Traditions, Rules and Blowjobs
Adagio’s attire for the morning was typically exactly what she’d worn to bed. Some days, that meant she spent the morning in a scanty negligee or lingerie, but this day, as with so many others, she woke up totally naked.
Today, though, was a very special day. The date had been burned into her memory years upon years ago, to the point where it was the very first subject her waking mind addressed. It was a special day, and that meant there were customs and rituals—rules that might not have been penned anywhere, but were clear to her and her sisters.
And it wasn’t one of those rules that made her go to her wardrobe seeking the plainest undergarments and outerwear she could find, but it was a… corollary of sorts. So she looked past all the cocktail dresses and the short skirts and snatched up the most boring panties and jeans she could find. Still quite racy—but then anything that laid flush against her body tended to be that way. It was the strangest thing. Curse of being a siren, she supposed—only no, no, there was nothing about being a siren that was a curse.
She squeezed herself into the panties and jeans and had just pulled out a similarly plain bra and T-shirt and started putting on the former when a rapid, heavy knock at her door made her suck in a strained breath.
“ ‘Morning, Adagio.” Aria’s voice was usually a sullen rasp or a guttural hiss or something equally grim and bitter. When she started to sound happy, it often meant that something was going to catch fire or a nose was about to be broken.
Today, she sounded chipper. Chipper and smug, and it was like hearing a cobra giggle.
Adagio clenched her teeth, but only for a moment before she finished dressing herself.
“I’m guessing you’re awake,” Aria said from behind the door. She hadn’t even finished the sentence before the doorknob twisted. “Can I come in?”
Had Aria woken her up, that would have been against the rules—Adagio made a mental note that her schedule was too predictable if Aria had been so confident.
By the time she spoke, pulling her top on and tugging it down, she’d already heard the door swing open, so she only said, “Happy birthday, Aria.”
She could feel the grin spreading across Aria’s face. Sirens were defined by how they gave words power, after all.
And when she recalled some of the more energetic nights she’d spoke those words to Aria, well…
A night out at the bar, all three of them. Quite a few drinks. Her memory got a little fuzzy. But she did recall quite clearly how her clothes ended up on the opposite side of the room in a pile with Sonata’s, and next thing she knew half the bar was lining up to stuff their faces into Aria’s crotch.
So precedents had been set, and it was the hardest thing in the world to tell Aria she wasn’t allowed the heights of debauchery she’d reached in the past.
“Getting dressed already?” Aria asked, snaking an arm around Adagio’s waist. “You didn’t have to do that.” Her other arm crawled downwards, tracing a winding path down the side of Adagio’s hip to her thigh. “This outfit looks pretty uncomfortable.”
Adagio shrugged. “I was going to go out this morning. Didn’t want to get mobbed.”
“Oh? Where’re you headed?” Aria asked. Her voice took on an even lower tone than before. It almost turned loving—and that was another dangerous sign, when one was talking about Aria.
This was the stage where Adagio had to admit defeat. Again, there were rules; on Aria’s birthday, she got to be in charge and almost uncontested.
But if, say, Adagio got out of the house before Aria awoke—maybe first to fetch ingredients for a cake, which of course was then an intricate, demanding process to bake and would absolutely start a fire if she left it unattended while Aria dragged her to a bed, and of course it was not the thing that one would trust Sonata with—
“Oh, nowhere in particular,” Adagio said. “Woke up early, thought I’d do some shopping.”
“Not the worst idea.” Aria leaned into Adagio from behind, squeezing their torsos together. She grabbed the hem of Adagio’s shirt and tugged at it—her fingers were cold, but sharp fingernails left trails of pain blooming into heat as her hand traced ditzy circles on Adagio’s stomach. “But you should know it’s not healthy to skip breakfast.”
Adagio swallowed half a dozen barbed retorts; when she’d been shooting people down for hundreds of years, it became rather instinctive.
But of course, as Aria and Sonata proved on an hourly basis, letting someone take charge didn’t mean you always had to be cooperative.
“You know, you make a good point,” Adagio said, pressing back against Aria and making a gentle undulation of her hips—just enough for Aria to feel it and get excited—and then she shot a sultry smirk over her shoulder. “Would you be a dear and go make me some toast?”
Watching Aria’s wolfish grin turn into a scowl was more delicious than any breakfast would have been.
