"Come here," she whispered, the order now laden with urgency. "Come..."

The rhythm had already been established, a brutal and wet beat that shook not only their joined bodies, but the very structure of the bed.

Victor, standing on the floor, gripped Serafall’s hips with a fierce grip, pulling her to meet each of his thrusts.

Each impact was an assertion of possession, a sound of flesh against flesh that echoed in the room like a primal drum.

Serafall, on all fours above Natasha, buried her face in her friend’s dark hair, her moans muffled by the volume of the strands.

Her breasts, heavy and loose, swayed violently with the impact of each thrust.

With each forward movement, they slammed forcefully against Natasha’s face and shoulders, a soft, fleshy percussion that marked the rhythm of lust.

Natasha’s soft, pale skin was already flushed in places, marked not by violence, but by sensual and unconscious abuse.

"Ah! Ah! Deeper... deeper, Victor! In-in-that place~!" Serafall moaned, her voice distorted by pleasure and the position.

She thrust her hips back, meeting him forcefully, causing her breasts to crush his sleeping face again.

Natasha’s parted mouth moved slightly against Serafall’s nipple, an accidental contact that made the vampire shudder and let out a sharp squeal.

Victor was lost in the whirlwind.

The forbidden sight, the sound, the sensation of possessing Serafall while she used Natasha’s sleeping body as an altar and pillow... it was an explosive combination.

His movements became even more uncontrolled, deeper, seeking his own end with an almost desperate fury. The bed creaked in protest.

It was at this peak of noise and frenzied movement that a different sound cut through the air.

"Hnnngh...?" A low, hoarse grunt, heavy with confusion and deep sleep.

The sound didn’t come from Serafall, whose moans were loud and clear, nor from Victor, whose sighs were panting and hoarse. It came from below.

The movements ceased for a second, frozen in the air like a photograph of depravity. Victor remained motionless, still deeply buried. Serafall held her breath, her body arched in tension.

Slowly, very slowly, Natasha’s eyelids opened.

Her eyes, glassy and clouded by deep sleep, blinked a few times, trying to focus on the darkness of the room. The confusion was palpable on her face. She felt the weight on her back, the strange pressure on her face, the dampness in the air, the intense heat emanating from the intertwined bodies above her.

Her gaze, still unfocused, rose. She found Serafall’s face, inverted, just inches from hers. The vampire’s dark eyes, filled with undisguised ecstasy and a spark of pure mischievous defiance, stared into hers.

’What the hell is this?~’ Natasha blinked again. The fog of sleep began to dissipate, replaced by a slow, very slow, process of understanding.

She felt the final movement, the last tremor of Serafall’s body against hers. She felt Victor’s panting breath behind them.

She felt the... dampness... oh yes, her groin was wet because Serafall’s love juices were dripping from her vagina onto her... That finally woke her up!

Her eyes, now more alert, scanned the scene: her own position, Serafall’s position mounted on her, Victor’s expression.

’What the fuck~’ The confusion in her eyes began to transform.

Not into immediate anger, nor into horror. First came a strange glint of recognition, then a spark of something far deeper and more unsettling.

Natasha didn’t say a word.

She just... looked.

First at Serafall, then, with a slow movement of her neck, at Victor. Her face was a serene mask, but her eyes... her eyes shone with a light that wasn’t entirely human.

It was the glow of newly awakened blood, of distorted devotion, and now, of a sudden and brutally intimate awareness.

"What the hell is this?" Natasha said as Serafall’s breasts nearly hit her face.

Serafall looked down, her face still flushed, biting her lip as she felt Victor’s cock pounding hard inside her.

"Ahhnn— Y-you woke up— Hnnmn!!" Serafall moaned between groans.

Victor said nothing, only continued fucking Serafall.

"But... stop! Get off me— mmph!" Her protests were abruptly silenced.

With a quick and decisive movement, Serafall lowered her torso. Instead of just rocking against Natasha’s face, she grabbed one of her heavy breasts and, with lascivious precision, positioned the hardened nipple directly against her friend’s parted lips.

"Shut up," Serafall ordered, her voice a hoarse whisper laden with absolute authority and raw pleasure.

The sound of their bodies colliding didn’t diminish; Victor, spurred on by the scene, quickened his pace, his hands gripping Serafall’s hips tighter.

"It’s none of your business. You’re dreaming. Just a wet nightmare, darling." Natasha tried to turn her head, her eyes wide with indignation and shock, but Serafall used her free hand to gently but firmly grasp the nape of her neck.

"Just... suck," Serafall whispered, her own moan rising in pitch as Victor struck her at a particularly sensitive angle. "Suck and go back to sleep. Like a baby. That’s all you need to do."

The provocation was monumental. The forced intimacy, the reduction to a childlike and passive role amidst that depravity...

Natasha felt a whirlwind of emotions – anger, humiliation, a perverse curiosity that shamed her. The soft, salty skin of Serafall’s breast pressed against her lips. Her scent, intense and sweet with sweat and excitement, filled her nostrils.

For a moment of pure rebellion, she clenched her jaw, ready to bite. She wanted to hurt Serafall to push her away.

Serafall’s eyes narrowed.

She said nothing.

She only contracted the internal muscles around Victor with a sudden, addictive force, making him groan loudly and lose his rhythm for a second.

The message was clear: she was in control, even if possessed. And Natasha was part of it, whether she wanted to be or not.

