"Stop being so dramatic and give me some clothes."
Vicky hopped off the ruined pedestal, landing with a light thud on the obsidian floor. She stretched her arms over her head, her back arching in a way that was distractingly familiar, and looked at me expectantly.
"Clothes?"
Why would she need clothes?
I mean... Yes, we are in the middle of my land where clothes are optional, and everyone is naked most of the time. So why wouldn't she? We are twin sisters, twin souls. We shouldn't hide anything from each other.
"Clothes are forbidden in my land," I said, crossing my arms. "And you are not the exception."
"..."
Vicky kept staring at me blankly for a full minute.
"Your land?"
Her question confused me a little. I thought she would ask for clothes again or tease about the dragon cock again.
"Yes, my land," I said, nodding repeatedly. "This is my world, my horny playground."
"Hehehe," she let out a soft laugh, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Really?... your world?"
"What?" Now it was my turn to be confused. "What are you talking about?"
"Nothing, just that this is my world now," she said, her smirk returning. "I'll be taking over, so you better start calling me goddess."
"Excuse me?" I said, my voice dripping with disbelief. I planted my hands on my hips, staring at Vicky as she'd just grown a second head. "Taking over? My world? You've been out of that egg for, what, ten minutes? And now you think you're the goddamn queen of my horny playground?"
Victoria, however, was completely unfazed. She simply cocked her head, her crimson eyes twinkling with that ancient, maddening familiarity that always got under my skin.
"You can't," I yelled, my voice shaking.
"I CAN," Vicky said with the calm confidence of a woman announcing she'd just invented orgasms. "And I will."
She stepped closer.
One step. Two steps.
Her feet left molten imprints in the obsidian floor.
…That was new.
"Hold on," I said, lifting a finger. "Back the fuck up. Literally. Back the fuck up two steps."
She didn't.
Of course, she didn't.
"I'm serious, Vicky—"
"I'm serious too, Mommy~," she purred, leaning in so close I could see my own reflection in her crimson eyes. "Let's face it, Morgi, you can't run an entire world without my help."
"Remember our old county," she added, placing a hand on my shoulder. "I'm the brains, and you are the brawns."
She was right. She was absolutely right.
We were two sides of the same coin, a terrifying duo who had torn through kingdoms together. Vicky, with her cunning, her manipulative brilliance, her ability to turn armies against each other with a few whispered words. And me, with my raw power, my bloodlust, my insatiable hunger for conquest and… well, conquest.
But that was then.
This is now.
"It's different now," I said, my voice firm. "I can run the entire world if I wanted to."
"Still the same," she argued, her fingers tightening on my shoulder. "Tell you what, I'll give you a small test. If you pass, I'll be your good little girl, and if you don't, then I'm in charge."
"..." I narrowed my eyes. A test? A challenge? From her? Fine. Two can play this game.
"Fine," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "What's the test?"
"Simple." She grinned, a predatory, feral grin that promised nothing but trouble. "Solve this mathematical equation."
"5 + 3x(8-2)^2 / 6 - 4 = ?"
"... Eh?" I blinked.
My brain, which had been running horny battle simulations, calculating divine essence expenditures, and trying to figure out how to blackmail a loli goddess into letting me see her pussy, screeched to a halt.
"..." I stared at her. I stared at the imaginary numbers floating in the air between us.
Math. My ancient enemy. The one thing that could defeat me faster than an army of void beasts from the dark side of the universe.
'Herma, what's the answer?' I asked my assistant. 'Quickly!'
[...]
[Oh.. so you want my help now] Herma's smug-ass tone echoed in my head. [I thought you could handle everything by yourself.]
'DON'T PLAY WITH ME, HERMA!' I roared in my mind, my anger rising. 'GIVE ME THE ANSWER!'
[Fine, fine, since you asked so nicely,] Herma sighed. [The answer is...]
'Yes!'
[Fuck off, Morgana.]
"FU—"
Before I could finish my mental scream—
"Hah! Got you!" Vicky's triumphant laugh cut through my frustration. "You had to ask Herma for help. You lose."
My jaw dropped.
"You knew?" I stammered, my face burning with humiliation. "You knew I would ask Herma?"
"Of course I knew," she said, her smirk widening. "I know you better than you know yourself, Morgi. I know your every weakness. And math is one of them."
"..." I was speechless.
She had played me. She had played me like a fiddle. A horny, stupid, math-hating fiddle.
"I hate you," I said, my voice low and dripping with venom.
"I love you too, sis," she replied, her grin unwavering. "Now, since I won, I'm in charge. First order is to use that system of yours to fetch me some nice clothes and underwear too."
"Clothes and underwear?"
