"Gomez, Darling? We've arrived," purred Morticia, Gomez's beautiful wife, in his ear. Her painfully sharp, blood red nails dug into his arm, piercing the skin. He loved how she turned to violence whenever she wanted to get a point across. To, literally, let it "sink in." The pain only aroused his already obsessive desire for his wife.
Gomez opened his eyes, smiling widely at Morticia. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on. No other woman could compare. Her tall and slender body with the most desirable curves man had ever known, her long, silky black hair that fell below her waist, her beautiful, curved dark blue eyes that dazzled any and every man who were fortunate (or unfortunate) enough to gaze upon them, the lovely and striking pallor of her skin against her black hair and the long black dress that clung to her so tightly that not one bit of her feminine curves weren't visible. At the moment, though, Gomez's attention was centered on her luscious, blood red lips. Morticia generated desire in Gomez by merely parting those luscious lips. The memories of her amazing lips sent a wave of lust through his body, taking all Gomez's control not to jump out of the seat of the dreaded plane, and make passionate love to his wife.
Morticia released his arm, licking the blood from her nails. He would have scars to match the many Morticia had already given him. Though, they were very faint. Morticia never scarred. No matter how many times they used whips, hot pokers, and other such toys, her beautiful skin remained flawless. Gomez kissed the hand that had pierced him, desperately. Morticia snatched it back with a seductive smirk that tortured Gomez to no end.
"Later, my dearest. After we get off this dreadful aircraft," she added, sharply. The plane ride had been very… unpleasant. Even in first-class, the food was terrible, everyone smiled too much, the lights were too bright, and the entertainment was some sort of terrible movie called the Sound of Music. The airline had no taste.
"Next time we fly, we'll take the jet," Gomez promised, helping his wife to her feet. He glared at every male passenger that gawked over her as they passed by. He held her to him by her waist, warning other men that she was taken, if they did not notice the silver wedding band on her left ring finger.
Gomez pulled her to his chest, possessively. She smiled. She loved it when her husband was possessive. Gomez was insanely jealous of every man that saw Morticia in any light other than family. Morticia loved it. He was so passionate (more than usual, at least) when he was jealous. Not to mention, it kept him in line. She would never have to worry about her husband looking at another woman while he is always looking for men looking at Morticia. Once everyone had passed, Gomez and Morticia followed the rest of the passengers off the plane.
Morticia gasped with surprise. The dratted sun was out, and it was far too bright. She absolutely hated clear sunny skies. Especially when they first arrived in the vacation place of her dreams. Transylvania. It was Gomez's 10th anniversary present to Morticia. So, they had left their six and eight year-old children, Pugsley and Wednesday, with Mama and Fester, while they went to Romania for a romantic two-week getaway.
"Here you are, Cara Mia. I knew we would have at least one day of bad weather," said Gomez, pulling out Morticia's favorite black umbrella from his briefcase. He opened it, shading her from the dreadful sun. Morticia sighed with relief, and put a hand to his cheek.
"You are so thoughtful, Mon Cher," she purred, then quickly grabbed the umbrella with her other hand when Gomez released it to begin kissing up her arm.
"French, Tish! You spoke French! You know what that does to me!" he moaned, continuing to kiss up and down her arm with passion. Morticia smirked, evilly. Of course she did. She snatched her hand back, prolonging her husband's torture. She loved to torture Gomez. It gave her pleasure to see him like a wild animal before she finally gave herself to him, willingly. Not to mention, he was far better in bed when he was on a rampage. Gomez stared at her, growing more anxious with every moment. She loved the control she had over him.
They arrived two hours later at their hotel. It was a large manor turned into a resort a few years ago. The couple walked inside, footmen carrying their suitcases behind them. They stopped at the front desk. A middle-aged man greeted them, awestruck. Morticia was very aware of the affect she had on men, and used it to her advantage, often.
"Morticia and Gomez Addams," she said, knowing Gomez was too busy glaring daggers at the man to ask for the keys to their suite. It took the man a moment to snap out of his trance to respond.
