"Hey, little girl is your daddy home?
Did he go away and leave you all alone?
I got a bad desire..."
—I'm On Fire
Bruce Springsteen
Her husband was, apparently, a talented mixologist. He provided her with drink after drink after drink until she was good and sloshed. Some she downed very quickly— probably too quickly— due to how purely delicious they were. Others she took naught but a sip from before moving on. Bloody Mary's were delicious AND cool-sounding, but she only nursed half the glass away before downing three large shots in a row of something called a "Jolly Green Giant." There was sour sugar on the rim, and it tasted like a green apple jolly rancher. Betelgeuse seemed content to sip at a bottomless glass of scotch, dirty. The man knew what he liked, she would give him that.
Inhibitions were fading. Her head was fuzzy and warm, and whatever discomfort was left over from her "deflowering" had numbed to a point that it might as well have been nonexistent.
"I dun see why you want out so bad, Beej." This was the nickname drunken Lydia had taken to calling him without any permission or agreement whatsoever. She had to call him something, and he hadn't objected yet. "Everything up there is boring n' dumb. There are mermaids here! MERMAIDS! You saw that mermaid, right? Jesus fucking Christ, that's crazy. You're crazy!"
She dissolved into laughter so strong and hearty that the pretty, silky robe he dressed her in started to slip from one of her shoulders, fully exposing the marking bite he'd left on her. It looked large and angry on someone as small and delicate as Lydia.
"But it's okay—" she reassured him at the end of her intoxicated bout of giggles. "We're all mad here. I'm mad, you're mad—"
Again, she fell into laughter, falling back messily onto the mussed bedding in a way that made her air-dried mass of raven curls splay about wildly, as though she had just told a very funny joke.
Watching Lydia slowly get intoxicated was definitely being filed away in the category of things to do more often. She had a surprisingly high tolerance for someone her size, he had to give her that.
He sipped at his scotch contentedly, answering questions and juicing up refills when she asked for them. He made a note that she loved JGG's and that she as happier with sweeter, fruitier drinks. If they were going to spend eternity together he might as well know her drink order.
Then the giggles set in. He couldn't help but chuckle along as she laughed over everything she could think of.
There are mermaids here! MERMAIDS!
"Yeah, baby I've seen the mermaid. Not all she seems, I guarantee ya."
He watched as her robe slipped off one shoulder, in severe danger of revealing one of her soft, lily-white tits and his eyes fixed on the bite mark he'd left the night before. He knew, logically, that he had to watch it. Make sure it didn't get infected. But the rest of him was screaming with pride at just how thoroughly he'd marked her as his.
She fell back into the bedding, rolling with laughter and he joined her, her laughter contagious. He set his glass down and made his way onto the bed, climbing over her, but leaving room for her to object.
"Alright there, Alice… settle down. You have one too many 'Drink Me's? How ya feelin' kitten?"
"I feel good," she purred, smiling and stretching out beneath him with closed eyes before they opened back up and registered how very close he was. She remained unfazed. Her vision was swimming, making his outline double, then triple, then rejoin rapidly. Curiously, she frowned and lifted a searching hand to come pick at a bit of moss congealed near his mouth.
"How come you look like that? Adam and Barbara never got all Night of the Living Dead, and they've been dead for… two years? Three? I dunno… I guess you're like… really, really old, though, right?"
Quite suddenly, it occurred to her that he didn't know anything about her. Not really. Now seemed as appropriate a time as any to infodump.
"I'm sixteen. My birthday is March 8th. I'm a Pisces. My favorite food is Thai, my favorite color is black, I'm a cat person, and I prefer coffee to tea, but tea is still good. I don't have a favorite movie, there's too many. But I like horror. It's the same with music. Too much to pick a favorite, but I like rock and metal."
Satisfied that he now knew everything he needed to know about her ever, she poked him right in the nose as he loomed over her silly, smiling form.
"There. Now you know enough about me to be able to say you love me." Yet again, she laughed, little balls of moisture gathering at the corners of her eyes. "You're so crazy."
He smiled down at her as she stretched out, a sweet little purr leaving her.
I feel good.
He grinned, ready to hear that sweet little sound again. "I bet you do, babes… want me to make it even better?" He leaned down to kiss her but was stopped by the hand at the corner of his mouth.
"Oh. I dunno, babes. Maybe it's 'cause I've been around forever. Maybe it's 'cause I was just buried in dirt. No coffin." He shrugged. "I don't know, don't care,"
Suddenly she started spouting off facts about herself. Several he already knew from back in Winter River, but he let her tell him anyway, smirking down at her as she went on her tirade.
There. Now you know enough about me to be able to say you love me.
