Sweet thing, sucking up affirmations meant for Naella like it was new water for dustey roots in the desert. At every selfish twist she was perfect, heart wrenching. And she called him brother with his sister's voice, in a way that she'd never say it. This let him pretend so well. Her scrambling to cover up of course put embers to the gunpowder in his veins, and built a rapid succession of revolutions in him. He would have asked her to do more of it if that wouldn't break their pretend. He could see it too, his divided nature tearing his already dear little nymph apart. A box for his indecisiveness, so he could see them, so they wouldn't be inside him. He hissed as though she'd been audacious, asking him back if he'd really have her be honest.<br/><br/>Iris continued to fall apart for him, in shards that reflected Naella. His eyes and their bright shadows were livid like daylight cutting through a nightly curtain. Begging sister, held up to him by his faithful bud-girl. He didn't know what the weight was on his heart when he watched the two pretties faze in and out when their change hurt them so much, but he knew he was enjoying himself. Perhaps it was what an evil man felt the first time he indulged in murder. But Iris was a confessional, she wasn't real. Greedily, he wanted to berate the sprout-person until she was a sobbing left-over on the floor while he gripped and satisfied himself. What truths she made him face.<br/><br/>How dare she be so flawless, scrambling on the floor, and how on earth could she preform so well while he was violent with her? He'd liked her retreat so much her settling on the table had been overly rough. He'd laughed with unjustifiable confidence when the old, loved, intimate fabric covering Naella's secrets spilled all the truths he told himself he'd known. Her reward for such an offering was apparent in the claps that filled the room where she'd already served up her physical self to his teeth and gullet.<br/><br/>"You're not honest." is what you have done wrong. Which mean he was not honest, but he couldn't see that now. He could only see what he wanted. After a while he allowed himself a moment to stare at his work. The honey from his nymph and the salts of a human woman between the soft, reddening cheeks he'd punished in excess. It would have been abuse beyond anything acceptable for correction if he'd hit real skin. The purple at the edges of his red handprints were a testament to this. This was too much, but he had burned away his doubt.<br/><br/>A soft fondling of the surely agonizing areas he'd abused, and then he moved back. "You can go now." he dismissed, and his voice was calm finally, because deceit is a blanket on the anxieties when it's well believed. He lifted her legs, still bound by the lovely panties, and set her knees down on the  table, too, so she could start crawling away toward the opposite edge, like she'd attempted on the floor. The ruse was apparent by the way his belt rattled and the teeth of his fliers unclasped behind her. He wanted to see Naella try to flee.<br/><br/>He'd not let her, of course. But he'd let her think so. When she would be at the edge of his possible reach, he folded himself over the table and grabbed her naked ankle. Cruel, absolute, master. He pulled her back slowly, if she wanted to play at struggle. "You're failing me." As a sister? As a bought service? He was accepting Iris as part of this, even though she was pushed away in the dream, sometimes. But I'll mend your wrongs. A quick jerk would leave his other hand with the valued undergarments, that he tucked away safe in a pocket. Then he'd turn her, on her back, and casually stab into her. His now free hands would tear her clothes open. I am the god of this hall.<br/><br/>"Sing the song." he said while he pushed once, hard up into her belly, and then started an erratic, bullying rhythm. How possessive he looked, above his disheveled sibling. The tune he was requesting was something the blue-eyed sister didn't know entirely, but she'd hum and repeat verses where her memory lacked. It had always been very endearing. She'd comfort him with it. He wanted it broken in her throat and beautifully gargled for his thrusts. It was a perfect time for him to retreat into hesitation, but there was none in his surging body. Whether it was pure Iris or innocent Naella, he wanted them to writhe for his stirring. If she tried to sit up without the lack of restraint of her throat this time, he'd backhand her back down.<br/><br/>The nymph was right. He was more honest when he was angry.