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Are you a true romantic at heart? You like to think so, even if you've not been pulling out all the stops lately. Still, it's tough not to dust off the old charms on this special day, making your way to Yaga's office with a bouquet of roses in one hand, fine, sparkling wine in the other.
There are butterflies dashing about your stomach as you stop before the door, one of the few certified safe places in the tunnels. Partly because the bulk of the ghosts are scared shitless of the one who resides within. Lately, however, it's due to the fact you're more than likely to bump into Striga as well. Neither fact fazes you, though, getting on rather well with both women in question.
Ah, quit stalling already!
Moving the wine bottle to your other hand, you clutch both gifts almost awkwardly all so you can knock on the door. Two, loud taps, a grunt the immediate response.
“Unless it's important, go away,” Yaga complains from within.
“I think it's quite important,” you respond, biting back the nervous chuckle that wishes to spill.
The moment of silence doesn't exactly fill you with hope. Then, she speaks up. “Alright, get in here.”
Pushing open the door, you let yourself inside; closing it immediately behind you. Her office is as messy as ever, filled with clutter. The woman herself is sitting behind her desk, eyes heavy as she leans her elbows on said desk.
“Hey,” you greet, approaching her.
“Yeah, what do you need?” she asks, breathing a little laboured. Perhaps she just came back from a trip to the tunnels?
“Is everything okay?”
“Of course it is,” she dismisses with ease, almost pouting. “I should be asking you that. Dropping in unannounced and all.”
This time, you do chuckle. “Well, it is Valentine's Day.”
“Wait-”
Even as she speaks, the bottle of wine rests on the desk, bouquet in your hand as you offer it to her. A simple gesture, sure, but one you gladly make all the same. Given how she leans back in her chair, you fear you may have overstepped.
“Oh, precious,” a familiar voice coos from beneath the desk.
The ghostly green visage of Striga slowly crawls up Yaga's frame. Gone is her usual bulky outfit, completely nude. You hardly mind, admiring her smooth back and fine buttocks. A quick look over her shoulder is all you get, her lips stained with mostly spit and a little more. How easily she slips into Yaga's lap, holding on like the lover she is. Something Yaga reciprocates, almost idly shifting her arms to keep her steady.
“What did you get him, Jagoda?” Striga asks so sweetly, almost as a challenge.
“What did I-” Yaga begins, groaning in annoyance. “I don't keep track of the date.”
Striga can't help herself, leaning into Yaga's neck and taking a deep sniff, almost shivering as she does. “What happened to that youthful woman who-”
“Sylvia,” Yaga cuts her off, albeit softly.
“Well, I think we can give him a nice little gift between the pair off us.”
“Wait-”
Too late, Striga gleefully floats out of Yaga's lap, her mechanical limbs suddenly sprouting from the ground. The office is very quickly engulfed in a green glow from how busy the ghostly scrapper is, tackling several tasks at once with ease. Before you know it, you're naked, suspended in the air before being carried to the very sofa you helped lug up here not too long ago. The tendril that deposits you even offers a little tap on your thigh, as if to say all is well.
Yaga looks unimpressed as she shares your fate, naked as can be as she's carried through the air. Purple, rough flesh from so many years in the tunnels is uniquely hers, gladly wrapping your arms around her waist as she deposited in your lap. Sure, she grunts, even squirms, but she doesn't jump off you even when she's released by Striga.
Speaking of, she hovers off the floor a mere foot or less before the pair of you, a smile on her lips. She really does look all the more beautiful without her mask, hands suddenly on her hips as she looks ready to give a lecture.
“Happy Valentine's Day,” she begins, sounding all sweet as she does. “Jagoda, would you like to say anything before we start?”
You feel Yaga's muscles stiffen, even as she leans back against you. “Why would-actually,” she says, shifting in your lap just enough to look into your eyes. “Listen, this isn't what I ever had in mind, but,” she can't help but pause, taking a breath. “Thanks for caring.”
“Yaga-”
“Jagoda,” she interrupts you, looking back ahead. More precisely, straight at Striga. “People I care about call me that.”
“There you are,” Striga purrs, suddenly leaning against Jagoda. Her hands are on her thighs, lips mere inches from her own. “Let's break in this sofa properly.”
You apparently don't have a say in things; not that you mind. You're more than happy to be along for the ride as Striga sinks between Jagoda's legs. How delicately she shifts her thighs, only for Striga to lift her. Burying her face into her belly, one hand focuses on lifting her while the other parts her buttocks.
“Sylvia, you bitch,” Jagoda complains, not sounding the least bit sincere.
It's almost alarming how easily Striga guides your mutual lover to your cock, her sweet, firm cheeks surrounding the tip as she slowly sinks. There's a gasp as you press against her tight ring, her hair tickling your nose as she grabs hold of the sofa. Haggard breaths bless your ears, slowly calming down as she relaxes just enough to descend.
Tight walls part for your invading cock, less than an inch inside her. Muscles fight to expel you even as she sinks all the lower. Whispered words are nothing to you, Striga doing what she can to cheer on Jagoda. Perhaps it works. It could equally be her own determination, a strained grunt filling the air as she sits perfectly on your cock, insides split wide just to accommodate you.
“Good girl,” Striga coos, back between her legs. “Move all you like, I'll take care of this.”
Jagoda almost sounds sweet as she suddenly intakes a breath. True to her word, all you can hear from Striga are the slow sensual licks of her pleasuring your shared love. Your hands hold her tight in your lap, insides still massaging every inch of you as you look over her shoulder. The sight of Striga's long, sordid licks has your cock throbbing with desire, hardly helped as Jagoda's lips find your cheek. A playful peck, nothing more.
“You, um, into this?” she asks, even as her thighs twitch.
“I can't think of anything better,” you confess.
“Maybe this?”
Despite being pleasured by Striga, it doesn't stop Jagoda from slowly rising. It really is a snail's pace, a grunt replacing her moans for a moment as her insides clamp shut as you slip free. A couple of inches, if that, and she sits back down with a whine. Too fast, even for you, her tight grip almost turning painful.
“Fuck,” you groan, burying your lips into her neck as you let her scent overwhelm you.
Jagoda tries again, freeing herself just a little more. Striga keeps up, moving with her as she licks away, even chuckling as she sinks once more around your cock. There's no resting this time, rising anew and impaling herself for the third time! Is it the most smooth of experiences? Far from it. You don't care, loving every second of her awkward bounces. You're hardly shy about letting her know it, too; grunting and groaning without shame.
Seconds turn to minutes, feeling like a blessed eternity. There was no way in Hell you were going to last long, holding Jagoda in place as she impales herself on you for the final time. Your cock twitches in her depths, earning a half chuckle, half whine from the woman in question. Thick, mighty loads fire free, flooding her back passage with your potent seed. Your legs twitch, knees almost aching as you give your all to force yourself deeper inside, a biological impossibility. Not that you care, familiar, bliss-filled haze clouding your mind as pure ecstasy courses through every inch of you.
Striga pulls herself out from between Jagoda's legs, licking her lips as the latter leans just enough for you to lock eyes.
“We'll have to work on that stamina for the next big day,” she teases, gleefully returning to the task at hand.
Jagoda isn't quite so glib, relaxing even as she's pleasured. “Happy Valentines Day, doofus.”
What can you say? Only one thing comes to mind. “I fucking love you.”
Given the content sigh, you choose to believe the feeling's mutual.