Adagio did pride herself on the weight she could give to subtext, how she only needed to imply a command and it would be carried out. Aria had a long way to go, in that regard, and reminding her of it was an unaging delight.
And it made Aria turn to something she was, in all fairness, more adept than most at applying. She clenched her teeth, a thick growl clawing its way out of her throat. “I was gonna let you lie on the bed, but now I’m thinking you’re more of a floor kind of girl,” she hissed.
Adagio let out a titter. “I’m afraid I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re getting at.”
Another growl. Aria’s grip around Adagio’s waist tightened, briefly constricting—then she very nearly wrenched Adagio clear off her feet in hauling her toward the bed.
“… is this just because mine’s bigger and softer than yours?” Adagio mused out loud. “We could get you a nicer—”
“I’m going to remember this when your birthday rolls around, you know.”
“I’m quivering in my boots.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Aria shoved Adagio down, pressing her to her knees on the carpet and walking around her to sprawl on the bed. The shorts she was wearing were tight, and small—it looked as though half their surface area was being bulged outwards. “I wanna see your tits. Get that shirt off.”
Adagio tugged at the mentioned garment. “It’s sweet of you to put something else before yourself, but I think you’re personifying it a bit much.”
“You have no idea how much I’m looking forward to plugging up your mouth.”
“And I hope you’ve got something more exciting planned afterwards. I’ve been dreading this day for a whole year, and so far it’s terribly disappointing.”
“Whatever.” Aria’s eyes flicked down to Adagio’s shirt. “Do I need to get a knife?”
“You could, if you’d like.” Adagio played idly with the hem of her shirt, then started to lift it. “Though I’m told passionately ripping it open is the trendy thing these days.”
Aria’s eyes locked onto Adagio’s chest while her hand glided down between her legs, brushing over the outline of her packed-away cock. “Trends are for lazy jackasses who can’t be bothered to make their own way.”
Adagio rolled her eyes. “Spoken like someone who’s never started any.” She hoisted her shirt up over her head, soaking in the satisfaction that came from the lusty glimmer in Aria’s eyes. For all the pain Aria brought, she was the one who most often reminded Adagio how astonishingly sexy she was.
A scowl came over Aria’s face while Adagio reached behind her back. Aria stroked herself slowly through her shorts. “When you’re done, get over here and get my dick out.”
“Worried I won’t find it?” Adagio’s fingers gripped the clasp of her bra.
“One of these days, I’m gonna stuff your shampoo bottles with nails.”
“Fine by me. I’ve been meaning to shower with Sonata more often, and I’m sure she’d love letting me use hers.” Adagio undid her bra, let it slide down her shoulders, and paused to squeeze her tits—partially to enjoy having them out and free again, partially to cover them up from Aria’s leering gaze.
Aria said nothing, only scooting forwards on the bed until she was sitting on the side, her legs spread wide. She gestured to her crotch. “Go on.”
It would have been easy—and perhaps satisfying—for Adagio to keep her mannerisms neutral at that stage, so as to be as far from alluring as she could make herself. After all, it was presumably precisely that allure that had made Aria burst into her room instead of Sonata’s.
But in a way, that would be suggesting that she lacked flexibility, that she wasn’t as proficient at playing the role of obedience as she was at the one of dominance.
So she put a smirk on her lips, bared her breasts and shuffled forwards just enough to make them bounce. She swept her hair behind her head to get it out of her way, then reached up and hooked her fingers into the waistband of Aria’s shorts. She dragged them down slowly, letting her eyes drift upwards to pointedly make contact with Aria’s. The look was not shared—Aria drew in a long, heavy grunt, her focus snaking from Adagio’s hands to her shoulders and of course her chest.
“This is a good look for you,” Aria said. “Maybe you should go for it more often.”
Adagio contemplated whether Aria was asking that she go topless or that she kneel more often—either would likely be of appeal. At heart, Aria was a woman driven by spite. She’d spent her whole life being second best at most things, so when she had a chance, she was desperate for a taste of being first. And while for some people, reaching the top meant building themselves up, Aria much preferred to tear others down.
Or shove them down, as was often the case. Face-fucking seemed her favorite method of venting anger.
“Rewrite the calendar and I’ll consider it,” Adagio replied.