"Well if that's all it takes…"He chuckled, leaning down and finally taking a kiss from her laughing mouth. "You're right… I am crazy. Crazy 'bout you."
He thought for a moment before deciding that she hadn't told him anything too serious and he could return the favor.
"I died at 41. Old for my time. Year was 14som'. No idea when my birthday was, but I think some time in October. My favorite normal people food is shepherd's pie. Favorite color's red. Only drink coffee strong enough to raise the dead. Oh, and I am totally in love with this hot little mortal. You might know her. Name's Lydia?"
He ran his hands down her sides, his mind racing with the things he'd learned about his sweet little wife over the last day.
"Say… Lyds. I wanted to ask you about uh… last night. Couldn't help but notice you didn't uh… have anything in my way down there. So to speak."
"I knew it," she exclaimed, dazed honey eyes narrowed on him as though she had him all figured out. "You're a Leo."
He hit all the definitive marks; fierce, arrogant, and stubborn, with a flair for dramatics that easily rivaled her own. That he was physically older than her father at the time of his death was hardly a surprise, but daunting all the same. Luckily, alcohol had left Lydia fearless and without the hindrances of propriety. He wasn't scary. He was silly.
Oh, and I am totally in love with this hot little mortal. You might know her. Name's Lydia?
Every time he reiterated his love for her made her feel warm and fuzzy— but maybe that was just the alcohol. Lydia couldn't tell the difference anymore.
"You don't love me," she giggled some more, still picking at bits of moss on him here and there. It was everywhere. Despite boasting the visage of a rotting corpse, he was solid and stable like a breathing man, and he didn't taste foul like his appearance might lead one to believe. It was all purely cosmetic. "You just have a crush."
Couldn't help but notice you didn't uh… have anything in my way down there.
The drunken girl regarded him with furrowed brows, not quite understanding what he was trying to get at, until comprehension dawned.
"What are you… oh! That…"
Even this many drinks deep, Lydia was able to recognize that he was asking about something that she never talked about. Not with her parents, not with Adam and Barbara, and most certainly not with any friends— not that she had any.
"Same old story. You've prolly heard it a hundred times. Mommy's boyfriend touched me at night. Boo hoo hoo." She laughed again, the light-hearted sound far, far too isolated from the sheer evil of the scene she was painting for him. "It's all very sad, I know. I should probably be in therapy or something… Whatever."
"Hey! You don't know. Maybe it's much more 'n a crush. I did marry ya after all, kitten." He teased, enjoying the lighthearted way she laughed and giggled over his confessions.
When her face fell and she started to tell him about her lack of maidenhead he frowned, listening closely.
Same old story? Absolutely not. He pressed closer, a scowl coming over him. "Your mom's boyfriend? What'd'ya mean by touched ya? He had to have done more'n that."
He could feel his proverbial blood begin to boil. How could her mother allow that? This was only solidifying his decision to seek the woman out on his own first. It sounded to him like she might need a little reminder that her daughter was a treasure, not a toy.
He rubbed easy, slow circles onto her hip as she spoke, brushing her robe aside to get to her skin.
"Whatever he did I wanna know. You gonna tell me?" He was making a mental list. Charles and Delia, her mother, this asshole that had hurt Lydia when she was small. Too small to know what was happening, from the sounds of it. They'd all get what was coming to them sooner or later.
The ghoul had kept his hands on her for so much of the night that she didn't even notice when crimson silk slipped aside to allow him full sight and trespass of her flesh, the loose knot on the flimsy thing falling loose.
"Ha," she derided sharply, gaze unfocused and far away. "You'd be better off asking what he didn't do. Shorter list."
The boogeyman's name hadn't passed her lips in many years, and she wasn't about to let it slip now, not that Lydia would even remember this conversation come morning.
"Mommy liked her drugs, and he always made sure to give her enough to keep her out. I don't… remember much…" she trailed off, a look of severe concentration falling over her features as though she was trying very hard to summon the heinous details Betelgeuse was asking for.
"He made me touch him… with my hands, and my mouth…. He did… what you did last night…" A bit of clarity returned to her, long enough for sweet Lydia to reassure one monster that he wasn't like the other. "But it wasn't the same," she rushed, caressing his cheek as though afraid she had hurt his feelings. "We have a deal. I'm grown up. I was little back then."
Horrible giggles took her again, but these lacked any of the warmth or joy of her previous inebriated outbursts.
"Mom loved him so much. He used to bring me toys and treats and she thought it was so cute— that he was such a good 'Dad.' By the time they arrested her, she was so fucked in the head I don't know if she ever knew the truth. I guess I can ask her soon, huh?"
Anger boiled under his skin. Come on baby, gimme a name so I can destroy the bastard! But she didn't. She simply fell into more giggles.
