Stepsister
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Psi free porn video
"You have arrived to. The Beauchamps. Residence. Welcome...Louise."
Five voices, the last one her own, screeched out of the ornicab’s logophone. The dissonant message struck her with an eerie nostalgia. The ornicab’s rubber door had softly sealed against the port, and delivered her right into a familiar patio. André Beauchamps had long been her favourite guest. An ageless, lanky man, crowned in sparse grey hair. He was an engineer they said, a genius, who talked of powers long forgotten. Things to dwarf coal, empty the endless furnaces and gag the torches that spit soot on every living soul in Lutecia. He promised her he'd topple the Iron Tower and free Lutecia of the acid rains. He promised her, she'd always be by his side.
Louise didn’t believe him of course, no one did. But he was rich enough to invite her often. He cared for making her laugh and for making her moan. He liked strange things, disguises, old stories and pleasures hidden in her flesh. Of their last evening together, she remembered him looking as her body made a shadow by the lights of Lutecia. The lights of the chimneys making the sky a storm. His seed pearled from her lips like milky dew. He watched her lick it all, with a little smile she didn’t have to fake. He called her adorable. As she dressed back up, he started to dream aloud. He promised her another time, in another world. Like he always did.
The next day, André Beauchamps was gone. Without a word, without a trace, without a cry, without a last hurrah. Gone the Tchéka way.
The residence was left behind. Ever the engineer, he had built it atop an old Haussman, an architectural tumor erected over Lutecia’s crumbling history. He had it furbished in priceless woods and stones. That remained, but with Beauchamps gone it felt all dead. She missed him, she missed the papers all over the floor and the books lining up entire walls. Most of all she missed the colorful artworks hanging in seemingly random places. He was so proud to have saved what he could of the Tuileries, so sad to have failed the rest, to have left it be fuel. But it was still a safe place, a good place to be lonely and watch the rains fall.
She left her heavy white furcoat fall down from her gracious shoulders, like Beauchamps used to like. For some reason, she even wore his favourite outfit, a sophisticated dress of black silk, open in all the right places to diplay lingerie that was nothing but a cascade of laces and grey diamonds. A dress made from the tireless work of the seamstresses and lingerie from the mines. He liked to caress her with the stones, and feel his fingers fall in between the threads of lace to find her skin.
But first, she remembered, he always caressed the strange symbol she bore on her forehead, half an ellipse with a line drawn through. She shivered.
Without its owner and architect, the residence was naught but a silent memorial. The clicking sound of her steel heels against the marble floor echoed clear against the rain battering hard outside. But there was something else: the sound of paper rubbed against paper. She felt her heart racing. That caress here was not a foreign sound, this was a sound of Beauchamps. But it couldn’t be, for Beauchamps was no longer.
Was he back ? Was it a thief ? Was it Tchéka ?
It was only a girl, a dirty thing wrapped in a brown leather coat. She was nonchalantly laid, on the colossal half-circle sofa that stood in front of that wall that was a window. She had long blond hair, spreading orderless over the white cloth, and endless legs she left to rest on a bulgy leather bag. Not just a poor street wench. In her Louise saw something languished, elegant even. She was reading, indifferent it seemed to the ferocious dark rain behind the huge glass panel. She did turn for the clicking of heels.
"Oh, you must be André’s Angel," she said in the calmest tone. "Would you care to join me?"
Angel. Louise had been called way worse. With a shrug she left her shoes to fall down, enjoying the tingle the cold marble shot through her spine. She coiled herself on the opposite end of the sofa, her dress tensed over curves that had made good men kill, facing the intruder. The diamonds scraped softly on her nipples and lips. Her body woke, it always did, sent an echo of pleasures not yet had. She kept herself a statue, an image of tempting perfection. She had been taught well.
"So," she asked the intruder. "How did you enter here?"