I repeated slowly, like my brain was struggling to come to terms with the fact that my world was snatched from me by a simple math problem.
She nodded.
CONFIDENTLY.
Like she had just solved world peace using nothing but a cock ring and bad intentions.
"Yes. I want something elegant. Regal. Preferably black. Maybe lace. Something that says 'I am dominance, I am sex, and I could ruin your economy if you look at me wrong.'"
"..."
"..."
I blinked.
She blinked back.
Finally, I found the breath to speak:
"UNDERWEAR IS LITERALLY ILLEGAL HERE."
Vicky smirked, her arms crossing under her admittedly very nice and perky tits.
"That's an outdated policy," she announced like a queen throwing out ancient laws. "New management. New legislation. Clothing is mandatory now."
MANDATORY!!!!
In MY land.
My holy realm of naked debauchery and orgy-based healthcare.
"…You're joking," I said, voice flat.
"Nope," she replied, popping the 'p' like she was popping my ego.
"You can't just waltz out of an egg and start making rules!" I sputtered.
"Watch me."
"I'm the goddess! The land responds to ME!"
"Then make it respond by getting me something to wear," she said, tapping a bare foot on the floor. "Unless you want your new co-ruler to walk around bare-assed, setting a terrible example for the minions."
"Bare-assed is the best example!" I argued, my hands flying to my hips.
"Not anymore," she shot back.
"Ugh!..." I was boiling with rage, but deep inside a part of me was... impressed?
No, not impressed. Pissed. I was pissed.
I wouldn't allow it. I can't. Not after everything I worked for.
I'm the goddess of this land. The only goddess.
"I didn't want to do this..." I said, my voice low and dangerous. "... but you forced me."
"Do what?" Vicky raised an eyebrow.
"I'll tell Mother," I said, staring directly in her eyes. "I'll tell her about your little fun in the stable with Aunt Maria's son."
"!!!" Vicky froze.
Like literally frozen.
Her molten footprints stopped sizzling. Her smirk died. Her pupils dilated just enough that I knew I had hit the nuclear, world-ending, universe-collapsing button of sisterly warfare.
"I... have no idea what you are talking about," she said, trying to act casual. But the slight tremble in her voice betrayed her.
"The stable?..." I pressed. "The hay?... the cloak?... the wooden dildo?... Michael's ass... should I continue?"
Vicky's jaw tightened. She looked away, a faint blush creeping up her neck.
Bingo.
Yeah... I kept this memory and didn't filter it.
After sneaking many times to play with Aunt Maria and her sissy son, Vicky followed me one night and saw what we were doing. She used to peek at us, masturbate while hiding behind the door, and when we were done, she would run away like a scared little cat.
Until one day her curiosity overpowered her shyness and she literally jumped on Michael, luring him to the stable in the middle of the night, and...
Well... use your imagination.
The sissy liked the rough play, and Vicky began to enjoy it more, treating it as a way to release stress from managing the county.
"No…" she whispered, voice small, fragile, a single hair away from cracking.
"Oh yes," I replied, my grin stretching so wide it could've legally been taxed as a bridge.
"You wouldn't," Vicky hissed, eyes narrowing.
"I absolutely would," I purred. "In fact, I would send her a detailed letter. No — a painting. An oil painting. A majestic, Renaissance-style masterpiece called 'Vicky Dominates the Sissy Cousin.'"
Vicky's eye twitched.
Just one.
Barely noticeable.
But to me? Oh, that was a win screen, fireworks, victory fanfare, fat golden text saying Mission Completed floating above my head.
Her jaw clenched.
I could practically hear the gears turning — calculating shame, risk, dignity, and the absolute annihilation of her credibility should Mother receive a magic-sent portrait of her riding Michael like a prize-winning stallion.
Finally, she exhaled through her nose.
The nostril flare.
The official sign of surrender in our ancient sisterly war.
"Fine," she bit out.
"Hehehe." My smirk grew.
"…Clothes are not mandatory," she continued slowly, like each word was dipped in acid. "And underwear is… temporarily… negotiable."
"Temporarily?" I arched my brow.
She lifted a finger.
"I still want something to wear."
"Black?"
"Black," she confirmed. "Regal. Something with a high collar. And boots."
"Boots?"
"Thigh-high," she clarified, her expression shifting to one of intense seriousness. "Leather. So I can kick your balls. Hard."
I stared at her.
And then I laughed.
A real, genuine, booming laugh that shook the cracked walls of my birthing chamber. My cock bounced with it, my tits jiggled, and for the first time in years, the world felt right again.
Victoria. My twin. My other half.
My pain in the ass.
"Alright," I said, wiping a tear from my eye. "Black. Regal. High collar. Boots. No underwear."
"Deal."