Sin Twins:
Tara was out for retribution—hot, wet, horny, slutty vengeance. As if her perky, bouncing breasts, her nipples taut and sticking prominently up and out, weren’t enough, she dressed to overtly advertise her mood. The silver lame halter top, backless and enticing, did less than nothing to hide her shapely tits. Rather than mesmerize by concealing or hinting at the curves and swell of her plump breasts, the thin, shimmering cloth poured itself over her boobs, accenting and enhancing their contours. It looked as if her chest was spray-painted in chrome. Although opaque, it was so thin and wispy that it made her seem more naked than nude.
If a backless halter top that advertised “stare at my hard nipples and side-boob” didn’t get the attention she craved, her sleek, black skirt upped the sexual intensity to lust-addled extremes. The diagonally hemmed miniskirt rose scandalously close to her hipbone on one side, the flimsy, black satin swooping down to mid-thigh-level on the other. Other than some silver trimming to match the halter, it was spartan, the cut and gossamer thinness of the material showcasing her full, round ass and stunning legs. Her barely-there thong covered her seeping, volcanic pussy. With her dark eyes sparkling and her hair and makeup done sultry, she looked like a horny predator, prowling for flesh. It was the perfect outfit to convey her mood and intent, all of it Tina’s fault.
It had been three weeks since the twins’ foray into the erotic world of stripping. Tara had every intent of dancing through the entire shift, as horny exhibitionism was a shared kink. The twins loved and loathed the same things, so what the one enjoyed, the other also desired. However, as Tara grew less and less inhibited that night, her arousal getting the better of her, she put herself into a stressful situation.
Giving lap dances, grinding her molten sex over strangers, feeling their hardness as she humped her engorged clit against their hardness, and getting paid for it was quite the thrill. She let herself get fingered by multiple men, sometimes forcing their hand over her dripping cunt, her all-consuming lust overruling common sense. She was lost in lust, consumed by horny passion, and the need for dirty, nasty deviancy possessed her.
At one point, she’d been so aroused that she pulled out a customer’s cock, grinding her slit against it, and was about to impale herself on the man’s hardness. Then, Tara realized how far she had gone, and she had a moment of self-doubt, which turned into fear and, finally, panic. Although she quickly exorcised the demons of fear and doubt, it was too late.
Tina instantly knew, and she was there in a flash, rescuing her sister, and getting them fired in the process. Tina had burst into the club, screaming for her sister, causing quite the commotion. The two of them conceded that Tara lost, would need to do all the chores for weeks, and the game would have to restart with new terms. That brought their special bond back into the limelight, both of the twins pointedly ignoring the unique connection they shared.
Neither of the Pumphord twins ever spoke about their link; they didn’t need to. The only time they ever talked about it was when they discovered that other siblings didn’t share a similar connection. They truly believed that all brothers and sisters wordlessly shared their feelings. To them, it was a natural state, all they’d ever known. To everyone else, though, it was supernatural, offsetting, and downright eerie. Of all the twin tropes they’d been assailed with, the psychic twins one was more fact than fiction.
Having come from the exact same cells, forming together in the womb, the two were connected, metaphorically, emotionally, and physically. For a timeless eternity, their entire universe consisted of just the two of them. They even communicated after a fashion. There were no words, just consciousness projected: all emotions, instinctual. The fact that they could feel the other’s emotional state seemed normal; it was how things were. This is exactly why twin infants cry when they’re separated. The material, real world didn’t sever that connection, and, throughout their entire lives, the two identical sisters could “feel” the other one’s emotional state.
Intense emotions, such as fear, heartbreak, and horny desire, instantly transmitted themselves from one psyche to the other. This caused many an awkward but hilarious situation in their youth and college. If Tara was ever in trouble, Tina knew. Likewise, if Tina was joyous, laughing hysterically, her mirth spread like a contagion to her sister. Being scolded, trying to look remorseful, while your sister was sympathetically making you laugh, watching a comedy in the next room, was, to them, at least, a special form of hilarity.
Raw, primal emotions, the overpowering ones, ignored time and distance, slamming the other with the same sensations, regardless of where they were or what they were doing. However, if others mistook the one as their twin, or if their sister was on the other’s mind at the time, the bond between them seemed more powerful and intense. This is what gave their switcheroo game the added, unspoken, sexy special something. They never talked about it, but when they focused on carnal lust, the sensations were mutually overpowering.
Tara, posing as Tina, or vice versa, had an express conduit to pump her emotional state right into her sister’s mind. If either of them felt something intensely, the other would also experience those emotions. This is what made Tina somehow sense that Tara was in trouble at the strip club. That same, inexplicable phenomenon is what made their sexy games so exciting. While the one was out, her erotic energy tantalized the other. Whoever was at home took that lusty zeal and used it to heighten their arousal, sending more lovely, horny vibes for the other to feel. It was an ever-increasing feedback loop, the one’s arousal making the other horny, then feeding back to and increasing the other’s kinky needs. Both Tina and Tara were acutely aware of this, but neither of them ever felt the need to voice it. It simply was and had always been so.
