sight stole her breath: Octavia’s pussy was flushed dark rose, lips puffy and glistening, entrance still slightly gaping from Stella’s morning knot, a slow rivulet of mixed arousal trailing down to her asshole.
       Camila exhaled, reverent.
       —Look what Mommy did to you. So beautifully wrecked. Let’s see if I can do better.
       She didn’t dive in right away. Instead she traced one claw in idle circles around Octavia’s clit, never quite touching, watching every tiny jerk, every hitch of breath. Octavia’s hips rolled helplessly, chasing contact that wasn’t there.
       —Count for me. —Camila murmured—. Every time you come, you say the number out loud. If you lose count, we start over. Understood?
       Octavia whimpered, nodding frantically.
       Camila rewarded her with the flat of her tongue: one long, slow lick from entrance to clit. Octavia’s whole body jolted.
       —O-one…
       —Good girl.
       Camila began in earnest: slow, clinical, worshipful. She mapped every fold with the tip of her tongue, cataloguing reactions: how the left side of Octavia’s clit made her thighs spasm, how sucking gently on the hood drew the sweetest broken sob, how sliding just the tip of her tongue inside and curling made the princess’s back arch off the chair.
       By the third orgasm Octavia was openly crying, talons digging into the armrests, voice cracking on every number. Squirt came in hot, messy pulses, soaking Camila’s chest feathers and dripping onto the antique cushion.
       Camila didn’t stop. She conjured slender tendrils of green hellfire: weightless, warm, perfectly controlled: and wrapped them around Octavia’s nipples, teasing them into aching peaks. Another tendril coiled around the base of her clit like a living cockring, pulsing in time with Camila’s tongue.
       Octavia lost the ability to form words around “six.” Her seventh orgasm hit so hard her talons snapped open. A thick jet of squirt arced clear across the chair, splattering the opposite wall with a wet slap.
       Camila hummed approval, drinking greedily, eyes never leaving Octavia’s face. When the spasms finally ebbed, she rose to her feet, licking her beak clean.
       —Seven again. —She said softly, almost tender—. But this time they were all mine.
       She leaned down, brushing a stray tear from Octavia’s cheek with her thumb, then slipped that thumb between the princess’s lips so she could taste herself.
       —Rest here a moment, darling. I’ll be back for eight through twelve before dinner.
       Octavia could only whimper around the thumb, eyes unfocused, body still twitching with aftershocks.
       Camila straightened her sarong, smoothed a single feather, and glided toward the door: calm, composed, utterly victorious.
       Stella’s four-to-one lead officially obliterated.
       She paused at the threshold, glancing back with a smile sharp enough to cut glass.
       —Tell Mommy Auntie says hello.
       Then she was gone, leaving Octavia slumped in the chair, legs splayed, skirt bunched at her waist, squirt cooling on her thighs and the wall behind her, counting the seconds until the next ambush with a mixture of terror and helpless, shameful need.
       The score, for the moment, stood at Camila seven, Stella four… and Octavia completely, gloriously broken.
       The reading-room door hadn’t even clicked shut behind Camila when it exploded open again.
       Stella stormed in like a violent thundercloud, eyes blazing, robe hanging open and soaked at the hem with fresh evidence of her own most recent conquest somewhere else in the manor. The moment she saw Octavia, splayed boneless in the chair, legs still trembling, pussy gaping and dripping, wall splattered, the tally was obvious.
       Seven.
       Stella’s feathers bristled so hard they crackled with static.
       —You greedy emerald bitch. —She hissed—.
       Camila turned, slow and smug, licking a stray drop of squirt from her claw.
       —Problem, Your Majesty?
       Octavia tried to close her legs, to cover herself, to do anything, but her body refused to obey. She could only watch wide-eyed as the two older owls circled each other like duellists.
       Stella’s gaze flicked from the ruined chair to the glistening wall to Octavia’s tear-streaked face.
       —You made her squirt on the original 17th-century star atlas wallpaper.
       —I made her hit the opposite wall on orgasm seven. —Camila corrected, voice syrupy—. Accuracy matters.
       Stella’s nostrils flared. For a heartbeat it looked like actual violence might erupt, talons, beaks, hellfire, the works.
       Then Stella’s expression shifted: something darker, hotter, and far more dangerous.
       —Fine. —She said, voice velvet over steel—. If we’re keeping score, let’s do it properly. Right now. Winner takes her exclusively tomorrow morning.
       Camila’s eyes lit up.
       —Loser has to watch?
       —And count every single orgasm out loud. —Stella countered—. And the winner gets to decide where the loser’s tongue goes while she does it.