Natasha’s resistance vanished, replaced by a strange and intoxicating resignation.

The madness of the blood, the devotion to the "Master" she felt for Victor, the post-sleep confusion... it all amalgamated. Her lips finally parted. She didn’t suck with gusto, but accepted the offer, the tip of her tongue touching the hardened nipple in a hesitant contact.

"Ahhhnn— That’s it... like that!!~<3" Serafall murmured, a wicked victory in her voice. She began to move her hips to the rhythm Victor dictated, rubbing her body against Natasha’s back while pressing her breast deeper against her mouth. "Good girl. Just sleep. Let ’Master’ and Mommy take care of you... and everything else."

Victor watched the scene, his movements gaining a new layer of deliberate intensity.

’Why does this feel so natural~’ He thought, seeing Natasha, that wild and unpredictable force, reduced to a state of passive and sensual obedience while he dominated her mother... it was an intoxicating power.

Each thrust was now also for Natasha, to affirm this sick and silent hierarchy that was established in the shadows.

Natasha closed her eyes.

Not to sleep, but to block out her vision.

The sound, however, was inescapable.

The creaking of the bed, Serafall’s muffled moans, Victor’s panting breath, the moist, rhythmic sound of their own copulation. And the unique, salty taste of Serafall’s skin on her tongue.

She didn’t suck vigorously, but maintained contact, an act of forced submission that, at some deep, disturbed level, was beginning to feel... natural.

As if this were her new position in the world: beneath them, between them, part of the furniture of their forbidden pleasures.

’I’m going crazy...’ Natasha said, only hearing the lascivious sounds. ’If I burst my eardrums with the pressure... can I control the regeneration until this is over?’ She blinked and tried.

She forced the pressure of her blood so much that she burst her eardrums. For a vampire like her, it didn’t hurt at all; in fact, it was relieving.

However...

The silence lasted 0.5 seconds. Her regeneration activated rapidly even though she tried to contain it.

’What the hell is this?!’ she questioned, ’How the hell has my regeneration increased so much?’

—

The daylight filtering through the heavy curtains began to tinge the room with a bluish-gray hue, heralding the sunless dawn of the Vampire Kingdom.

The silence was profound, almost absolute, replacing the cacophony of moans, creaks, and impacts that had dominated the night.

The only movement was the slow, powerful rhythm of Victor’s breathing, now fast asleep beside Serafall.

Natasha awoke.

It wasn’t a gradual awakening, but an abrupt return to consciousness, as if a switch had been flipped inside her brain.

The first sensation was a heavy, residual taste, salty and sweet, lingering on her lips and tongue. The third was the residual warmth of two intertwined bodies, still emanating from the blankets.

She lay on her side, her face still partially buried in the curve between Serafall’s torso and arm. The vampire’s breast, soft and relaxed after the night’s intense use, was still intimately positioned against her mouth. Her skin was hot, almost feverish.

The realization came like a physical shock. The memory of the last thing she did before literally shutting her mind down to survive the situation flooded her thoughts: that last tongue movement, that final, resigned, and perverse acceptance of Serafall’s nipple.

A tremor of visceral revulsion coursed through her body. She recoiled with almost vampiric speed, a movement so quick and sudden it was just a blur in the space between them.

’Disgusting! I hope the master never makes me— What the hell kind of Master is!! I don’t have a master!’ Natasha screamed internally to herself.

Her body contorted, rising from the bed in a single fluid impulse, stopping a few feet away, as if fleeing a source of radiation.

Her hands automatically rose to wipe her lips, but she stopped, observing them with a look of fascinated horror.

"They still looked... wet."

Then, his eyes, now completely clear and alert, were irresistibly drawn to Serafall’s still-sleeping body.

The vampire was fast asleep, her face serene, almost angelic, in stark contrast to the lascivious ferocity of the night. One hand was outstretched, as if still searching for the body she had abandoned so abruptly.

And the breast.

The breast that had been her "target," her object of torture and forced submission.

The areolas, normally a delicate, pale pink, were now a vibrant, almost inflamed red. The surrounding skin was marked—not by bruises, but by an intense coloration and a slightly different texture. And in the center of this transformed areola, on the nipple itself, there was a mark.

It wasn’t just redness. It was a defined pattern, an area of ​​more intense and concentrated red, with slightly irregular edges. The mark of prolonged, repetitive pressure... the mark of a mouth. The pattern was clearly that of her own lips, the way they had molded against her skin for hours.

A hickey.

A deep, well-defined hickey, left by her while she "slept."

Natasha felt her blood on her lips, which made her spit immediately onto the floor.

’Damn, her blood is disgusting... Holy shit, I drank garbage all night. How did I sleep?’

She felt disgusted. A deep, self-conscious disgust that made her stomach clench... There was also humiliation. The mark was a public seal, even if only for her and Serafall (and Victor, when he woke up), of her reduction to a childish, sexual object.

But also... A perverse part of her mind observed the mark with almost clinical interest.

’How did it get so defined? Are my lips like that?’

Her eyes drifted to Victor, still asleep. Anger mingled with a confused devotion. He was the center of it all. The catalyst. The "Master" who allowed it, who participated, who observed. His presence made the whole situation different.

Natasha stood still, breathing with control—a control she had to consciously impose on her vampiric body that wanted to scream, destroy, or... go back to bed and examine the mark more closely.

’I need Charlotte to explain to me what the hell that was... Why the hell does it feel like I was hypnotized.’