It should have meant something to him that her body was desperate to accommodate him, bizarre Venus fly trap with something like a death wish. “Please don’t call me wicked,” she gasped when she could not find more lyrics to offer his pace. She covered her face with her hands like it could blind her to her own behavior. Naella had always had that habit when she’d done something wrong. How lewd now, lips parted and tongue panting. She’d always had such a suggestively pink pout. Iris gave that mouth a new novelty, gaping like she was hoping to be filled there too.<br/><br/>She yelped when he pinched her, a startled squeal that would have broken the illusion of Naella entirely if he weren’t so happily entwined in the strange mix of the two women. Naella didn’t squeal, though it might have been nice if she did. Iris was good enough to do it now with his sister’s voice. She did not know if he would love her for it, because his blood boiled in a mire of twisted wants. When she bled, it was because she was giving. Always hoping to please.<br/><br/>Iris had the audacity to believe she might have succeeded. When he drew her close, bringing her upright, she moaned the way Naella had once moaned in her sleep. If Kedrick had not been certain if Naella had dreamed of him then, he could certainly believe so now. Iris could feed whatever ego he wished, even in the throes of her own pleasure. It was the remarkable nature of nymphs to light desire as easily as they breathed. She was happy, hips rolling to give him her unabashed enthusiasm, the hands which had covered her eyes dangling at her sides with her shame so quickly set aside. Irresistible. This must have always been what Naella wanted. It was what Iris believed, what Iris wanted, because she felt it in the flutter of her pulse and the whisper of Kedrick’s truth.<br/><br/>She thought she was being rewarded when his lips circled her dripping nipple; the honied blood flavoring her bud was eager for his tongue. It was a bit of a homecoming, his contributed life mingling in her sap. The sounds she made belonged in a whore house. Unhindered complement to the way he blessed her hungry body. When she shook and cried out, the rippling tide of her climax wrenching incoherent pleading from her tongue, it was torn asunder by the violence of his teeth. She bled the way Naella would have bled, even though the flesh was undeniably the plantling’s produce.<br/><br/>Iris flailed on the table, sobbing as she was assaulted by nauseating waves of pain in the troughs of her pleasure. When she blinked up at him, unseeing, it was Naella’s eyes that cried while her tight little cunt swallowed his own spill. The nymph’s mind was raging. He was enjoying this, and so her body was obligated to rail after the addiction, but her nerves were no less real than his and they screamed protest like a muffled siren she could not quite understand.<br/><br/>She was limp when he nuzzled her neck, though she swallowed the praise like water for a parched bloom. When he thanked her, she forgot why she had questioned the meaning of her injury. If he would thank her every time she was mangled, Iris was certain she’d happily disassemble herself for him of her own accord.<br/><br/>She was compliant when he carried her, because she could be nothing else, and she bobbed on him like she was meant to be a curious garment. “I can’t be bad for you, Master,” Iris offered after a moment, and it sounded a bit like she’d come back out of a fog. “I can only be what you need.” She looped her arms around his neck so that she shared the support of some of her weight. “It would be my greatest pleasure of I were also what you wanted.”<br/><br/>Iris was content to be herself for the rest of the day, because it seemed that Kedrick was also. She spent time studying how to cook and the other duties of the house, understanding that his whims seemed to fall to maintaining some thin veil of her domestic utility. She was eager to provide even that excuse in a useful fashion, and was dutiful in her reading until his blood suggested he’d looked her way. At those times, she was quick to offer a pure sort of enthusiasm that bordered on simplicity. She left honey trails in the private cloth of Naella’s panties whenever she was given space to please him.<br/><br/>That night, when he had shown her to his bed, she changed into the sleeping gown under which Kedrick had once let his hand roam. She fell asleep with the ghost of Naella’s face, and it was left to him to see the phantoms he desired most for his dreams. Beneath the gauzy shift, a small flower bloomed on her breast. As if she intended to have fresh fruit for him to pluck by morning.<br/><br/>When he woke, it would be to the face of his favorite house maid, standing over him. Iris had left in the earliest hours of the morning. He’d find she’d been at work with even a cursory glance. Her woody antlers spired green and fresh, set in a vase on his sill. The water kissing their roots was tinged pink with the contributions of her own blood. Now, she offered him his morning as he’d have it, Naella’s clothes put away and petals falling from the nude maid’s pert nipple. “Shall I make you breakfast, Master?” she asked with Manon’s lips.