Dead Taboo

All fantastical concepts and lore attributed to the White Wolf company via Vampire: The Masquerade.

*

The rain fell heavy and hard upon the stone of the Giovanni mansion. Each drop pounded the fragile flowers in the garden of the estate, forcing their tender petals into the dirt below. The ground was already muddied, and smelled of fresh decomposition. Grubs and worms writhed in ecstasy, moist and well-fed.

Through a large window near the east wing of the house was a lavishly decorated living room. Green velvet couches with silver embroidery, a grand piano, coffee tables of the finest wood and opulent tapestries filled the room; it was an opulent endeavor of the wealthy Family. In the room lounged two siblings, bored in the throes of youth and inactivity. One was a voluptuous woman with wavy auburn hair, an ample bust, and a permanent smirk plastered on her round face; the other was a tall man with a penchant for fine suits and vulgarity. The woman, Sayla, sat beside the piano in one of the green lounge chairs, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers and scowling at a portrait of her mother. Beside the window, Peter moodily stared out of the window, brushing off the shoulder of his black suit.

"I wish this rain would clear up, I hate when my suits get wet," Peter remarked absentmindedly.

"As if you don't have another fifty waiting for you in your closet upstairs -- besides, you look good wet," Sayla answered, chuckling and adjusting the bodice of her dress. The black and silver garment pushed her breasts up and created a mountain of cleavage, soft white globes with a long valley between them. Its tightness accentuated her already wide hips and smoothed her stomach. A half shirt tied in a bow went over her shoulders, and below the bodice was a short black skirt and knee-length crinoline. Knee-high black boots with fourteen eyes and three-inch heels met her exposed knees.

"Just another excuse for you to find me exceedingly handsome," retorted Peter. He stretched his formidable frame, frowning as a gust of wind and harsh rain smacked against the window.

"While that may be true, don't think I didn't notice your eyes wandering down the front of my blouse." A corner of her mouth twitched into a mischievous smile, eyes lowered and hair falling in her face. She shifted her weight and re-crossed her legs in the chair.

"If I wanted to stare at tits all night, I'd dig up mother from the backyard," he said, placing his elbow on the windowsill and his chin in his palm. "Anyway, do you want to go to Club Malcalypse? I hear a big-shot Ventrue is throwing a party."

"Ugh, they're so stuffy. It's just like the Cam, too, trying to control everything and oppress everyone so that they can ruin everything good about being Kindred," Sayla spat. "They're just not as... liberated as we are, are they, brother?" She cocked an eyebrow, turning her head to face him. How dark and brooding he looked there, staring at the rain. Sayla licked her lips unconsciously.

"As if we had a choice, darling sister," her brother commented, turning to her and sticking out his tongue.

"I wouldn't want it any other way, brother dearest."

Thunder raged in the sky, lightning alighting the pale faces of the undead residents. The eyes of the siblings locked and Peter's mouth drew itself into a hard line. If she possessed a heart, it would've been beating out of control at that moment. Sayla bit her lip and slowly stood up, casting her glance away from her brother's.

"Peter..." Sayla began, barely audible.

"What is it, sister?" Sister. A whisper, a hiss, a curse. Peter's eyes widened.

"You know I love you, don't you, Peter?" Her normally low and brash voice had taken on an air of desperation, high, quiet, and light. She continued to advance toward Peter's chair by the window. The lights flickered, and then went out; the light of the moon and occasional burst of lightning was now the only illumination. The greens and grays and blacks of the room blurred together like an oil painting; time seemed to slow as the siblings neared.

"I love you too, of course," he muttered as casually as possible. His shaking hand rested on his neck as his eyes moved up and down the approaching form -- curvaceous, soft, and alluring.

Sayla stopped her ethereal pursuit, figure wavering in the sporadic light. "But I want... more." She dropped her eyes to the floor, and then raised them, bedroom gaze readied. Lids half closed, mouth just slightly agape and lips glistening, she came ever closer.

Peter stammered slightly and then fell silent. She had set him in her sights, she had reached her target. He felt a slender, pianist's finger run down his pallid cheek and over his lips. Positioning herself in his lap, knees pressed against the outside of his thighs, Sayla leaned in and kissed him on the mouth. It was a tender, teasing kiss, tongue just pressing on the inside of his bottom lip. Unconsciously, his hands rose to her hips and planted themselves there. For once, his body was out of his control. The siblings kissed again, this time more passionately, with the release of years of tension and the promise of everything forbidden. Tongues of brother and sister danced, moist lips meeting and bodies pressing together.

Sayla's body was quivering in a state of nervous arousal. Peter, conversely, was rigid and silent, eyes still wide as black gemstones. Both sat in shock and confusion, Sayla shifting her weight in his lap; Peter shuddered and closed his eyes for a moment. Incestuous trysts were common in the Family, but... this. This -- he loved her and this seemed too wrong. But her love was just as strong, and she approached him like this. After years of seeing her undress, feeding together, living together, the tension had become nearly unbearable. Her porcelain fleshed cried for his touch and her eyes begged for his caress. It had taken every ounce of his self-control to resist exploring her body further when they embraced as brother and sister.

But she wanted more, and so did he.

"Sayla," he whispered, almost moaning. Peter pressed his face into her breasts, enveloped in her scent. His hands moved up her back; curious, they explored her shoulders, her hips, and her ass. She reminded him of better days, Victorian times, when women were plump and feminine. Sayla was exactly this, with a curvaceous body ready to be grabbed, groped and taken.

The shock and reluctance began to wear off, and they began an erotically malicious dance with one another. They had discussed their sexual preferences before, extrapolating upon their darkest desires and weaknesses; no fetish was taboo and their sexualities were an open subject. Armed with this knowledge, each sibling used it against the other. Here Peter put his face close to Sayla's ear, running his hands along her inner thighs and letting the vibrations of his groans fill her head. She whimpered, grinding her hips into his and clutching the front of his shirt. After writhing against him for a short moment, the sister made her move...