The girl lowered her book, with unsufferable languor. She shot her a look back, and for the first time in a long time, Louise doubted that in a duel of sheer presence, her triumph was assured. The leather wench had eyes of coal, burning like fhe furnaces underneath.
"André left me a key." A casual, sharp tongue.
Where there are masters there are servants, Louise thought. Not all of them could be precious whores adorned in grey diamonds, carried above the black clouds in Company ornis. Not all of them even knew what the sun felt like. Yet, even looking upon all of Lutecia, she had always been alone with Beauchamps, in rains and clouds of coal...
"What did you do for him?" she asked.
In lieu of an answer, the other girl took the bag she was laying her feet on. She threw it in her direction, effortless in appearance. Louise followed its flight, made no attempt to catch it as it crashed under her. She reached down, opened the bag. But even she couldn’t hide a jolt of surprise when it revealed a messed up pile of thick books.
The one work in the hands of a strange woman, that was something of a curiosity. A whole stack of words and knowledge, that was something of Beauchamps.
"You’re his peddler!" she said, hiding awe. "He talked about you, but I always thought you were a man."
The leather girl was no threat, no intruder. She was the source for the only thing Beauchamps ever needed more than Louise and her body. The one thing her gentle man talked of with a fire matching her feats of debauchery. She looked around, instinctively looking to someone to show the books to. Her eyes met only empty shelves, and when she looked back at the peddler... sadness. The realization hit her, together with the pain. The girl missed him too.
Here they were, a blond vagrant armoured in leather and a coal-haired courtisane with a marked forehead. A lonely whore and a ruined peddler. The only souls left to remember a man who wanted to change everything. Louise wanted to laugh and cry but could do neither.
"What is your name?" she asked.
"Alis," said Alis.
Between her hands, the rare volume, heavy and binded with black leather, was called Alis’ Travels across the Marvellands, by Louise Carole.
"Where you named after her?"
"Maybe." A flash of pain on her face. A memory.
"Well, maybe I was named after the author," Louise replied.
She giggled, and the peddler smiled for the first time.
There was nothing left to say. Louise left her sight drift across the window, following raindrops along when they crashed against the glass. A game from her childhood. She watched every clear drop race down against the sooty soup seeping from the slate roofs. Even now, she always hoped one single pearl of clear water could reach the bottom its purity intact. Alas, entropy doesn’t care, it just is. At the end of the race, every ounce of rain had taken it’s share in coal dust and lost itself into the grey. Grey buildings, grey tracks, grey people struggling underneath it all. Only the Iron Tower was a shade as black as her mark.
They stayed silent for hours, or seconds maybe. The whore had nothing to say, but the peddler did. She had a soft voice, it sounded nice rythmed with the rain.
"You know, I hated you before," she stated. "Without you, André would’ve been my way out of down there. But he never looked at anything I had to offer, nothing except the books. Nothing breathing but you. Nothing else had that...Thing."
Louise turned her head but did not catch the peddler’s eyes. She didn’t expect to. Alis was staring straight at her forehead. They all did, sooner or later. But that precise look, could not be decomposed. No disgust, no judgment and fascinating shades of lust. But there was something else she’d never seen before.
"Do you want to see it?"
She shouldn’t have offered. But even a whore can be curious.
Alis nodded, biting her lips like a child caught in a lie. Louise stood up, in the center of the sofa’s curve, like she had done for him for their first time. She remembered, in this place she could not escape Beauchamps.
Reaching behind her neck, she found the golden clamp. She pressed it. Diamonds fell around her in a priceless hail, bounced all over the marble floor. The sound melted into the rain. Her dress slipped too, falling off her hips, a silent counterpoint to the noisy jewelry. Alis’ eyes widened, seeking not the the precious stones treated so forgetfully, nor the silk on the marble or even Louise's exposed flawless cunt. Her iris captured instead by the dark shadow that spread beneath the whore's skin.
