Lira knelt beside her sister. The stump of her thigh pressed against the floor, the new skin pink and tender, the pain of the contact a dull, constant ache that she had learned to ignore. Her mouth found my balls — the heavy, swollen sac that the Infinite Torrent kept perpetually full — and sucked one testicle in, her tongue rolling the weight.
Both women worked. Sera on the shaft, her lips wrapping the head, her mouth moving with the desperate, practiced rhythm of a woman trying to prove she was still useful. Lira on the balls, her lips pulling, her tongue tracing the seam. Their heads bobbed in synchronized rhythm — dark hair and chestnut hair, side by side, the sisters who had been trained together and performed together and whose devotion was expressed not in words but in the wet, slurping sounds of mouths on flesh.
"Slurp — mmmh — gllck—"
"Nnngh — suck — mmmph—"
