Chapter 103: Shattered Lineage
"We’re at my place tonight, 1427 Willow Lane, apartment 3B. Come by around eleven? I’ve got a bottle of wine."
Devon’s smirk widened, his eyes glinting in the dim light. "I’ll be there," he said, his voice a low purr that sent a shiver through the line. Elena laughed softly, and the call ended with a click.
The penthouse suite was luxurious, its floor-to-ceiling windows framing a cityscape drenched in the silver glow of rain, the lights below blurring into streaks of neon desire.
Devon stood in the center of the room, his tailored shirt already half-unbuttoned, revealing the lean, sculpted planes of his chest. His eyes burned with a predatory intensity, fixed on the two women before him, their forms illuminated by the soft flicker of recessed lighting, their black silk blindfolds tying them to his will as surely as chains. Clara, Thorne’s daughter, stood to the left, her hair cascading in wild waves over her shoulders, catching the light in fiery glints, her fitted black dress hugged the lush curve of her hips and the heavy swell of her breasts, the fabric straining with each shallow, panicked breath, her porcelain skin flushed a vivid pink at her cheeks and throat.
Agnes , Thorne’s mother, stood beside her, a monument of seasoned elegance, her hair swept loose, framing high cheekbones and the hidden fire of blue eyes now cloaked by the blindfold. Her cream blouse and knee length skirt clung to a figure softened but unbowed by time, her pearl necklace swaying gently against the hollow of her throat, where a pulse beat like a trapped bird.
"Sir, please," Agnes spoke first, her voice a low, resonant plea, cracked with the weight of decades of maternal love now twisted into desperation. She stepped forward blindly, her hand outstretched, trembling, the pearls catching the light like tears frozen in time. "Whatever you have on him, let it go. Don’t destroy what’s left of him. I’m begging you, don’t take everything." Her words broke at the edges, her blindfold shifting as she choked back a sob, her composure fracturing like glass, her body swaying as if the weight of her plea might topple her.
Clara’s voice followed, raw and jagged, a daughter’s devotion laced with terror. "I beg you," she whispered, her hands twisting together so tightly her knuckles gleamed white, her body jerking away from Agnes’s voice as if burned by its familiarity.
"He gave me everything, my life, my strength. What you’re holding over him, just burn it. Please, he doesn’t deserve this hell." Her lips quivered, tears streaming down her cheeks, soaking the silk blindfold, her breath hitching in sobs that made her breasts heave against the tight fabric of her dress, the straps slipping to reveal the lacy edge of her bra, damp with sweat.
Devon’s smile was a blade, sharp and unyielding, as he stepped closer, the air between them thickening with the raw, sexual charge of his presence. "Words are cheap, ladies," he said, his voice a low growl, dripping with menace and lust. "That recording will come out, if you don’t do as you’re told and right now I want you both." He paused, letting the threat hang, his eyes devouring their forms.
Clara’s dress riding up her thighs, exposing the pale flesh, Agnes’s blouse clinging to the curve of her waist, the pearls swaying like a hypnotic lure.
Clara’s body went rigid, a choked sob bursting from her lips as she backed into the wall, her hands flying to her face, clawing at the blindfold.
"No... God, no, you can’t make us... this is sick!" Her voice was a scream muffled by fear, her body trembling so violently the dress shifted, revealing the curve of her ass, the black lace of her panties stark against her skin. "I’ll give you money, anything please, not this, not with..." She trailed off, her head jerking toward Agnes, the suspicion solidifying into dread, her breath coming in gasps that made her breasts strain against the fabric, her nipples hard despite her horror.
Agnes’s reaction was a furnace of rage, her jaw clenching so tight the pearls shifted, her hands rising to clutch her blouse as if to shield herself. "You’re a devil," she spat, her voice venomous, trembling with fury and fear. "Twisting our love for him into this... this abomination. Thorne would rather die than see us—" She choked, her words dissolving into a sob, her body sagging as the reality crashed over her, her skirt riding up to reveal the sheer stockings clinging to her calves, her thighs trembling. "Anything else, name it. Money, secrets, my own shame but not this." Her plea was a raw wound, her blindfold soaked with tears, her body shaking as if to reject the very air around her.
Devon’s laugh was low, guttural, a sound that vibrated through the room like a predator’s growl, his cock throbbing painfully against his trousers as he savored their resistance. "Hesitation only makes me harder," he said, his voice thick with lust, stepping so close their breaths mingled with his, the heat of his body a furnace against their trembling forms.
"You think you can bargain? The recording’s real every action a nail in his coffin. I own him, and now I own you. Take off the blindfolds. Look at each other."
Clara’s hands froze, her fingers trembling at the edge of the silk, her breath hitching in a panicked sob. "No... I can’t... I don’t want to know..." Her voice was a whisper, but she tugged at the blindfold, the fabric slipping free to reveal her tear-streaked face, her eyes wide with horror as they locked onto Agnes.
"Nanna?" The word was a scream, a raw, shattered sound that tore through the room, her body collapsing against the wall, her hands clutching her chest as if to hold her heart together. "Oh God, Nanna, it’s you? How... how could he do this to us?"
Agnes ripped her own blindfold off, her hair falling loose as her blue eyes met Clara’s, the shock a physical blow that made her stagger, her pearls clinking as she clutched at the table for support.