He pushed his anger aside in favor of a new determination. He was going to make sure that he replaced every awful memory with a new, more pleasant one.
"We do have a deal. But I hoped you liked it too… didn't ya feel good last night?"
He dropped his lips on to her collar bone, kissing gently as his hands found her thighs. "I wanna make you feel real good, kitten… wanna make sure you never gotta think about that asshole again. Can y'let me do that for ya?"
"I think I liked it," she murmured, falling into that look of severe concentration again— remembering— before plush, cold lips started mouthing along her collarbone. Her lashes fluttered and countenance smoothed, pale rosebud lips forming a perfect little "o" shape.
"Y-yeah… felt good…"
What were they just talking about? The past several minutes were a blur, the girl incapable of holding onto any concept for too long in her current state. Ragged claws drew searching lines up the outside of her thighs, her husband's intent perfectly clear, and Lydia lost interest completely in trying to dwell on the past. There were much more interesting things to focus on in the now.
"I wanna make you feel real good, kitten… wanna make sure you never gotta think about that asshole again. Can y'let me do that for ya?"
"Who?" The ends of his wiry hair brushed just below her chin, making her titter and arch away from the tickling sensation, unwittingly lifting the bounty of her bared breasts that much closer to his mouth. "You're so crazy, Beej…"
Who?
Oh, that was nice. He chuckled against her skin, mouthing across her chest until he found the soft pebbled flesh of her nipple. He sucked at it firmly, his hands slipping under her to hold onto her plump rear.
"Mmm. True. But I have no doubts out can keep up with my crazy, princess…"
His lips wandered to her other side, lazily circling his tongue over her before carrying on, mouthing in the valley between her breasts and down over her firm stomach until he reached what he was really looking for.
"You good with this again? Maybe you should tell me what you wanna try… this is all about you, gorgeous." Except the parts that are about me. He reached for his crotch, tugging at it to relieve some of the pressure gathered there, but not making any moves to withdraw his aching cock. Even as drunk as she was, he wanted to make sure she felt good before anything else.
He laved his tongue over her belly teasingly, nipping at her pale skin just hard enough for her to feel. "Tell ol' Beej what you want, Lyds…"
"I'm not crazy," she pouted in hypocritical indignation, idly pawing through his rotten mass of hair as he suckled and nibbled all across her chest. Why would he call her that? "You're crazy."
"Princess" was a similarly ridiculous thing to call her, but Lydia would let it fly. Clearly, pet names were non-negotiable in this deal of theirs. With patient, gentle motions that thinly veiled a more adamant hunger, he mapped out the sweeping contours of her body with gentle, open-mouthed kisses that made her shiver and burn all at once. When he paused just above the apex of her thighs to lathe and nip across her lower belly, reiterating that this was about her and what she wanted, Lydia's already fuzzy mind blanked.
It wasn't as though she hadn't wandered across the internet and discovered pornography before. She was at the very least aware of the semantics of sex and various kinks, but by no means could she be called educated. Rougher scenes titillated her; tied up, blindfolded girls getting their long, pretty hair pulled by hulking masculine figures, all the while feeding them droves of thick, veiny cock as they abused their helpless forms. However, drunk and shy as she was, Lydia didn't have the proper words to convey her curiosity about such depictions to the perverted ghoul at her service.
While it was true that his brutish handling scared her at first, and absolutely left her sore— practically invalid— Lydia had found it satisfying that she had been able to give him that kind of joy. It shot up her tragic ego, helped to chip away at the iron-clad concept others had worked hard at carving into her psyche over the years; that she was disgusting boy-repellant, that no one would ever want her, that she should just give up hope and spare the rest of humanity her existence. His pleasure was her pleasure. What she may or may not have wanted paled in comparison to the validation of giving him what he wanted.
"I like…" she hesitated, thinking, and he took the opportunity to scrape his teeth carefully across a sensitive bit of flesh just below her ribs, a happy growl building in his chest. The sound of it warmed her almost as much as the sensual gesture. "I like… making you happy… when you smile and call me pretty… I like that…"
He grinned against her soft skin as she thought over his question. He could see that there was a lot happening in that mind of her, but nothing made it out of her mouth, only the soft, murmured words about making him happy.
He chuckled darkly, sliding up to sit between her thighs. "Mmm. Well, you're gonna get that, kitten. Because you're fuckin' gorgeous. Never had nobody like you, sweetness." He pulled her hips roughly, all but slamming her core against him as he rolled his hips, making sure she could feel what she was doing to him. "How's this for happy?"
He had an idea, then, and a sickening grin spread over his face. "Hmm. Here's a thought, baby." He gently guided her onto her front, pulling the tie of her robe free and bringing her hands up to the small of her back. With a nudge, he had her on her knees, her ass invitingly up in the air on full display. He wrapped the silky tie around her wrists, weaving them between her hands and tying them off, placing an end in each of her hands.
