Violet’s Turn

The House pushed.

It was not a voice. It was a warm, insistent pressure behind Violet’s eyes, a slow uncoiling of want that made her fingers slide free of her own cunt and reach instead for the chair. Vivien noticed the shift and lifted herself off Ben with a wet sound, rising until his cock slapped back against his stomach, shiny and dark and straining. She stayed straddling his thighs, holding herself open so the cool air of the room could touch what she had just been using.

Ben’s chest heaved. His eyes tracked Violet as she stepped closer.

“Your turn,” the House said with Vivien’s mouth. Soft. Encouraging. Absolute.

Violet wrapped her hand around her father’s cock.

It was hot and slick from her mother’s cunt, thicker than she had expected even after watching it for so long. She gave an experimental stroke from base to tip and felt him jump in her grip. Ben’s hips tried to follow. She tightened her fingers just enough to still him and began a slow, deliberate rhythm.

Up. Down. Twist at the head. Pause.

She watched his face the entire time. The way his jaw clenched. The way his throat worked when she dragged her thumb through the wetness gathered at the tip and spread it around. Every time his breathing sped up she slowed further, reducing the strokes to almost nothing, barely moving her fist until the tension in his body eased again. Then she started over.

Edging him.

The House fed her the pleasure of it in slow pulses. Each time Ben’s cock throbbed hard in her hand and she denied him, a corresponding throb answered between her own legs. She kept her grip firm and her pace mercilessly unhurried. When a bead of precome welled up she collected it with her thumb and brought it to her own mouth, tasting him while she maintained the torturous rhythm with her other hand.

Ben made a broken sound.

Vivien leaned in and kissed the side of Violet’s neck, watching over her shoulder, still holding herself open above Ben’s trapped body.

“That’s it,” the House murmured against Violet’s skin. “Make him wait. Make him feel every second.”

Violet tightened her fist at the base and squeezed, cutting off the building pressure, then resumed the slow strokes. Ben’s thighs trembled. His wrists flexed hard against the restraints. The head of his cock had gone a deep, flushed color, shiny with the mess of her mother’s arousal and his own leaking need.

In the corner the Pale Man’s engorged cock twitched again, another thick strand of pale fluid sliding down its length. His black eyes never left Violet’s working hand.

She kept stroking. Slow. Steady. Stopping whenever Ben got too close. Starting again only when the desperate tension in his body had receded enough to start building once more.

The House hummed through the walls, deeply pleased.

Violet had no intention of letting her father come anytime soon.