Aria’s underwear made more of an appearance as her pants were lowered. Already, the dark violet panties she wore looked ready to burst—the bulge left them stretched so tightly they looked painfully constricting.
Aria let out a haggish cackle. “You know, I bet if I fucked Sonata enough, she’d give me her birthday.”
Adagio shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s bad form to give away your plans. You never know when someone might beat you to them.”
A snort was the response. Aria reached down to crudely grind her palm against the shaft of her thick cock. “You couldn’t if you wanted to.”
“Is that a challenge?” Adagio kept pulling Aria’s shorts down—Aria lifted up her legs to let Adagio get them off all the way, and then held up a finger when Adagio threw the pants aside and reached out again.
“There’s something written on them,” Aria said, gesturing down to her panties. “I want you to read it.”
Adagio arched an eyebrow and peered. Sure enough, there was something scrawled on the fabric—in script so tiny and so messy it looked like little more than a blotch. Right at the base of Aria’s shaft, by the look of things. “I can’t read it,” Adagio said.
“Then I guess…” Aria snaked an arm around to the back of Adagio’s head and pulled. “You’ll have to get closer.”
She wasn’t about to pull away anyway, so Adagio let herself be drawn in. She leaned forwards, lowering her head between Aria’s legs.
That close, imagination was a luxury. She could see exactly where Aria’s cock began, see the outline of the swollen balls squished up against it. And she could smell it, too. For someone so thuggish, Aria never neglected her hygiene—at least as far as her body went; clothes were another matter—especially where her dick was concerned. The odor was potent, but far from a stench. It was kind of like watching a train crash; Adagio knew she didn’t exactly like it, but once it caught her attention it was hard to get away.
Especially not when she felt her cheeks warming.
“ ‘This is what happy feels like’,” Adagio read once she was close enough. It was a shameful struggle to look upwards, because Aria’s cock was not up there. She felt like her breaths came just slightly faster and harder than before. “I was expecting something cruder.”
“I didn’t want to get your skank dreams up so much you enjoy this. Get them off.”
A trace of smugness at the knowledge Aria had already failed sent a quiver of excitement through Adagio’s body, even as she bristled at Aria’s labeling of her.
Which she hated, because that just gave the words power over her, and that was unacceptable.
“Only if you promise you won’t be jealous of them.” Adagio reached up to the waistband of Aria’s panties. And—completely by what anyone with even a shred of sense would call “an accident,” of course—happened to brush Aria’s shaft with the back of her hand as she did so.
Aria grunted at the touch, and Adagio got another excited quiver.
Which made her accept Aria’s insult—she was, she supposed, being a bit of a skank just then, fixating on Aria’s dick like that. But she enjoyed it, in that instant, and her pleasure was the fundamentally highest imperative.
“You’re so clever I can see why you get your tits out when you’re trying to be funny.”
“Thank you; I liked that one too.” The tone of the speech was flippant, but the thoughts just slightly more sincere, as Adagio dragged down Aria’s panties.
The first step of that process saw her peeling them down until Aria’s long, fat cock flopped out into the open, and it single-handedly gave Adagio a newfound appreciation for her current posture.
And, she couldn’t deny, there was something to be said for getting on her knees, half-naked and committed fully to someone else’s pleasure. She’d do her best to enjoy herself, of course—because Aria didn’t want her to—since she was there anyway, but still—the act would be called a success if and only if Aria had a good time.
It was… different, in a word. An escape from the endless routine, where she proverbially sat upon the highest seat and every gaze she turned upon her sisters was angled downwards.
Aria’s birthdays were special like that. Sonata didn’t go for anything quite so extreme: if she had her way, the three of them would go out for dinner or dancing. Or they’d go on a lingerie shopping spree, pick their favorites and wear nothing else when they curled up under a blanket on the couch together and watched television or played video games or the like.
Perhaps it was because Sonata never had to ask for sex. It happened to her, or she stumbled into it. She turned around and there was a cock in her face, or Adagio hauled her off to make her give a massage that inevitably escalated.
Holidays were about changing the routine. Of course Sonata would go for something more tame.
“Well?” Aria asked. Her cock was fully exposed now, inches and inches and inches of soft, dark flesh lazing against her leg. “I don’t think you need me to tell you what to do now. Go on.”
