The night had grown heavy with exhaustion and the lingering heat of forbidden intimacy. My cock was still buried deep inside my sister's slick, swollen pussy, her walls pulsing faintly around me even in sleep, as if her body refused to let go. We lay tangled on the silk sheets of the guest room, her soft breasts pressed against my chest, her breath warm on my neck. The faint scent of our earlier fucking—sweat, cum, and her sweet arousal—still clung to the air. When dawn finally crept through the curtains, Mom's voice drifted in from the hallway, low and amused. "It's past noon, you two. Get up. This afternoon we're meeting Richard and his family. Dress nicely."
My sister stirred first, a sleepy moan escaping her lips as she clenched involuntarily around my half-hard shaft. I groaned, gave one lazy thrust just to feel her again, then pulled out slowly. A thick strand of last night's cum stretched between us before snapping, dripping down her thigh. She whimpered at the loss, but we both knew we had to behave—for now.
We showered separately, though she "accidentally" brushed her naked body against mine while reaching for the shampoo, her nipples grazing my back, her hand sneaking between my legs for a teasing squeeze. By the time we dressed—me in a tailored charcoal suit, her in a tight black dress that hugged every curve and barely hid the faint bruises my mouth had left on her throat—we looked like perfect, innocent siblings again.
Richard—Mom's boss—had booked an entire private dining room at the city's most exclusive five-star hotel. Crystal chandeliers, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the skyline, mahogany tables draped in white linen. I parked the matte-black Maybach in the underground garage, handed the keys to the valet, and we rode the mirrored elevator up in silence. My sister's little finger secretly hooked mine the whole way.
Inside the private room, Richard stood to greet us, all polished charm and predatory smiles. His wife, Elena—a stunning brunette in her early forties with legs for days—sat beside him. Their twin daughters, barely nineteen, mirrored their mother's beauty: long raven hair, full lips, bodies poured into designer dresses that left little to the imagination. Mom, radiant in crimson silk, gestured for us to sit opposite them. My sister and I took our places, legs brushing under the table.
Servers in crisp white gloves poured vintage champagne, laid out plates of seared foie gras, truffle risotto, wagyu flown in from Japan. The moment the last server bowed out and the double doors clicked shut, the mood shifted.
Mom lifted her glass in a mock toast. My sister giggled, took a delicate sip. Elena and the twins followed. Ten seconds later, their eyes fluttered. Mom's head lolled forward first, then my sister's—perfectly timed, perfectly acted. Within a minute all four women slumped gracefully in their chairs, breathing slow and deep, drugged unconscious by the colorless, odorless sedative laced into their flutes.
Richard—Kai, as I truly knew him—leaned back, swirling his untouched champagne. His handsome face shed every trace of the mild-mannered executive he'd pretended to be. The air around him shimmered, and the glamour fell away: sharp cheekbones, glowing crimson eyes, an aura of pure demonic royalty.
"Everything stable on your end, Ace?" he asked, voice velvet and venom.
I let my own disguise drop. The boring human mask dissolved, revealing the real me—twenty years old, lethally beautiful, black hair falling into obsidian eyes, lips curled in a wicked smirk. "Flawless," I replied. "The women are completely convinced we're their loving son and devoted husband. Months of memory implants, nightly fucking, whispered suggestions while they came on our cocks—textbook."
Kai's smile widened, fangs glinting. "Then we initiate the final phase."
He waved a lazy hand toward the doors. Four men in black tactical gear entered without a sound, faces hidden behind porcelain masks. They moved like shadows, lifting the unconscious women—Mom, my sister, Elena, the twins—one by one, carrying them out as gently as if they were made of glass.
Kai and I finished our meal in leisurely silence, savoring the wagyu while downstairs, in a windowless suite, the real husbands and fathers of those women were about to wake up to hell.
When we were done, Kai snapped his fingers. The room dissolved around us in a ripple of crimson light. We stepped out of the elevator on the penthouse floor, strode down a private corridor, and pushed open a steel door.
The room beyond smelled of rust and despair.
Two men hung from chains bolted to the ceiling. One was Elena's actual husband, Victor Langford, billionaire tech mogul. The other was Marcus and Mia's real father, Senator Harlan Reed. Both were stripped to the waist, bruised, blood crusting at their lips. They'd been missing for months—officially "on retreat" or "handling family business." In reality, Kai and I had kept them alive just for this moment.
I grabbed a bucket of ice water and flung it across their faces.
They jerked awake, coughing, chains rattling.
Victor's eyes went wide with animal panic. "What did you do to my wife? To my daughters?"
Harlan's voice cracked with rage. "Where's my family? What have you monsters done?"
We said nothing. I simply pulled out my phone, tapped the screen, and turned it toward them.
The video began to play.
First clip: "Victor" bending Elena over the kitchen island at 3 a.m., slamming into her from behind while she screamed her husband's name in ecstasy.
Second clip: "Harlan" eating out his own daughters on their shared king bed, the twins on their knees afterward, taking turns sucking their "daddy's" cock like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Third clip: Mom riding me reverse cowgirl in the living room while my sister filmed, begging her "son" to breed her again.
The men watched in stunned silence as every depraved act we'd performed—while wearing their faces, their voices, their mannerisms—unfolded in crystal-clear 4K.
Victor broke first. Tears streamed down his face. "No… no, that's not… they think that was me…"
Harlan retched, chains clanking as he doubled over. "My little girls… you made them… oh God…"
Kai stepped forward, voice dripping honeyed malice. "Here's the deal, gentlemen. You're going to transfer every cent—every offshore account, every trust, every hidden vault. You, Victor, will hand over the source code to your quantum-gaming engine—the one governments would kill for. And you, Senator, will deliver the blackmail files you've hoarded on half of Congress. Do it quietly, do it now, and we disappear. Your families wake up tomorrow believing they simply drank too much at lunch. They'll never know the difference."
I leaned in, letting my true eyes glow blood-red. "Refuse… and we wake them up exactly as they are. We'll play these videos on loop while they watch the men they love fuck them raw. Imagine Elena's face when she realizes the cock that's been inside her for months wasn't her husband's. Imagine your precious twins learning they've been calling demons 'Daddy' while begging to be bred. Some might break. Some might kill themselves. All of them will scream."
Victor sobbed openly. "Take it. Take everything. Just… leave them alone."
Harlan could barely speak. "Codes… I'll give you the codes… please…"
We left them weeping in the dark.
Back in the private elevator, Kai snapped his fingers again. The stolen human disguises melted away completely. Two twenty-year-old demons stared at our reflections—flawless alabaster skin, sharp jaws, eyes like molten rubies. We looked like fallen angels sculpted for sin.
Kai grinned, all teeth and triumph. "Next stop?"
I rolled my shoulders, feeling the familiar hum of hellfire under my skin. "Supernatural Headquarters. Time to deliver the payloads and collect our thrones."
The elevator doors slid shut. The car began its descent—not to the lobby, but straight down, through bedrock and brimstone, toward the blazing heart of the infernal capital.
Phase one was complete.
The real war was just beginning.