On that enchanted evening, their game began, anew. Tara, dolled up to look like hot, wet sex on two sexy legs, was out for pure, sexual revenge. Nothing but the wildest, horniest, dirtiest raunchiness she could manage would suffice. The way the horny blond saw it, Tina was responsible for her loss; Tara had herself back into the proper, naughty mindset before her twin barged in, ruining everything.
With that in mind, she sat in her car, in the parking lot of a notorious nightclub and bar, fingering herself into extreme arousal, ready to begin their new game. She’d even carefully selected the locale to ensure that she’d get more than enough lusty attention. No more pretending to be looking for a boyfriend or girlfriend this time around; Tara was out to get brutally fucked in the dirtiest, most perverted ways she could. The place she’d chosen was a well-known pick-up bar.
Tara intentionally walked with exaggerated steps, making her braless boobs bounce and sway. The slinky, shining material of her thin, slutty halter rubbed against her swollen nipples, making them tingle. Her round, full hips swayed back and forth, hypnotic in their horny enticement. Although she wore panties, a skimpy, black thong, her perfect ass jiggled, ever so slightly, making cocks erect and mouths drool. Her cantering saunter provoked the desired response; before she’d even entered the somewhat sleazy nightclub, she’d been propositioned twice.
The club, named Go Getters, was notorious for its tacky interior, hearkening back to the days when people said words like, “Swanky,” as well as the clientele primarily going there to hook up for casual, sexual encounters. It was the perfect choice, and the parking lot denizens didn’t disappoint. The interior, although modern, was reminiscent of the swinging singles stereotypes, only more flamboyant and overt. It was dimly lit, smelled of cheap cologne and stale booze, and the multicolored lighting cast an almost ethereal glow over the patrons.
In the center, a large dance floor, a Disco throwback with its lit floor and flashing, whirling lights overhead, was crowded with reveling drunkards, some of them with others, many of them alone. Rows of grungy tables lined the dance floor, a few, smaller ones off in the corners. Multiple bars, seemingly without a coherent theme, lined various portions of the walls. Two garishly painted doors, labeled Stags and Vixens, occupied the middle of the far wall, double-hinged doors beside the Vixens one leading to the kitchen.
The patrons of the club were a typical cross-section of urbanites. Ranging in age from their early twenties into their late thirties, plus a few more elderly ones playing the field, the place did little to hide the fact that it was a meat market. More than a few self-proclaimed alpha males, dressed up like comical parodies of masculinity, plied any woman they could find with the latest fad in pick-up lines. Skanky women, the types that were only good for one thing, cavorted among them, playing the men against one another while enjoying free drinks and male attention. That was all fine by Tara; she was only interested in one thing, and she knew she was likely to find it here. That is until she sidled up to one of the bars.
Fending off a constant onslaught of unwanted male attention—not due to their cheesy lines or amusing faux-bravado, they just weren’t her type—Tara spied a handsome man, seated alone at a corner table near the bar, watching the antics of horny humanity with a mirthful smile. He was definitely her type. This changed her entire plan. The horny twin had no expectations of meeting somebody that wasn’t lecherous or creepy, but there he was.
His dishwater-blond hair was cut in a flattering, fringed shag, unruly locks tufting every which way. He had a muscular physique, evident under his form-fitting T-shirt, and light, piercing eyes. Even if she hadn’t already masturbated herself into a stupor, or if her sister hadn't been making her feel unbridled horniness, she would have instantly dripped at the sight of him.
“Excuse me,” a somewhat sleazy man said to her, lightly gripping her forearm. “Can you help settle a debate between my friends and me?”
Tara smirked, tried to fight it down, but erupted in loud laughter. “Oh, an opinion opener! Well done. Not interested.”
She made to leave, attempting to distance herself from the squirrelly, young man. He wasn’t bad-looking, but something seemed off about him. His grip on her arms tightened.
“Really,” he began, his voice a bit louder and desperate. “It’s just a question. What are you afraid of?”
With that, Tara, although more annoyed at him than anything else, forcefully tried to free her restrained limb. “Let me go, right now,” she sternly stated, her voice almost a shriek.
“Oh, come on, baby…” the would-be Lothario began. His voice trailed off as he looked behind Tara.
“There you are!” a sexy, smooth, masculine voice said. “I was wondering when you’d show up, dear.”
The potential suitor’s arms dropped limply to his side. Tara turned her head, giving the creepy guy a venomous sidling glance. The man she had been hungrily eyeing was right behind her, towering over her in a mass of sexy, sinewy muscle and shaggy hair.