"There we go, beautiful… if ya pull nice 'n hard the knot should come loose. How's that feel? Too tight?" He didn't really care, his hands already roaming her body again. His fingers trailed down the edges of her ribcage, into the soft flesh of her waist and onward until he was caressing her ass, one cheek in each hand.
"You are…. so fuckin' sexy, Lyds… Jesus." His hand came down sharply on one side, the slap sound it made echoing in the room pleasantly. "I'm gonna tear you up, sweet girl…."
Lydia allowed him to position her to his liking with little direction necessary, no objection to be found as he weaved the long ribbon of silk in a complicated pattern around her wrists to keep her bound. She was intrigued, to say the least. How did he know? Did he read her mind? She couldn't remember ever watching porn up in the attic back when he was spying on her, but maybe she did? Maybe this was one of those things he alluded to being "into" and this was all pure coincidence.
"No' too tight," she disclosed shakily, half of her burning face plastered into the bedding without use of her arms to push her up. The short robe slipped down over her deeply arched back, leaving her smooth, unmarked backside entirely bare for his perusal. The plush, soft padding of her inner thighs was marked dark purple from his ruthlessly rutting hips the previous night, but the swell of her lily white ass was a blank canvas ready to be painted.
Though it shouldn't have, the first slap disarmed her, making her mewl at the sharp, not entirely unpleasant sting. Almost immediately, a red imprint in the shape of his hand began to surge and make itself seen. Unwittingly, her fingers flexed, releasing the ends of the knot to her salvation, but Lydia wasn't worried. He would stop if she wanted him to. Probably. She was so wobbly from alcohol intake that he had to spread her knees wider to make sure she didn't topple off to the side, in doing so revealing the hot, pink slit between her thighs that was the object of his fascination. A short, soft tuft of raven curls coated the area, marking her youth.
Then, he did it again, on the opposite cheek this time, the plump flesh jiggling under the heavy weight of his palm. And again. And again. Over and over, alternating sides and increasing in furor until her backside was almost as red as her robe and hot to the touch, confused, twisted cries of pain and pleasure falling from her lips with each slap. Consequently, that little pink opening— tight and inflamed from the abuse it endured during her "deflowering"— quivered and dripped, a thin stream of arousal leaking down over her bruised inner thighs.
One last time, his arm swung through the air to land a hearty smack to her right cheek, making her shriek and writhe, but he didn't repeat the motion, instead rubbing his chilled, calloused hands across the mistreated flesh indulgently, as if proud of his work.
"Ahhh," she hissed at the sensation, features pinched in a combination of confusing sensations. The hyper contrast was almost painful but much more than that it was soothing, like a mother kissing a scraped knee. "No more," she begged when his hand retreated, robbing her of the nice, good touch. "Hurts."
"What a good girl, you are baby…. Look at you, all spread out for me." His hand connected with her soft flesh repeatedly, his cock jumping at the way her flesh jerked and jiggled under his abuse. Her soft white skin went from pink to rose and straight to a bright red that made him eager to see the bruising it would leave behind.
No more… Hurts.
He pulled his hands away from her ass, looking over his handiwork discerningly. One more. His hand connected with the underside of her left cheek, hard enough to rock her hips forward and he snickered, his hand rubbing soothingly over the angry flesh.
His fingers worked inward, sliding over her dripping core and teasing over her slit. He licked his lips, shifting to where he was sure she could see him before licking his fingers hungrily. "Mmm. Delicious." He grinned down at her, catching sight of the fact that she'd lost the ends of her ties. Oops! So much for freeing herself.
He slipped out of his boxers, taking hold of himself and stroking firmly. He tangled his hand in her long, dark hair and pulled, sitting her up and tipping her head back obscenely. "I think it's time to learn a new skill, sugar. You ready?"
The world spun, tilting on its axis as he took firm grip of the hair at the base of her neck and pulled, further and further, until her knees spread obscenely wide to accommodate her, her abused ass was seated on the soles of her feet, and her mouth was level with the burgeoning tip of his cock, slowly pumping into his fist and already leaking for her. Thick, dark lashes fluttered while she tried to stabilize her vision, arching and pressing her elbows into the mattress for balance.
He had complete control. The only way that fat cock would be breaching her lips was if he pressed forward and gave it to her. She couldn't grab hold of him, draw her head any nearer or farther. In an odd way, his overwhelming dominance was a source of comfort. She didn't have to worry about whether or not she was doing anything wrong, moving too fast or too slow. If every move was up to him, she couldn't make any mistakes or suffer any consequences.
You ready?