"Addams? One moment, please…" he stuttered with a thick Romanian accent, flipping through a small calendar book. Morticia loved Romanian accents. She loved the language. She spoke it, fluently. She had always been good with languages. She spoke English, French, Yiddish, Romanian, Latin, and Bulgarian, fluently. Gomez was fluent in English, Spanish, and Italian. Not as good as his wife, but still impressive. Gomez held Morticia closer to his side, making Morticia's dark, seductive smile widen.
"…it's room 666. I need you to sign some papers before you get settled in…" said the man, sliding a stack of papers across the desk towards Morticia. Gomez snatched the pen from the desk, and pulled the papers towards him, beginning to read and sign them. He released Morticia, reluctantly. Morticia turned to the young men with their luggage, smiling.
"Would you boys be so kind as to bring our luggage up to our room? It's 666. When you finish, come back and you'll get your tips," she asked with a purr. She needn't have mentioned the tips, as the young men had already picked up their things, and headed to the hall to the right. Morticia smiled, darkly. She loved her talent for bending the wills of men. She loved getting everything she wanted. She turned back around to the desk, and leaned into her husband, resting one hand on his bicep, and the other on his shoulder. She squeezed his arm, biting into with her sharp nails, making Gomez pause and look at her, questioningly.
"Tish?" he asked, frowning.
"Hurry, Mon Cher. I tire," she whispered in his ear, seductively. He snapped his head around to face her, his eyes blazing with desire.
"French," he whispered. Morticia pointed at the papers.
"Papers first, Gomez," she said. Gomez quickly began to sign each sheet without reading them, at all. Not fifty seconds later, Gomez pushed the papers across the desk, and quickly pulled his wife to his chest with a hungry look in his eyes. Morticia heard a cough, and saw the receptionist holding out two keys to them. Gomez snatched them, and lifted his wife up into his arms. Morticia pulled out a generous amount of money from Gomez's pocket, and laid it on the desk. The man's eyes widened at the amount of money before him.
"Please give this to the young men who brought up our luggage," she said, without looking at him, as she only had eyes for Gomez.
"Of course, Madam," he stuttered.
Gomez carried Morticia away from the front desk and headed for their room. They arrived five minutes later, and Morticia did not even remember how they got there, as she had been staring at Gomez the entire time. Gomez gently placed his wife on her feet, and unlocked the door. He opened it, letting her in, first. Their luggage was sitting in the center of the suite.
The room had dark burgundy walls, dark mahogany furniture, and a great black satin bed. She walked over to the bed, and felt the mattress. Very solid, hard, and stiff. Good. Gomez must have requested it. Most hotels had soft and plushy mattresses. She had no idea why anyone would want to sleep on such a horribly comfortable surface.
She knew Gomez was watching her every move. Every sway of her hips, toss of her hair, and parting of her lips. She knew every trick there was to know about seduction. She was seduction. She knew exactly what she had to say or do to set Gomez off, and how to torture him with passion. She did it every day. She never failed. She never would, as long as she had Gomez to torture. He was her favorite victim. Her only victim of passion. Morticia whipped around, pressing her back to the wall, her hands sliding down the wall beside her, parting her lips, and lowering her eyelids.
"You can have me now, Mon Amour," she whispered, huskily. Gomez was on her so fast she didn't have time to breathe. He crushed her against the wall, ripping into her mouth like some starving animal. He pinned her wrists to the wall on either side of her head. Then, he took her wrists together, and slid them up above her head, pinning them with one hand. He slid his free hand down her body, causing Morticia to moan in their kiss. He stopped at her thigh, and began pulling up her long dress. Once her dress was just below her hip, he lifted her leg up above his waist, massaging her thigh with his magic fingers, then traveled lower, grabbing her ass. Morticia gasped in their kiss, rising up to press herself harder against Gomez's body. That set him off. He released her wrists to hike her other leg above his waist. Morticia placed her hands behind his neck and began to passionately ravage her husband one last time before she lost control.