Psi revealed. Something in shapes of pitch-black that ran not across but underneath her epiderm. A new life, darker than coal, darker than eyes, crawling swifter than lightning. One moment in one place, her skin was pale as ivory, untouched by men and time. The next, the monster existed within, along her nerves and every fiber of her flesh. Alis saw it move and couldn't stop a gasp. For Louise, it was nothing but a light and powerful caress that never, ever stopped.
But when it did, it became so many other things.
They had found Psi and some others like it decades before. By accident, in some deep cave, in some dark place. Like a virus, they killed all the strong men who dug to their lair. But the woman who came next was willing, the first to understand. Through her, some letters and words were taught, a Compact was formed. Someone good might’ve asked the strange new life for knowledge. Instead, the woman became Alpha.
The head of a nameless empire, built on whores and parasites. With Tchéka to watch them all.
Louise willed Psi into the shape of its own name. Half an ellipse, covering both her breasts down to her belly. A line going straight through, down into her cunt painted a black so dark there were no shapes to be seen. Everywhere else, perfect alabaster skin. The monster writhed some sensible nerves in approval of meeting the heart of her pleasure, and even after years, the jolt made her bite her lips. She was making a show of it, and wondered why.
"What does that mean?"
The girl witnessed what only the Guests ever could, and yet concerned herself for the shape of it. Truly, she should’ve had Beauchamps.
"Psi." Louise answered, "That’s what they told me it was called. An ancient letter from Hellas."
"Can I?"
Alis extended her hand forward. The strange look again, and Louise found, surprised, that Psi was eager. It liked that they were being naked in front of that particular, insignificant peddler. It made her nipples impossibly hard and soon, the lips of her cunt would shine in black all the way down to her thighs.
"Please," Louise answered. Lust and curiosity.
Alis touched her where the circle and the bar met. An innocent spot of her flesh, over the solar plexus. And the whole world changed.
Louise had been given to many Guests, men and women alike. Her lips had been the price for one man’s life. Her cunt the finest course of a banquet. Her ass the reward in kind for a dirty mine pit. Her whole, an inspiration for André Beauchamps. All of what was her had been adored and defiled, many times over. Beneath her elegance she was Lutecia’s beacon of perversion, a body made to meet the depraved wishes of anyone with enough coal to spare. A living, breathing, fucking reminder that nothing was sacred, that moral cannot endure under the grey rains of soot and entropy.
She went through all of it with, in her heart, a secret only the fucking parasite shared...That she had craved every second of it, for that was what it took to be an Host. Eight years out of a contract of twelve...
"It doesn’t feel any different than skin" said Alis, who could not know.
For no one had ever touched Louise like she had just been touched. The monster inflamed her every nerve where the fingers of the peddler laid a soft caress. A dagger of fire piercing right through her chest, a bullet even, exploding on impact, shrapnel of pleasure tearing every nerve. The blackness in her was fed into a blast furnace of lust and roared. To describe it a fool’s errand, for no one who had not borne Psi could understand.
She needed to shriek and shout, but her lungs were empty of anything but bliss. Alis’ caress softly lowered down to her belly, and left a trail of searing flames. The button of her birth was a pit pouring fire. Louise's eyes rolled backward, as she fell on her knees in front of the blond wench. The back of her fingers, brushing all along to her shoulders, left a trace of black. She could not see, but Alis did, that Psi wrote her every touch under her skin.
"What are you doing to me?" Louise asked, looking up at her.
Alis did not answer. Fascinated by the black's need, she laid her hands on the kneeled whore’s cheek. Psi obeyed, flowing to her palm, as inevitable as law or gravity. Her thumb ventured against the offered luscious lips, and there too, the parasite took over all. For Louise, every caress was an impossible call to mindless lust. Her cheeks fields ablaze. Her lips, going black, an irrepressible need for cocks and cunts. She left them ajar, revealed her tongue for the other to caress. She did, and the whore thirsted anew, for every drop of wet and seed in Lutecia.