"Clara? My God... my baby girl..." Her voice broke, a wail of anguish and disbelief, her hands reaching for Clara but stopping short, as if touching her would make the nightmare real. "This... this can’t be... you bastard!" Her face crumpled, tears streaming down her cheeks, her blouse slipping off one shoulder to reveal the pale curve of her collarbone, her body shaking with a mix of rage and despair.
"How damaged could you possibly be?"
Devon’s eyes gleamed, drinking in their devastation, his cock straining harder as their pain fed his desire. "Beautiful," he murmured, his voice a dark caress, stepping closer to bridge the gap between them. "Show me how much you’ll sacrifice for your father and your son." With agonizing slowness, he unbuttoned his shirt, the fabric parting to reveal the chiseled planes of his chest, the faint red scratches from Marianne’s nails glowing in the dim light. His trousers followed, unzipped with a deliberate rasp that made Clara flinch, the fabric pooling at his feet to leave him exposed, his cock springing free—thick, veined, and impossibly hard, the head glistening with pre-cum that caught the light like a perverse jewel.
Clara’s sob caught in her throat, her eyes wide with horror as she backed further, her hands covering her mouth, but her gaze flicked down, betraying her with a flicker of unwilling fascination at the sight of him, the sheer size of him making her thighs clench instinctively, her panties damp despite her revulsion.
"No... I won’t... I can’t touch you," she whimpered, but Devon seized her wrist, his grip iron, pulling her hand to his chest, letting her feel the pounding of his heart before guiding it lower, forcing her fingers to wrap around his cock, the heat searing her palm, the girth too much for her hand to close around. "Stop... please, it’s too much..." Her voice broke into a moan she couldn’t suppress, her body trembling as he guided her hand up and down, the slick slide of pre-cum coating her fingers, her dress riding up to bare her ass, the black lace of her panties soaked through, clinging to her folds.
Agnes lunged forward, her hands outstretched to pull Clara away, but Devon caught her wrist too, yanking her close until her body pressed against Clara’s, their breasts brushing in a forbidden collision that made them both gasp, their tears mingling as their faces hovered inches apart. "Your turn, Agnes," he growled, his breath hot against her ear, his free hand sliding down her back to grip her ass through the skirt, squeezing until she whimpered, her body jerking against Clara’s. "Stroke me. Show me how much you hate me, how much you love him." He forced her hand to join Clara’s, their fingers interlacing around his throbbing length, the contact sending a jolt through them both. Clara’s soft, trembling grip against Agnes’s firmer, reluctant one, the shared heat of his cock a burning bridge between them.
"No... I’ll die before I..." Agnes’s voice was a hiss, her body shaking with rage, but her hand stayed, trembling violently as Devon guided it, the slick, veiny texture of him searing her palm, her fingers brushing Clara’s in a way that made her choke on a sob. "You’re filth, Devon... you’re tearing us apart..."
Her words dissolved into a moan as he thrust into their joined hands, the friction obscene, the pre-cum dripping onto their wrists, marking them both.
Clara’s cries grew louder, her body sagging against Agnes’s, her free hand clawing at her own dress, tearing the strap to expose one breast, the nipple hard and pink against her pale skin.
"Nanna, I’m sorry... I can’t stop..." Her strokes faltered, then resumed, driven by Devon’s relentless grip, her body arching as if to escape the heat pooling between her thighs, her panties now a slick mess of her own arousal.
The rhythm built, torturous and relentless, their hands moving under Devon’s iron control, the slick sounds of skin on skin filling the room, mingling with Clara’s broken sobs and Agnes’s hissed curses.
Their bodies pressed closer, Clara’s bare breast brushing Agnes’s blouse, the pearls catching on the lace of Clara’s bra, the accidental intimacies igniting sparks of horror and forbidden heat. "For Thorne," Agnes whispered, her voice a shattered prayer, her strokes growing firmer despite her tears, her fingers exploring the veins, the girth, as if memorizing the shame to fuel her hatred.
Clara’s moans turned desperate, her body swaying, her hand slipping between her thighs to rub at her soaked panties, the motion instinctive, betraying her revulsion with a flood of need she couldn’t name.
Devon pushed them lower, their knees buckling under the weight of their despair, the plush carpet as they sank before him, mother and daughter reduced to supplicants at his altar.
His hands found their heads, fingers threading through Clara’s waves and Agnes’s strands, a firm but unyielding pressure that held them in place, their faces inches from his cock, the musky scent of him overwhelming their senses.
Clara’s sobs were muffled, her lips trembling as they brushed the tip, a bead of pre-cum smearing across her mouth, making her gag and moan in the same breath. Agnes’s face twisted in anguish, her pearls swaying as she turned away, but Devon’s grip tightened, forcing her to face him, her breath hot against his skin, a reluctant exhale that made him groan, his cock twitching in their hands.
"Keep going," he growled, his voice raw with lust, his hips rocking slightly to meet their strokes, the slick, wet sounds of their hands echoing in the room, a symphony underscored by the rain’s furious crescendo outside.
Clara’s hand moved faster, her tears falling onto her exposed breast, her body shaking with a mix of shame and unwanted heat, her fingers slipping beneath her panties to rub her clit, a desperate attempt to anchor herself against the chaos. Agnes’s strokes were slower, defiant, her nails digging into his thigh as if to draw blood, but the rhythm held, her lips parting as if to curse but only a moan escaping, her blouse half-unbuttoned now, revealing the soft curve of her breasts, the nipples hard against the silk.