The Unhallowed

Any reluctance she might have felt soon faded, though. By the time our mom came back from the bathroom, my sister was riding me the way she had that cowboy, as I'd hoped she would. Twirling an imaginary lasso, whooping and hollering, the whole deal.

The sex with her was different than the sex with our mother. Not better, not worse, just different. One had mostly been a passive receiver, which is not to say that I didn't experience pleasure of my own, nor to deny that she'd exhibited a level of control over her inner muscles that was truly stunning; the other took control, set the pace and dictate the angles. I'd tried to sit up at one point, the better to explore the wonder of her body, only to have Cass force me down with surprising strength, then lean back and plant her hands above my knees so she could impale herself in just the right way. One made me feel like a god, the other made me feel used, though not in a way I remotely objected to. Hard to imagine either one of them ever choosing another man over me when the hotel wasn't forcing them to. If the one had bumped me to the top of her list because of the things I did to her, the prowess I'd demonstrated, while the other would do so because of what I allowed her to do to me, the ease with which I'd accepted a role some would balk at, well, I'd still be at the the top of both lists. Let's not forget what I'd done to my sister when she was on her back either. I doubted she'd think of me as a human dildo. Just someone who was willing to be treated like one at times yet could also be proactive when she was in the mood for that.

Paint peeled and dust fell from the ceiling when Cass hit her climax. Girl had a set of lungs, no denying that. Red marks also appeared on my chest, but she kissed them better.

Kissed her way up and down my body, in fact. After she'd gotten hers. Twice.

That was something I'd done for my partner many times, not something I'd had done to me. Took a while to get over my initial discomfort, to realize that there was no indication that she was doing anything other than paying me a compliment of the highest order. To the extent that she thought about my feelings at all, and not just my body. More than anything, I began to understand, Cass was just captivated by me and my body. Worshipping my traps and pecs, my abs and obliques, my quads and calves---my everything, really, including a dick that was almost too big for her. How could I not enjoy that? I'd never once felt like an object of desire, not even in the early stages of a relationship when everything is good. A provider of pleasure, yes; someone who awakened desires in her, but that was not the same. Cass did not merely get excited at the thought of what I'd do for her, she looked at me and felt what I felt when I looked at her or Mom. That blew my mind.

"Okay, okay, that's enough, you two," our mom said. "Why don't we all take a little break, have a drink, then we can play some more if anyone's still in the mood."

"If?" I asked, making them both giggle.

Her robe had returned. I hadn't noticed that. She really was calling a timeout.

"I think we should talk about what this means," she said as she poured herself a glass of wine. "Are we really giving up on getting them back? On ever leaving here ourselves?"

Wow, okay, playtime was really over. For a while, at least.

An awkward look passed between me and my sister. She knew my thoughts on this, or could make a well-educated guess. The question was whether she shared them.

"I don't know," Cass said, blowing out her cheeks. She picked my shirt up off the floor, slid it over her head. That was enough in the way of clothes, apparently, now it was time for chocolate. "Hard to say aloud, but, yeah, I guess that is the direction I'm leaning."

Our mom frowned. "Think we did more than lean."

"What are you saying?" my sister asked.

"After what we just did, what I think we all intend to do a lot more of, don't you think certain doors are closed to us? Maybe not locked, but closed?"

As much to avoid their gazes as anything, I set about finding a fresh pair of boxers.

"I think I'm okay with that," our mom said. "Just want us all to be clear on what the game plan is. If a few days a go by, a week, and it turns out one of us was still thinking things were possible that probably aren't, and that person realizes no one else was thinking the same...." She shrugged then glugged. "Feelings could be hurt."

Which is why I'd said what I'd said earlier. But whatever. Sometimes people need to hear it from their own mouths, feel as though it was their decision, in order to accept it.

"And we're, uh, definitely still feeding people to the hotel?" Cass said, deciding that panties weren't so bad after all. "Because otherwise it'll have no use for us?"

"Not sure I want to find out what would happen if we stopped," I said. "I know how that sounds. Like we're choosing to be the monsters in the horror movie."

"Because we are," Mom said.

Yeah. We were.

"Any objections?" I asked.

Silence.

Wine went into the other glasses, which were then passed around.

"To The Unhallowed," Mom said, raising hers.

"Whom we serve faithfully and willingly," I added.

"In hopes that our service is rewarded," Cass concluded.

From somewhere in the hotel, could have been the fourth floor or the first, laughter rang out. The voice might have been Sam's, or it might not have been. Might have belonged to a dozen ghosts, a hundred, to whomever or whatever had trapped them.

All I knew was that our toast had been well received.