Rather than giving a verbal answer, she stretched as far as she possibly could, forcing the fist in her hair to pull and send a shot of pleasure down her spine, and extended her short, pink human tongue to kiss very lightly against him and catch a drop of precum. She could do this. It was okay. Eager for more of that addictive, growling praise, she lashed her scorching tongue against him again, only to fall just short of hitting her goal and only tasting air. That probably looked dumb. Stupid. Embarrassed, she flushed dark and frowned, closing her eyes to his impending teasing.
That sweet pink tongue flickering out to touch the tip of his cock made him shiver, his eyes going dark where he looked down at her, arching back so deliciously. "Fuck. Y'look so pretty like this, Lydia… Just can' get enough can ya?"
Her little tongue flickered out again and he pulled back, watching as she laved at the air, her eagerness making his cock twitch excitedly.
The rush of power that having her like this gave him was addicting. Her pretty shoulders were arched back, the effort of holding herself up without her hands making her body taught. He licked his lips, his hand pulling tighter at her encouragement and bringing the tip of his cock to her pink lips.
He ran the leaking head over her lips, keeping his hold on her hair firm. "Your pretty lips're gonna look so good wrapped around my cock, princess… go ahead. Show me what you can do."
Well. Lydia didn't know what she could do, so it looked like they were both about to find out. Soft and tentative, she parted her cum-slicked lips to let his fat head fall heavily into her mouth. His flavor was salty, with just a tinge of sweetness that Lydia didn't mind at all. For a split-second, she was thrown back years and years ago, to a dark night and a locked room so very different from this one.
It's like a popsicle, Lyddie… You just lick it a little… Mm… Just like that…
Unfortunately, it was not like a popsicle. This one was, though. It was cold on her tongue, just like the rest of him, and the precum leaking from him in a seemingly constant flow burst deliciously across her tastebuds. "No teeth!" SLAP! The harsh, fuzzy memory kept her suckling at him gently, using her tongue and soft cheek muscles to manipulate the rigid girth away from her molars. His was so big and her mouth was so tiny, he was only just barely able to fit the first inch of the shaft past his bulging head into the searing cavern of her mouth.
When it came nudging at the back of her throat, rather than gag, Lydia swallowed, making her cushiony cheek muscles go taut and tight around him, his fat, leaking momentarily blocking her airways as it nestled comfortably between her tonsils. Then, she released, panting and sucking in air around the thick obstruction.
"MMmmf—!" A tiny, distressed noise was muffled around his girth as the girl tried her best to accommodate him. Judging by the happy, beastly noises he was emitting, she wasn't doing too terrible of a job.
The sensation of her plush lips around him sent him into a headspin. He growled as she took him in, one hand sliding to the back of her neck to help support her. "Fuck, that's good…" Her gentle sucking did little to dissuade him from taking as he desired.
He eased himself deeper, testing just how deep she could take him and was pleased to find that she didn't gag as the fleshy head of his cock met the smooth muscle at the back of her throat. He cursed, tugging at her hair just hard enough to keep her present. It wouldn't do for her to slip on him now.
She pulled away to breathe and he praised her, running his hand through her dark hair and murmuring about how good she felt around him. He couldn't help himself for long, though and quickly had his length shoved back into her throat, groaning loudly. "Jesus, Lyds… that's my good girl.. you're doin' real good, princess… little further…" He pressed at the back of her head, rolling his hips against her face slowly.
Satisfied, he tightened his hand back into her hair, using his handhold there to guide her back and forth, bobbing into his lap at a leisurely pace. "Now… now'm gonna fuck your throat, kitten." Good to his word, his pace increased, the tight squeeze of her around him only spurring him on.
Lydia was intimidated, to say the least, but grateful for the warning. It gave her the notice necessary to relax her throat and allow his length to pop past that tight ring of muscle the next time he drew her head back onto him. He wasn't moving at all, settled quite comfortably and bobbing her head at his leisure— practically using her as a sex doll. Lydia didn't mind. She felt so useful and loved and beautiful, never mind that everything was spinning again, most likely from oxygen deprivation as well as intoxication.
Why did she hate those nicknames of his again? She couldn't recall. Grunting and eager, he fed more and more of that dripping cock down her throat, until her jaw was stretched wide around the meaty base, silken lips pressed tight to the growth of mossy, white-blonde pubic hair that feathered his groin. That heavy sack of his was drawn up tight to rest against her nose and forehead. He stayed there for just a moment, huffing like a breather, savoring the sensation of every centimeter of his cock wrapped up in the tight, soft, beautiful heat of her mouth and throat.
