It had been one absolutely hellish day; and not the good kind. The Addams family had just spent the last hour moving back into their beautifully creepy mansion, following Gomez's rescue of Morticia from the hands of Tully and 'Dr. Pinderschloss'. The moon had now fully risen, bathing the house in an eerie glow as a floor above, various bedroom doors closed for the night, leaving none but Morticia and Gomez downstairs. She stood in the doorway of their fine library, surveying the chaos left by Hurricane Irene, Fester's brilliant ploy to vanquish their foes. Gomez moved behind his wife, sliding his arms around her waist and kissing her hair, taking a brief moment to thank the gods for her safe return. He rarely knew true fear; in fact, putting themselves in what most people would call mortal danger was merely a form of foreplay to him and Morticia. However that night, seeing her helpless and threatened by that awful woman, he had been terrified. But now, thanks to his brother's quick thinking, she was here in his arms, and his family were home. What more could he ask?
Books and papers were strewn across the desks, the floor and the shelves. Coals and ash from the fire smouldered still, burning holes in the once immaculate wooden floors and leather chairs. What a blissful scene. Gomez stroked his fingers absently up and down Morticia's arm, noting with a flash of anger that her dress had been ripped and her skin marked by Tully and Pinderschloss. Her arms, her sides, even her legs were scratched. It wasn't the ripping or the marking itself that angered him; he knew that would have been a source of great pleasure to his beloved. It was the notion that anyone but him had branded her, tortured her lithe body, and on their martial wheel of pain, no less. He growled aloud, and Morticia raised a hand and reached back to caress his cheek. Gomez hoped the children had done a good enough job of nailing those recently-filled coffins shut and filling in the earth around them. Perhaps he shouldn't have given such an important job over to his offspring, but he was an indulgent father, and they had so loved that treat, after such a long day. Well, he reasoned glumly. If Tully and Pinderschloss ever were to re-emerge, he would enjoy his sweet revenge once again.
"It's been a long week, cara mia," he whispered at length, placing a tired kiss on the bare skin of her neck.
Morticia was still gazing at their rack and wheel, lost in thought, and managed only a distracted questioning hum.
"Bed, my love?" Gomez tried again, running his fingers once again down her arm, to grasp her hand in his.
The sensation of Gomez's nails on her lacerated flesh caused Morticia to jolt back to the present, and she leaned back against her husband, a low moan of pain and pleasure escaping her lips.
"Where you do think you're going, Gomez?" she hissed, turning to face him. He was struck for a moment by the change in her demeanour. He had been expected a weary look and a gentle agreement to be carried up those three flights of stairs to their master bedroom. Instead, his querida's eyes were flashing fire, gazing up at him through long lashes, a look he had seen countless times over the years; it never once had failed to drive him wild with anticipation. He knew what that look meant.
"I want to reclaim our instruments of pain, mon sauvage," she whispered against his ear, desire causing a catch in her voice that earned her a carnal groan from her desperate lover. "Leather straps and red hot pokers, I do believe I promised you earlier."
Gomez's body was now pressed so firmly against Morticia's that she could feel the stirring in his loins, the heat of his fine body burning through their clothes and searing her ice cold skin. His hands were tangled in the lace and chiffon of her dress, tearing what little remained in tact of the material, wanting nothing but to remove that obstacle between her body and his adoring lips. Morticia allowed her head to fall back as Gomez bit and kissed across her neck, her hands moving as calmly to undress him as his did desperately to disrobe her. Before long, the mess of papers and ash on the floor was joined by their clothing, mostly ripped and torn. With remarkable presence of mind for one so aroused, Gomez reached behind Morticia to turn the lock in the door. The other members of the household were used to the yells and screams of pleasure that reverberated through the mansion after dark, it is true, but still, he wanted no chance of interruption tonight. Silver moonlight flooded in through the window, illuminating the torture rack on which they had spent many a glorious night. With all thoughts of sleep now fully banished from his mind, Gomez forcefully swung Morticia up into his arms, striding across the smouldering floor, before placing her gently on the rack. With a tenderness quite at odds with the action, he tied the leather straps around her wrists and ankles. Morticia kept her eyes on her savage paramour as he strolled around her prone body, delighting in the way his eyes travelled appreciatively over every inch of bare skin, frowning slightly as he took in the chemise and lace underwear which hid far too much of her from his hungry gaze. He reached out to pull her lingerie away, only to be stopped by a soft command.
"Later, my dearest," Morticia whispered, writhing slightly as she endeavoured to make herself uncomfortable. "If you are to tease me now, tied up and at your mercy, I must have a way to do the same to you."
Gomez swallowed hard. He allowed his fingers to trace along the inside of her thigh, leaving his own marks on her body, overriding everything that had happened that evening, forming new memories for himself and his beloved.
"Corazón," he crooned, placing one hand on the wooden lever of the stretching rack, waiting for the slight nod of her head to give him permission. Even when she was bound and helpless before him she still held him under her spell. He pulled on the lever and thrilled as Morticia whimpered in pleasure, her whole body arching under the tension pulling at her limbs.
"Again, mon amor," she pleaded. Gomez acquiesced, this time eliciting a desperate cry from the lips of his beloved one. His own body was shaking with barely disguised arousal for his dark playmate, and he fell to his knees beside her heavenly form, pressing his lips against hers.
"Te deseo, querida," he managed, his voice broken with lust, his Castilian accent now fully permeating his speech, as it always did when he was close to the edge. He rained down indiscriminate kisses over every inch of her body, half-crazed with his need for his sweet Morticia. Her body bucked and writhed with delight and agony at the love bites he was now leaving on her inner thighs. She adored this hot-blooded Spaniard, craved the way he lost all sense of propriety when they were together. By contrast, when she would dominate him, she would remain cool and collected for far longer than he could manage. Her kisses were loving, tender, following a definite path, usually with the precise intention of teasing and torturing her savage lover, bringing him to the edge of ecstasy a dozen times before allowing him that final bliss.
She was suddenly aware of a lack of contact between them, and voiced her frustrations. Gomez's mouth had been so close to her centre, and she was losing all her notable collectedness, vocally willing him on.
She opened her eyes and spotted him standing by the fire, still burning just enough to heat the end of the poker he held. He leaned against the mantle, trying to feign patience and composure, although his body betrayed his own frustration and lusts. They locked eyes, and no words were needed, although as Morticia wriggled and writhed beneath her restraints, she elicited gentle moans from her husband. At long last, it was ready. He strode back across the library to her side, reaching down to stroke the tousled her from her face. She bit her lip in anticipation as he raised the glowing metal above his head, and forcefully struck the chains that dangled from above. A shower of glowing sparks rained down upon Morticia, searing her skin.
She sighed happily. The longer they both waited, teased and tortured each other, the more unbearably intense the pleasure that awaited them when they finally gave in and came together, this was a fact proved many times over in their marriage. It was going to be a very long night, and she thanked heavens and hell for that.