       A beat of charged silence.
       —Deal. —Camila purred—.
       Octavia whimpered, a tiny, broken sound that went straight to both women’s cores.
       They moved at the same time.
       Stella hauled Octavia out of the chair by her wrists and slammed her down onto the wide mahogany reading table, belly-first, legs kicked apart. Books crashed to the floor. Camila vaulted up opposite, spreading Octavia’s thighs wider, talons digging bruises into soft flesh.
       —First to ten. —Stella declared, conjuring her massive, knotted strap again, this one even thicker, ridged like dragonscale—. No mercy. No breaks.
       Camila answered by conjuring her own toy: a long, sinuous tendril of living emerald flame that writhed like a tongue and split into three separate tips. “Loser cleans the winner’s feathers afterward.
       Octavia’s plea:
       —Please, I can’t–
       She was cut off by Stella shoving three fingers into her mouth to the knuckles.
       —You can, and you will. —Stella growled, lining the brutal strap up with Octavia’s swollen entrance—. Count for us, baby. Every. Single. One.
       She thrust in to the hilt.
       Octavia’s scream vibrated around Stella’s fingers. Her pussy, already abused beyond reason, clamped down and squirted instantly, a hot gush that splashed Stella’s belly and ran in rivulets off the table edge.
       Camila leaned in, voice silky against Octavia’s ear.
       —That’s one, darling. Say it.
       —O-one. —Octavia sobbed, drool spilling down her chin—.
       Camila’s tendril slithered between her ass cheeks, the three tips teasing her hole before two speared insides at once, stretching her impossibly wide while the third curled around to torment her clit.
       Stella began to fuck long, punishing strokes that dragged the ridges over every sensitive spot inside, knot battering Octavia’s entrance on every withdrawal. Camila matched the rhythm perfectly, tendrils pistoning in counterpoint, forcing Octavia’s body to choose which invasion to clench around and failing at both.
       Two. Three. Four orgasms crashed through her in under two minutes, each announced in a broken, tear-soaked voice, each accompanied by a fresh flood that soaked the table and the floor beneath.
       At five, Stella flipped her onto her back without pulling out, hoisted her legs over her shoulders, and started pounding straight down, gravity helping the knot fuck deeper on every stroke. Camila climbed onto the table, straddling Octavia’s face and grinding her dripping cunt over the girl’s beak.
       —Six. —Camila counted breathlessly as Octavia’s muffled scream vibrated straight into her clit—.
       Seven and eight blurred together when Camila’s tendril in Octavia’s ass thickened and began to pulse like a heartbeat, milking her prostate from the inside while Stella’s knot finally popped in and locked.
       Octavia came so hard her vision whited out, body bowing off the table, squirt fountaining up to splash both women’s chests.
       —Nine. —Stella snarled, grinding deep, riding the spasms—.
       Camila, trembling on the edge herself, leaned forward until her beak almost touched Stella’s.
       —Call it a draw at ten. —She panted—. And we both get her tomorrow. Together. No more stealing.
       Stella’s eyes narrowed, hips still rolling, knot pulsing inside Octavia’s ruined pussy.
       —Fine. —She growled—. But I get her mouth first.
       —Deal.
       They moved in perfect, vicious sync.
       Stella pulled out with a wet gush, flipped Octavia again, and fed the slick, knotted strap down her throat until her beak bulged. Camila took her place behind, sliding her tendril into Octavia’s gaping pussy and ass at the same time, stretching her beyond reason.
       Octavia’s final orgasm, number ten, was cataclysmic. Her whole body seized, wings thrashing, squirt erupting in every direction like a burst pipe. The sound she made around Stella’s cock was inhuman, raw, perfect.
       When it finally passed, she went completely limp, passed out cold, body twitching with aftershocks, covered head to talon in squirt, drool, and sweat.
       Stella and Camila stayed locked together over her unconscious form, breathing hard, feathers plastered to their skin, staring at each other with something between hatred and deepest respect.
       —Tomorrow. —Stella said at last, voice hoarse—. We start at dawn. Together.
       Camila’s smile was slow, wicked, and utterly satisfied.
       —I’ll bring toys.
       They left Octavia sprawled across the table like a conquered territory, leaking from every hole, chest rising and falling in shallow, exhausted breaths.
       The rivalry hadn’t ended.
       It had simply evolved.
       And poor Octavia, lost to dreams of endless pleasure and ruin, had no idea that tomorrow would be worse.
       Or better.
       Depending entirely on which of them she asked, if she could still form words by then.
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