When the girl touched the symbol on her forehead, she felt for the first time the pleasure of the monster itself. Something so inhumane it was delight.
Psi, Psi, Psi, my sweetest Psi...
Louise looked up, with a look that begged for more. But in a preserved corner of her mind, the one even Psi was too gentle to touch, she saw that Alis begged back. She wondered, how it took her so long to remember. That this light in the peddler’s eyes, that counterpoint to lust, she had never seen it but she had had it. Long ago. Eight years ago, out of a contract of twelve.
"Oh...You want to be me," she said, in wonder.
Alis did not bother to answer. Absorbed, entranced by newfound power, she put two fingers in between the whore’s lips. Spurred by lust, spurred by the parasite, Louise took them like something thirsted, like ambrosia. With exquisitely trained skill and the last remainder of her tenderness. Her whole face was black now, everything but her eyes, that were mad instead. She sucked those fingers like she wanted to gag on them and when she coughed them out she could finally speak.
"You poor idiot !" she shouted, not noticing the streak of her spit running from the corner of her lips. "You’re so beautiful, you’re so free ! Why would you become me? I’m just a whore, slaved by the needs that thing in me sets aflame. You could be anything instead...Why not be anything instead?"
These words did reach the other, in her own world of envious lust. But if Louise wanted reason, she lit a rightful, lustful rage. Enough of a sample! Alis wanted it all! She threw herself down on her prey, nailed her to the marble floor, holding her down with a palm over the symbol of Psi. Her other went straight for the cunt. Three fingers shoved in, no tenderness. As deep and fast as she could.
In an instant, her hand was dripping, a river of the whore’s wet running down her folded palm, right down to the wrist. In her heart, she knew she’d never stop until there was no more shouts to be taken from poor Louise. Her eyes could not follow the black madness spreading under the whore's skin in patterns of abandon. She watched the offered clit pulse, in a shining black prayer. She answered with pain swifter than any goddess ever could.
"You stupid rich whore!" she shouted. "Do you think a poor life is free? Do you think you’re the only one who sold priceless things because they had no choice? Do you think I ever walked in a room in a silk dress, covered in precious stones, only to be adored by the greatest of men?"
For Louise, there was nothing but searing bliss and Alis' words. The symbol on her head burned just as hard as the button in her sex. She could not think or speak. She was but a sandpit for a rage of coal. The pleasure of it, swirling everywhere in patterns for no artiste or architect. Alabster and ink, changing so fast they made a skin of grey. The monster inside was a crook, a perverted fuck that took fire from her clit and cunt and to burn it into her every cell. Her body shook in uncontrollable spasms, impaling her closer to the merciless Alis. Psi and her bliss always further, always deeper. The monster danced.
And every word the bitch spoke drilled right into her mind.
"You had André!" Alis shouted, enraged still. "You had him and now he’s dead. But at least you had him..."
Louise always knew that Psi was a cruel thing, and so was timing. The monster threw her down the well of a mad orgasm. The best she had in eight years, out of a contract of twelve. She squirted a vulgar little puddle on the marble, just as Alis showed her a crucible. In that moment she admitted, to herself and the world, that she had loved André Beauchamps. And without him, there would be no more needs.
But the fucking monster, the parasite could not leave her body quiet for a moment. Alis, calmed by her tears in apex, caressed her with restored gentleness and care, watching with a sad smile as she leaked on the marble floor. Tears of her eyes, spit of her tongue, wet of her cunt. And Psi, unruly prisoner, could not stop hitting and battering the walls of her skin with tools crafted of her own nerves. Every attempt to break out sent spasms of dirty pleasure right through her despair.
The coal monster wanted an escape, for it had known all along, that the whore no longer loved their games. But the blond wench would.
"Take him away from me... Please," Louise begged.