In an attempt to adjust to the foreign choking sensation, she swallowed again, able to feel every ridge and bump as she went. He groaned, and then he was gone, lost in the euphoria of the infernal warm pleasure her mouth provided. In an instant, he was gripping either side of her head with both hands and pulling her back and forth along him furiously, from root to tip. He couldn't last long like this— and neither could she, in truth— fucking his beautiful, inexperienced, teenage wife's throat as eagerly as he would her pussy, and her just taking it like a "good girl."
It wasn't long before he lodged himself as deep as he could go, released her head, and grasped her nearby tits instead, squeezing painfully tight as he busted thick ropes of cum down her throat.
As the head of his cock popped past the tight ring of muscles in her throat, he moaned, his hand coming to her throat where he could feel his cock moving under her pale skin. He was doomed to a short finish from the start, the mere sight of her bent over herself and stuffed on his cock making his balls draw up in anticipation.
As he fell over the edge he cursed, pulling and squeezing at her little tits, his hips jerking him in and out of her throat, he grunted. "Good girl.. fuck, that's it. Good girl…" He stayed there a long moment until he could feel her throat start to struggle and squirm in desperate need of air. He carefully withdrew himself, helping her straighten out as oxygen returned to her system.
"There we go, princess…. wasn't that good? Sure as hell's good for me." He pressed his lips to her neck, easily sealing himself against her back. Still hard, his cock rubbed teasingly at her still-red ass, his hands roaming from her tits to her hips and back before settling on her thighs, one thumb rubbing slow circles over her clit. Her bound hands bumped against the sensitive head of his cock, making it jump excitedly against her smooth skin.
"Mmm… look at you. All soaked just from suckin' me off? You really are a dream, angel… Let Daddy take care o'ya… " He nipped at her shoulder gently, rocking against her harder. "What's our record… let's see… you got three last night, right? Oh, we can beat that… easy."
Lydia was gasping and red-faced, still choking down remnants of his cum as he sat her upright and pulled her against him to murmur praise at her neck, kissing and stroking, that thick cock rutting up rudely between her glowing ass cheeks.
Wasn't that good?
"You taste like whip cream… I did okay…?" She panted, still recovering from the experience and searching for validation. "I didn't bite you?"
For some reason, it was imperative that she knew she didn't accidentally maim the already dead man— who seemed perfectly content and uninjured as he continued to molest her, whispering gutturally low and stroking the sopping area between her thighs. Her words slurred, and if he weren't propping her up she likely would have toppled over and face planted, not that he would have complained. His promise— threat— to beat the previous night's record, however, made her whine and shake her head in protest.
"Nuh-uh," she objected half-heartedly, working her sweat-slicked body against him contrarily, running on instinct and inebriated gumption. "Three's too much."
Lydia was hard-pressed to remember much, but she remembered how intense their previous romp had been, how dedicated he was to bringing her to completion multiple times. Was this some sort of pride thing? She was likely to shatter to pieces if he pressed her any further than that.
You taste like whipped cream...
He chuckled, the outburst surprisingly innocent and playful considering the events that had just transpired.
I did okay? I didn't bite you?
"What? No, baby… you did just perfect. I'm impressed that you didn't gag… you did real good, kitten." He continued his mouth's exploration of her back, his fingers teasing over the tight entrance of her pussy. As she objected to his plans to beat the previous night's record he simply chuckled.
It was cute that she thought she got to choose. He could leave her overworked and oversensitive if he wanted to. And oh, did he want to.
One thick, grimy finger worked its way into her, making him groan against her skin at how tight she still was. "Goodness… you're soaked, little girl… You want daddy to do something about this? Hmm? You know you do… I'll make you feel so good."
He shifted his hips, letting his cock slide between her legs and tease over her swollen lips slowly, his finger still working within her. "Say it… tell me you want it…"
"Uhmm… ah— ah—"
His initial intrusion, slow and gentle as it truly was, stung just a bit but not so much as to overpower the delicious, pleasurable stretch. Blindly, she tugged at her bound arms, wishing to wrap them back around his neck for further purchase, only to remember that they were, in fact, bound. Alcohol was funny like that. She couldn't hold on to any concept for too long, wouldn't even be able to hold herself upright without his assistance. How did she end up tied up like this? Did she let him? She must have. It's what made the most sense. If not, she'd be angrier… right?
In either case, the most pressing matter at the moment was his meaty finger sliding in and out of her entrance ever-so-slowly, gently fucking her abused pussy. His cock was there too; pressing and pushing just behind his hand, waiting its turn.
Say it… tell me you want it…
Would obeying him make that torturous ache go away? Or would he only make it worse? Still, she couldn't deny that she did want it. Pushing her hips back onto his thrusting hand as best she could with her hindrances wasn't enough. She needed something more. Something bigger and thicker.
"Please…" She begged, a head of mussed raven hair falling back against his shoulder as she bounced just so on his finger. "Please give it to me. I wannit."