Adagio reached out and wrapped her fingers around the shaft. It already felt daunting with its size—that she wasn’t shocked it still had room to grow was a testament to just how well she knew it.
She was dimly aware of Aria moving, the motion registering in her peripheral vision. When she peeked up, Aria was dragging some pillows over and sinking back into them, making herself comfortable. Impatience painted itself on her face, manifesting as a steeliness in her eyes and a tightness in her lips.
Adagio flashed a broad grin, gave Aria’s shaft a long pump of her hand, then steadied it and dove forwards, stuffing the lot of it into her mouth. She could get away with that, when it was still a little soft—once it was full mast, she had to ease her way down. Even now, though, she felt her jaw opening to just a hair’s breadth short of a painful angle.
And her plunge was met with a little rumble of Aria’s hips. The smell of Aria’s balls came crawling up to greet her nostrils again, even stronger this time. Adagio was the first of the two to moan, choosing to go along with the excitement of having a big, beautiful dick in her mouth.
“Forget what I said,” Aria groaned. “This is the look you should be going for.”
In that moment, Adagio’s brain thought that was a really lovely thought, and so she did her best to smile around the shaft filling her mouth. Heat bloomed in her cheeks and in her chest. She slid her head back slowly, easing Aria’s cock out of her mouth but petting it with her hands and dragging her tongue along the side, stopping when she had little but the tip still in her mouth.
There was a temptation, in the back of her head, to do a really awful job. It seemed fair, in a way—Aria had burst into her room and treated her like a possession, so what obligation was there to service her competently?
… That was not her brightest thought, she realized as she bobbed her head forwards, taking in a good few inches of dick comfortably. She felt it growing inside her mouth, engorging as she swept her tongue along the sides, stiffening as she stroked the un-swallowed base and reached around to cup Aria’s balls.
There were, if she was being quite honest with herself, few things she enjoyed more than the sensation of a cock growing hard while she sucked on it. It was a point of pride, perhaps, especially with one as fine as Aria’s—she held an intimate connection with something profoundly erotic, and a little voice in her head whispered I made this happen.
Another moan—she wasn’t sure whether it was hers or Aria’s or both. Precum trickled out of Aria’s tip and Adagio’s tongue snatched it up on her next trip up the shaft.
Then there was a hiss, and that was definitely Aria’s. “Fuck,” she muttered, “this is so boring.” She reached down, threading her fingers through Adagio’s hair, grabbing a fistful tightly. “Do I need to get Sonata in here to show you how it’s done?”
It was a sign of how thoroughly they’d lapsed into their roles for the day that—for a brief instant—dread welled up in Adagio’s breast.
Unfounded dread, of course.
She closed her eyes, settling into a rhythm. In, out, in, out. Stroke, squeeze, lick, kiss. Every couple of bobs, she took it all in at once, surging forwards until she could almost kiss Aria’s stomach.
And the groans and the grunts and the rocking of Aria’s hips told her that the question had been a lie. Adagio had been the one Aria came to first for a reason, and they both knew it.
Which was not to belittle Sonata. Adagio had no doubt she was among the best at sucking dick of anyone who’d ever lived.
But it was a fact of life that one simply did not beat Adagio at anything she both cared about and was physically capable of doing.
Go on, bring her in here, she thought. See how long that lasts. Desires warred with each other: she wanted to retort, and she didn’t want to spend a second away from the fat, tasty cock in her mouth. In the end, she settled for communicating with a sharp, stabbing glare right into Aria’s eyes.
Which earned her a scowl and a rough shove that left her face pinned right up against Aria’s crotch.
“It wouldn’t hurt to show a little gratitude,” Aria snarled. “Look at how much fun you’ve been having.” A mocking snort. “You know what? Get up here. Let’s see just how wet you are.”
The hand on her head yanked her back until Aria’s dick popped out of Adagio’s mouth, and then she was being jerked up by two hands gripping under her arms. She stumbled, clambering awkwardly up onto the bed—Aria twisted her around so she fell backwards against Aria’s torso, and then an arm around her waist fastened her harshly in place.
“Any guesses?” Aria whispered in Adagio’s ear, her voice a rush of hot, seething air against Adagio’s neck. “I bet you’re so soaking wet you could take my dick like it’s a finger.”
