The Highest Bidder

Pavi had been easy to convince; Amber’s latest facial reconstruction became his new mask, and he stroked it lovingly as his brother and sister exchanged words. Amber argued that Luigi had no idea how to run a business; Luigi called Amber a whore and told her that she wasn’t technically a Largo anymore, having voluntarily changed her surname to Sweet, and snarled a lot, and pouted.

When he pulled out the ornate knife he always carried on his person – he’d assured everyone who saw it that it had cost a small fortune, and that he, the eldest of Rotti’s children, could afford it – Pavi just giggled. “Fuck you,” Luigi glared, stroking the weapon case with the same affection that his brother had shown to Amber’s prosthetic face, now delicately screwed into his skull.

Pavi clapped his hands with glee. “Fuck her!” he grinned, eyes crinkling through the topmost holes in the mask.

Luigi’s own face lit up. “You know, Sis,” he said eventually, “Young Paviche makes an excellent point. The both of us are fit to run our dear, deceased father’s empire. I would even go so far as to assume that you want it as badly as I.” He fiddled with his ascot, which Amber knew indicated scheming. “Or maybe,” his voice dropped an octave, “You want it a little bit more.”

Amber smirked. “My dear older brother,” she drawled, plucking the knife from Luigi’s hands with manicured fingers and rubbing her most recently fashioned cheek against the casing. “I believe I might.”

Luigi’s hand closed around hers; in a flash, her body was pressed flush against his. Unsheathing the knife, Luigi brought it up to his sister’s throat, his free hand stroking her face. From behind, Amber felt the swelling of his cock. She smirked. When Luigi spoke, his voice was unusually husky: “Prove it.”

Amber spun around, grabbed her brother’s ridiculous neckpiece, and slammed him against the nearest wall of their father’s private office, now up for grabs to the highest bidder. They kissed then, hungrily and furiously, and Luigi let out a sharp cry as he grappled with the knife and cut his finger before it clattered to the ground. Gripping his hand with the utmost care - her eyes on Luigi’s the entire time - Amber licked the wound, making a show of savoring the blood on her tongue.

Pavi let out a soft moan, obviously enjoying the show. Ignoring him, Luigi gripped Amber by the hair, shoving her roughly to her knees. Amber did as she was bade, purring and rubbing herself up and down the tented portion of Luigi’s expensive, tailored pants. His hands trembled with excitement as he worked to shove them down. Amber assisted happily, lids low and seductive, even as Luigi hurried to shove his cock down her throat.

“Slut,” he gasped. “Whore. Bitch.” Amber ran her tongue over his member, across the head, along his balls, all over the veined, meatiest part of her brother’s cock. It didn’t take long to make him come, jizz spilling into her mouth, and then onto her face as Luigi gripped his penis and smeared the aftermath of their deed across her cheeks and nose and chin. Amber licked her lips.

“Want to … fuck you,” Luigi huffed. He hauled her up to a standing position again, and shoved their faces together again for a messy kiss. He licked his sister’s face. “Cunt.”

“Fuck you,” Pavi lisped from his corner. His own hands were curled around his cock, his voice breathier than usual. “Fuck … you. Fuck. You.” It became a mantra, a term of endearment, and Luigi used it to set the stage for round two. He threw Amber across their late father’s desk, on top of his most important papers, knocking over several smaller items purposefully, and breaking several more as they smashed to the ground.

Her underwear came off easily, sliding down beautiful, surgically-enhanced legs. Luigi shoved the crotch of Amber’s panties against his nose and inhaled deeply, and then tossed them to Pavi, who did the same. “Sister, dear sister, Sweet sister,” Pavi giggled, and continued his own self-ministrations.

Amber’s top came off next in a flurry of bows and lace. Luigi groped her harshly, his nails blunt as they dug into her breasts, intent on pain. Amber moaned and keened, and Luigi spat between her legs and let loose a barrage of names before shoving his face into her wet cunt, slurping, suckling, tugging on bits of pubic hair with his teeth that an upcoming appointment had yet to remove. Intoxicated, Luigi gripped his cock proudly, freshly hard and ready to seal this most unholy deal with his extravagantly lusty baby sister.

Luigi slid himself into Amber, at once warm and wet and tight and open. She dug her stilettos into the underside of Rotti’s desk, which had been polished to a shine only scant hours ago; it was one of many tasks that Rotti’s various servants performed regularly, reimbursed automatically out of an account that none of his children had ever been allowed to touch. This would likely remain an unchanged facet of the Largo legacy, if nothing else because none of Rotti’s dear ones had so much as cleared their own dishes from the table a day in their collective lives.

Bent over his sister, Luigi clutched at the perfect symmetry of Amber’s hips, pawed at her oft-reconstructed breasts, licked and bit at the nipples and made her beg for more, Brother, please, Brother, please fuck me, I love you, I need you, please, Brother, dearest Brother, please. It was mostly for show, because Amber knew Luigi loved it when his partners put up a bit of a fight, alleged or otherwise. He choked her and slapped her and raked his nails down her thighs as he pumped harder, harder, finally collapsing with a guttural, exalted howl that Amber mimicked well.

Luigi tugged out of her unceremoniously. It was over, and that was all there was to it – no awkwardness, no lowered expectations, simply finality, fucking that took the place of a handshake. It was a business deal, made and doled out and signed on the dotted line with ejaculate instead of ink. Amber made a mental note to get rid of the desk. She’d never liked the color scheme, and this was her office now, anyhow.

Luigi dressed brusquely, impersonally. Pavi, having spent himself in some fashion or another during the course of his siblings’ incestuous romping giggled and sniffed his gloved hands over and over again. “Sister Sweet, brother darling, Pavi darling,” he sing-songed childishly, and the three Largo siblings smiled indulgently at one another. It would be their little secret, an impish, perverted, wonderful, horrible secret to hold dear and close when the world was cruel. They would take it to the grave with them.