He growled, his finger pressing deeper still as she begged him for his cock. He could get used to this. "Good girl… here we go, sweetness."
His finger pulled away from her tight hole in favor of gripping her hip. He put his other hand to the back of her neck, pushing until she bent at the waist. He kept her hips back against him, groaning as he took in the smooth expanse of her back. He hiked her hips up, putting her back in the position they'd started in and teased the head of his cock over her, barely pressing in before moving on again.
He grinned, licking his lips as he watched his cock leak precum onto her hungrily. "Little more, kitten… go ahead and beg for me. What do you say when you want something, princess?" He wrapped her long hair slowly around his hand, fully prepared to use it to his advantage. "Come on. Beg."
"I already did!" She whined petulantly into the blanket, tossing her head to whip her copious hair out of her face. "You're not nice…"
Why was he being so mean? Didn't she do what she was supposed to do? Why wasn't it good enough? Keening desperately, she pushed her hips back against him until his drooling cock was in danger of pressing into her tight, wet heat prematurely.
"Pleeeeaaaasseee," she drawled with a put upon dramaticism, pouting and fluttering her lashes in a girlish way— very much like a cartoon female using her feminine wiles to get her way. "Pretty, pretty please with sugar on top?"
He grimaced at her overdone begging, one hand coming down on her ass roughly. Theone tangled in her hair pulled, roughly, until her back arched. "Naughty thing… You can do better than that. But it can wait." He mouthed over her neck gently. "I can always just make ya beg for me t'stop…"
He grinned, tugging at her long dark locks and he slid into her slowly. He cursed, his head falling back. "Goddamn, you're tight…How are ya still so tight?" He pressed until he was inside her to the root, circling his hips against her sore ass roughly.
"I'm gonna getcha to call me Daddy, you know… I'm gonna have you screamin' it soon enough, babe…"
A lovely little shriek filled the air when his palm came down, inflicting another cruel slap to her heated backside. She probably could beg better than that, but who could say? Certainly not Lydia, who was given everything she ever asked for without second thought from her father and Delia. She never did ask for much. Begging just wasn't a skill yet in her repertoire.
"Oh, Beej! OH— oh God—"
Stubborn to a fault— or maybe just fucked oblivious, there was no telling— his poor, ravaged wife had yet to give him what he asked for. The "D" word. "Baby," she uttered on a powerful lunge of his hips that swung his sack into her thighs so hard her bruises throbbed, and still she didn't give it up. That fist in her hair curled and pulled until she thought her neck would snap, and still, her lips defaulted, giving him a choked;
"Betel— geuse—"
He growled, his hold on her tightening. "Not what I asked for, little girl." She was being contrary on purpose and it wouldn't stand.
His hips pounding against her, his hand flew to her mouth as his name slipped past. "Ah ah ah… don' wanna ruin the fun, princess." He nibbled at the back of her neck a moment before adjusting his grip, his hand now on her bound wrists as he picked up the pace.
Holding her tight, his hips moved at full pace, soft grunts and groans leaving him as he worked her over, her face pressed into the mattress. "Come on baby…. you know you wanna…" His thumb snuck down to circle her clit, driving her onward. When he felt she was starting to get close he pulled away completely and waited until she really wanted it thrust back in.
He maintained this pattern of denial for quite some time. The look on her face as he pounded into her into the bed. "Come on, kitten… just one. Ones all I need, Lyds… fuckin' hell… you feel so good, baby. Come for daddy…"
"FUCK!"
What did he want from her!? He was a madman, attacking her relentlessly with savage thrusts that made her scream for him, long strings of barely intelligible shrieks that sounded like a combination of his name and naughty words a good girl like Lydia ought not to be saying. Finally, he showed mercy, growling out the word that had been escaping her, the word he so clearly wanted.
Come for Daddy….
It was so obvious, she immediately felt like the silliest, stupidest girl in the world and went to work overcompensating.
"Daddy!" She pled, breathless, each muscle wound up tight, aching for her impending release. "Please— oh please, please, please, Daddy—! Make me come, Daddy! I— fuck— God— daddy— AH!"
This did the trick. He abandoned her clit entirely, drawing a pitiful mewl up that come-slicked throat. He found better use in digging his claws into her hips so hard it would leave a set of bruises to counter the angle of the ones she earned the previous night. His other hand remained tangled at the base of her skull, pulling tight and to the side, until her neck and shoulders were just as tightly wound as the rest of her body. Firmly anchored, he pressed the entirety of his superior weight forward over her, crushing her into the mattress, and took up a punishing, supernatural pace. Each quick, powerful thrust hit deep within her, until a hot gush of arousal burst forth from her, soaking the area where they were joined, his continued furious fucking making the liquid drip down each of their thighs.
