Ivy Bathory

[37] : Go lower.

There was nothing he knew he could say and yet he found himself opening his mouth to plead.

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said." He hadn't even known what he'd been saying back there. It was all just a lucky guess. "I didn't--Ivy? Please. I didn't know that--"

The girl placed her bottle down. She managed to hear Kent's cries as another swirl of voices slammed into her mind. She brought the drink to her lips again and threw her head back as she swallowed the toxic liquid. King gently sat himself on a stool, placing a few glasses from the whiskey set on the counter and pouring himself the unbearable acid. A vein on his forehead popped as the familiar stench of booze stung his nose. He rested his elbow against the top and pinched the bridge of his nose, beckoning for Ivy to move closer.

She drunkenly did so, instantly slamming the bottle down and climbing onto his laps. Not time wasted, her lips fiercely met his. Kent's lips part slightly as he watches them roughly melt into each other, handling themselves with careless caution. His throat bobs when Claude takes a firm hold of the girl's behind, pulling her flat against his own body.

He looks away, afraid they'd catch him staring, but his eyes betray him and uncertainly turn back to watch them pour their frustration into their mouths, their breaths heavy and uncontrolled. It was perhaps disgusting, considering that people had just died and they were already having a go at themselves, but he was no better if he was packing at the moment as well.

Kent found himself in awe as he watched them.

Their bodies moved in sync, playing along to the tunes of their heavy maddened thwart. The way every caress of delicate and fragile touch turned hot and needful, vitalized with wild vigor. He noticed how they seemed even more animalistic and feral. Their eyes dark with primal lust. The muscles that adorned King's body flexed, bulging and rippling with raw dominance as he handled the girl mercilessly, clutching the back of her head and holding her face in his desired position, slipping his tongue down her throat. His fingers sunk into her skin as he pulled her even closer.

They both didn't care if Kent watched. They didn't bother telling him to turn away and give them privacy. They didn't get up to excuse themselves. And Claude seemed to have forgotten that thing he'd said about a room. So the boy shamelessly kept his eyes trained on the make out session before him. He continued to admire the fierce sensual play between both the killers, his own body stirring awake at the sight of their hungry intimacy. He slowly bit his lip when they groaned into each other, noticing how easily the black haired man slipped the girl's shirt off, leaving her chest stark naked. The loaded breasts bounced out of their cover, presenting themselves to anyone's eyes.

Kent gradually ran a went tongue over his lip at the show of her skin, he tried to pull his eyes away from them, failing miserably. He cleared his throat and nervously shifted the arms trapped behind his back. "Uh...guys..."

His statement paused when King let out a groan, his fingers pressing into the full fruits that beat against his tattooed chest. The man promptly snaked his arms under her thighs, pulling her up as he stood himself from the stool he sat on. The soft heavy buds of Ivy's ass smashed on the white counter top, legs parted to accommodate the hips that pressed into her. Her moans reached the boy, tugging his shaft to harden. He couldn't comprehend why watching them turned him on so much. The way Ivy's body broke down to Claude's every command and how the tattooed man handled her professionally, his hold rough and brutal yet gentle and careful, cautious.

Kent liked that gleam in her eyes, the one that held a subtle begging, seeing her ask for something so sinful from the devil. But he preferred being the one on his knees and begging her to dirty him however much she wanted.