Three Means 1

Guess the Twin

"I don't think so," Dulce asserted, her voice trembling with determination as she grasped the edges of the table and attempted to rise from her chair. Angelo's hand landed firmly on her shoulder, pressing her back down with unyielding strength.

    "No, I don't fucking think so." he growled, his tone a blend of irritation and command.

    His right hand remained on her shoulder, while his left wrapped around her neck with a possessive grip. Leaning down, he brushed his lips against her right cheek, his breath warm and unsettlingly intimate.

    "Come now, princess, it will be fun," he whispered, his voice a dangerous caress.

    Dulce gulped, her mouth parched. She bit her tongue to summon some moisture, her emotions a mixture of fear and a perverse thrill of excitement.

    She glanced up at Pierre, whose calm, composed expression seemed almost surreal. He met her gaze and offered a gentle smile, a beacon of strange comfort amid the tension.

    "I promise you won't regret it, but if you don't wish to partake, that's fine," Pierre interjected, his eyes meeting Angelo's with a raised eyebrow. "Isn't that right, Angelo?"

    At Pierre's question, Angelo released his grip on Dulce's throat, his fingers tracing softly along her cheek. "Of course. She's the princess of the house; she sets the rules."

    Dulce laughed, a bitter sound. The rules? It seemed a cruel joke, considering he had just forced her to remain seated.

    "What is your decision? Will you play with us?" Angelo asked, his voice a low murmur.

    Dulce met his gaze and slowly nodded. A broad smile spread across Angelo's face as he leaned in close, his lips near her ear. "I like it when you're so obedient," he whispered. His warm breath sent shivers down her spine, and she bit her bottom lip to stifle any involuntary reaction or any signs of needy behavior.

    Angelo moved to the other side of the dining table, taking a seat next to Pierre.

    "Guess the twin," Pierre said, his eyes fixed on Dulce.

    "What?" she asked, confusion furrowing her brow.

    "We will tell you a story or a fact, and you must guess which one of us it pertains to," Pierre explained, his tone light yet laced with intrigue.

    "What are the consequences?" Dulce inquired, her wariness evident.

    "If you guess correctly, we strip. If you guess incorrectly, you must strip for us," Angelo replied, his voice dripping with dark amusement.

    "It's hardly fair. I don't know about either of you," she protested.

    "And that is precisely the point," Pierre said, a smirk curling his lips.

    Despite the rational voice in her mind urging caution, Dulce felt an inexplicable pull toward compliance. Their allure was undeniable, and she found herself nodding, though she knew it was a reckless indulgence.

    "First question: One of us is very skilled at filmmaking, just like our parents. Who is it?" Pierre asked, his eyes keenly observing her as she nervously fiddled with her fingers.

    Dulce looked from Angelo to Pierre, both men maintaining identical, unreadable expressions. There was no discernible clue in their countenances.

    "I have to guess you, Pierre," she finally decided, her voice barely above a whisper.

Upon hearing her answer, Pierre placed his fingers delicately on the buttons of his shirt and began unfastening them, one by one. With the last button undone, he removed his white, flower-printed linen shirt and tossed it aside with a flourish, a smirk playing on his lips.