The arm she had around Adagio’s waist darted upwards, seizing a breast and kneading it roughly. The other slithered downwards, wriggling right into Adagio’s pants.
“Don’t—“ Adagio drew in a sharp breath as Aria’s fingernails pinched at her nipple; pain enveloped her chest. “—don’t flatter yourself,” she gasped.
“Good point. That’s your job, today.” Aria ground her palm up against Adagio’s slit, fussing with Adagio’s panties—which she realized now were indeed damp and clinging tightly to her—and crudely stuck two fingers inside her.
Adagio gasped, a quiver ripping through her. Aria’s fingers pumped in and out in rough, rapid strokes. They pinched her clit and she quivered and moaned; her hips rolled unconsciously, pressing into Aria’s hand.
And then just like that, Aria yanked her hand away and it was like being thrown out into a pile of snow. Adagio let out a quiet mewl—her loins certainly wanted more, and for once her mind was inclined to agree wholeheartedly.
“Just like I thought,” Aria hissed, giving her hand a shake; her fingers glistened, drops of slick fluid scattering as she shook. “You’re filthy.” She gave Adagio’s breast another squeeze, digging in with her fingernails and leaving painful streaks of red.
Adagio’s chest heaved. “You—” she groaned under Aria’s treatment, desperately wishing she had something stuffing her pussy “—bitch.”
“Ah, there we go,” Aria whispered. The smugness in her voice was thick and oily and as taunting as the great absence between Adagio’s thighs. “Got the clever all fucked out of you already, huh?”
She scooted back suddenly, dragging Adagio with her towards the headboard, snatching up a pillow to throw behind herself as she leaned against the wall. “Now,” she growled, “you’re wearing too much. Change that.”
Even as she bristled at the commanding tone, Adagio squirmed restlessly and, deep in her core, hoped that her ache was soon to be cured. So she nodded quietly—fervently, even, and quickly started yanking her jeans down.
It would have been an interesting struggle to strip down while lying on the bed in the best of times. Doing so while Aria practically mauled her tits was… not any easier. She felt sore already, groans and quiet yelps popping out of her lips as she wriggled out of her clothes.
“Good girl,” Aria crooned—and then she dropped right back into a growl, wrenching Adagio to the side and shoving her over.
Adagio rolled onto her side with a yelp, catching herself on her hand. When she looked back to Aria, the other siren had her legs spread wide and gestured to the tall, thick dick jutting towards the ceiling. “Get back to work,” Aria said. “You’re not done yet.”
It was difficult for Adagio to remember a time she had been hornier while thinking of blowing someone. The image was maddening.
But rules were rules. She grudgingly shuffled closer on the bed and bent over, pulling her hair off to one side and dropping her head into Aria’s lap. She felt pressure on the back of her skull—not shoving, not yet, but pressing just hard enough that she noticed how it nudged her towards her destination.
Which was Aria’s cock, of course. She couldn’t fixate on it so single-mindedly this time; first it was her aching, swollen tits that stole her attention, than her soaking wet pussy. She eyed Aria’s cock and all she could think was how badly she wanted it in her.
And when she thought that, she knew, with a burning, furious passion, that Aria was going to have the worst day of her life the next time Adagio’s birthday came around.
Focusing on that thought gave her a vestige of clarity as she opened her mouth wide and accepted Aria’s tip and shaft inside. She had to fight back an urge to be more careless with her teeth than usual.
“Don’t worry,” Aria said, trailing off into a long, husky groan when Adagio started bobbing her head slowly. Aria ran a hand down Adagio’s shoulders down to her hips, squeezing her ass surprisingly gently. “You’re gonna get fucked today. I’ve got some plans.”
The day suddenly seemed poised to be a damnably long one. Adagio tried to find a steady rhythm, but it seemed to elude her.
Aria didn’t say much more at that point. She just laid there, resting a hand on Adagio’s head, lying back and occasionally letting out a moan or a gasp. Sometimes, she almost looked thoughtful, which was undoubtedly a bad, bad sign.
And the end to Adagio’s task was… surprisingly uneventful. Adagio felt Aria’s dick throbbing, of course, felt that riveting first quiver—had she not then been pushed down by an insistent hand, she still would have braced to swallow at that point.
Then there was just the rest of the day to get through.
And then, on a deeper level, the rest of the year, until it happened again.