The Third Form of Madness

Editor's note: this fictional work contains scenes of fictional incest or fictional incest content.

The young sisters who came once a week to clean Jim's house became his muses in his later years. When they had finished their chores in his lonely rooms, they would walk into his study, where he often stood by the window, listlessly watching the street, waiting patiently for them to finish up.

They were a remarkable pair of girls.

The elder, Maya, was 25 years old. Slender and tall, she was a beauty for the ages, who would tie her long tresses with a deep blue ribbon at the nape of her neck. It was always the same ribbon, for some reason. Perhaps a keepsake from a paramour? Nina was two years younger than her sister, petite and pretty, a little more buxom, with shorter hair, always wearing a pair of gold earrings that Jim was told were a gift from an aunt.

On a shelf at his side, his old Stradivarius, the instrument of his fortune, rested in its luxurious mahogany and velvet coffin. His days as one of the most renowned violinists in the world, having played for Kings and Presidents and mighty halls full of rapt, open-mouthed listeners were long behind him. The trademark Fedora he wore at his performances kept his violin company on the shelf. Now, he was no more than one of the many rich, yet lonely old men, who lived in large houses filled with memories of forgotten glories, as the world moved on to newer things.

The violin would look strange in his hands, he would think. And for a moment he would feel the heaviest dread at the mere thought of ever touching it again. But then everything would change as his muses took possession of him, and in the words of Plato, blessed him with the Third Form of Madness.

In a slow, precise and delicate manner, Nina would first help Maya remove her clothes. And then Maya would do the same for her younger sister. Both girls would gently touch and play with each other as they revealed their bodies to him. That they were sisters did not stop them from their mutual caresses. Nina would tenderly kiss her sister's sex as she pulled down her panties, her tongue intermittently reaching into the folds of Maya's labia. Maya would fondle Nina's heavy breasts as she removed her brassiere, her thumbs gently rubbing their dark nipples to a state of excitement, before she bent down to take one, then the other, into her mouth for a suckle. And through this entire time they would both have their eyes on him, as he stood there, unmoving, sometimes drooling a little, in anticipation of the hour that was to follow.

Hand in hand, they would then walk up to him. Nina would unbutton his shirt, and Maya would help him step out of his pants, briefs and shoes as he stayed passive. When all of them were naked in that study, lit only by the sunlight that came in through the gaps in the drapes, the sisters would bring him the tools of his trade.

The Stradivarius would be lifted gently out of its case and brought to him with its bow. Sometimes he would need one of the girls to actually close his trembling fingers around the violin's neck. The other girl would gingerly place the Fedora on his head. Then, they would kneel at his feet, like priestesses before some ancient deity, and begin their worship.

Their lips would shower tiny kisses on his drooping cock, and the miracle of resurrection would commence. Their wet tongues would slather his member with generous amounts of spit. Their teeth would bestow soft nibbles along his shaft. The head of his cock would rise, a sleeping giant that had once been inside the warm, wet cunts of Hollywood divas, European fashion models and, unbeknownst to their husbands, the wives and daughters of some of the most powerful men on the planet... Mafia bosses, Military Generals, Politicians and Industry magnates. Now, for good reason, it was these two girls that held exclusive domain over it, for as his age-thinned blood rushed to his groin, the Stradivarius would rise and nestle under his chin. The bow would meet it with a tentative, preliminary stroke.

Below, the sisters would infuse some urgency into their ministrations. And the greats would return to him as if they never left... Bach, Mendelssohn, Vivaldi, Tchaikovsky, Paganini, and Elgar. All his old friends.

Maya and Nina would take him in their enthusiastic mouths, taking turns. As his hands moved the horsehair on the catgut with exquisite artistry, their hands would roam on him and each other, fondling, pinching, rubbing. Time would cease to exist. There would only be music and depravity, in high symphony. Chaconne, Caprice, Spring. Sensations at his groin would meld with the sound at his ears and in his mind. It was cliché, yes, but his climax always came with a crescendo.

He would not stop playing, as spurt after spurt of his seed spilled into either sister's mouth. For a man his age, he was a profuse ejaculator. Only when the last of his cum had been squeezed out of his glans by their hands did Jim's shoulders finally droop, bringing the music to an end for the day. He would stand there, drained, watching as the sisters kissed and shared his semen between them, never spilling a drop, each swallowing some.

Then, without a word, they would stand. In an exact but quicker reversal of the procedures an hour before, they would return the violin and the hat to the shelf, dress him up, help each other get dressed, and walk out of the house to catch their bus home.