Alis was kind. She laid her lips on lips. Ready to take what she wanted, and be the liberation of Louise and her parasite. The darkness fled from the now former whore, reaching instead for a new home. Louise held her salvation in an imperative kiss. Alis could only breath the whore’s lungs, and her lust, and the monster. None could not see the darkness spread, but the new host could feel it, drilling a new home in her body.
It would be done, in a few seconds.
Except it wasn’t.
Louise always knew that Psi was kind. Unlike that fucker Beauchamps, the parasite was considerate to give a last moment lost in lust. The darkness now engulfed them both, made itself a bridge, between a new body yet unexplored and an old companion. Louise felt like she was of two bodies, joined only in absolute pleasure, and Alis felt the same. A union, a sistership in bliss that no lovers ever could reach without a monster in between.
They felt their own clit under the tongue of the other and shared all of the ecstasy. Louise taught the new girl a nice little thing she had learned, the one she did with her tongue and teeth, and Alis felt her own juices spraying on her nose. If there was a soul to see, they’d witness a dance like no other. Two bodies, three minds, joined in an inexhaustible bliss. Between them there was a caress in burning black, spreading in their mouth and their cunts as they rubbed against each other with abandon. Moving underneath both their skin like the waves did in old tales of the seas.
Together they fucked right into an abyss. They fell into Psi's formless embrace, and went to climb again. Bodies, lust, and vulgar fuck. Everything is beautiful, when everything is shared.
A fool's errand to describe.
After that all that was left were two naked, exhausted bodies on the cold marble, emptied for this one day of every pleasure. The rain still poured outside, undisturbed, making torrents of grey to fall on those who crawled below.
For the first time in eight years, Louise felt her body quiet, with choices to be made no contract left to look for. She looked at the diamonds spread all over the floor, and the bag full of books. Maybe that would make an acceptable start for a new life. Through the window, the grey rain made the torches flare up like dirty suns. And she thought of André.
For the first time in forever, Alis’ body was the murmur she’d always wanted. A source of no choices, but unlimited possibilities. For an instant she wondered... If she wanted to become the whore, did that make her free? Psi purred in her belly. For the first time she tried to will it into the shape of its name. She failed, but there would be time to learn. With a finger, she caressed her forehead. She felt nothing but skin, but knew she was marked. Half an ellipse with a line drawn through.
"I’m so sorry." They said together.
*
The man of the Tchéka stood back up, careful not to slip on the soot stained slate under his feet. He expertly released the lumicorder from its tripod and watched the many lenses folding on themselves with grace. His cock was pulsing hard inside the rubber armour he wore against the acid rain, and the constant battering sound of it was making him mad. He’d make a copy of the film and would show it to the blond one someday, the day he would be able to afford her ass and a minute of her time.
"REPORT SUMMARY : RF :7574 – RA : 9814. LUTECIA TCH-QUA-C - 4TH BUREAU.
Surveillance of Location 1576 yielded unrelated, but interesting results. Once again, Subject Psi found a way to change Host without our intervention. Fortunately, Psi seems to consistently make Company-friendly choices, as Alis R. (ch. 74648) had long been considered a possible Host before her encounter with primary target. It is recommended that her full training begins in the earliest fashion. While she is not believed to have been compromised by primary target, a full psychothalic examination should also be conducted. Continued surveillance is advised.
As for former Host Louise C. (ch. 6546), it is as of now impossible to know what her course of action will be. She seems inclined to take over Alis R.’s position as an independent book peddler. Despite her extensive knowledge of Subjects and Company operations, that course of action seems unlikely to reach systematically disruptive effects. While she did leave with some amount of Company property, her contract breach saves far more in the coal assets she was owed. Furthermore, her survival in such a harsh environment, without adequate training, is unlikely. Continued surveillance is advised.
Continued surveillance of Location 1576 is advised, as the primary target has yet to be acquired."
Anastasia
- 25.06.2020
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- Category:
- Steampunk