All the while, she repeated "Daddy" like a sacred mantra, beginning with a series of siren shrieks that calmed to euphoric whispers as her orgasm subsided and body surrendered, going limp to his mistreatment.
There it was.
He growled as she screamed for him, his hands tight in her skin as he worked her through her orgasm. The rush of her coming was like a drug. As her screams died down he couldn't help but tighten his hand in her hair, keeping her tight against him.
"Good girl, Lydia…. fuck you're so good." His hips didn't stop, beating out a brutal pace of shallow, deep thrusts. "Fuck, princess… I'm gonna cum."
Good to his word he rocked forward, nearly toppling them as he thrust a few last especially rough times. He moaned her name as he tipped over the edge, lathing his tongue over her neck as he shot rope after rope of cum into her. "Fuck, Lyds….."
As the night proceeded, the pretty silk ribbon Betelgeuse used to bind her had tightened the harder she struggled. It wouldn't leave any marks too bad, just several thin lashes of pink round those itty bitty snow-white wrists. However, with her neck and shoulders stiff, hands numbing, and a thick cock embedded deep as it could go inside of her to lathe her womb with a fresh wash of cold, dead seed— Lydia was beginning to feel very uncomfortable indeed.
There was finally a moment of stillness where she could attempt to make sense of the world around her and catch a breath. The ghoul was heaving over her as if on the verge of a heart attack, that round, hairy gut pushing her subjugated arms awkwardly into her sweaty back. She still wore the robe, but all the vigorous fucking had bunched it up into a thin scrap that only covered her biceps and shoulder blades.
"I don't," she panted, shifting pitifully beneath his oafish form, "I don't… wannabe… tied up anymore…"
He was seeing stars as he emptied inside her, bent over her back as his hips stilled their stuttering thrusts.
He groaned and pressed his forehead to the nape of her neck as he caught his breath. Why did he have to catch his breath?
He had little time to dwell on it however, with his sweet, tiny wife squirming beneath him. He pushed himself off of her with a grunt, easing himself from her sore, dripping cunt.
I don't wanna be tied up anymore.
"Sorry, princess… my bad." He carefully I did the silk binding her wrists, pulling them one at a time to his mouth. He kissed over the red marks her bondage had left, rubbing his thumb over her soft skin.
"You did so good, Lydia… thank you. This was… y'didn't have t'let me do that to ya."
As soon as she was freed, Lydia collapsed into a pile of perfectly fucked wife, only vaguely aware of him turning and tending to her. Her back, neck, shoulders, and backside were especially aching, making her long for another soak in that jacuzzi. Tomorrow. It was too hot. A light sheen of sweat coated that alabaster flesh, dappled rosy and violet in places to record where he had touched. Lydia didn't want to wear the robe anymore, but couldn't possibly summon the wherewithal to peel it off.
Did he just say "thank you"?
"Beej," his nickname rolled off her tongue slow and saccharine, honey eyes closed and breaths deep, the girl already half gone from the waking realm, "you're welcome. I didn' know you had manners." Soft, breathless giggles with a musical lilt jostled her chest. "Dun worry. I won' tell anyone."
He stuck his tongue out at her playfully, pinching her side playfully. "Hey, stop talkin' shit. I ain't got any manners and you know it." He settled in on his side beside her, his hand wandering over her pale, incandescent skin. "But really. How ya feelin'? You wanna 'Nother drink?"
He continued his gentle petting, mentally taking stock of where was the most beaten up and therefore off-limits for the time being. He didn't want to hurt her permanently, after all.
He chuckled softly at the way she splayed out, her robe barely clinging to her now. He banished it swiftly, rolling to lay half-way on top of her, mouthing gently at her neck. "You were so good, kitten… I can't get over how good ya are for me… I'm the luckiest bastard in existence."
"Noo…" She moaned when he pinched her very ticklish ribs, arching away weakly only to be quickly calmed by his gentle petting. "I don' think… I shouldn' drink anymore…"
He was going to be a bad influence on her. Touch starved, more than ready to accept the affection he had to give in the wake of such animalistic brutality, she hugged him gently when he came to taste her throat and growl sweet things in her ear. His mouth was still so hungry as he kept at her, lathing that bite from their first time. As if attempting to soothe a savage beast, she flattened her palm along the top of his mess of wild, moss-ridden hair, mimicking the way he was plying his claws at the base of her neck.
"M'tired… I can' … Please no more… Too much…"
He was pleased to feel her dainty hand in his hair, his lips growing slightly more hungry before she was pulling at him.
Too much…
He pulled away with a sigh, giving up on his continued adoration of all things Lydia's body.
He flopped onto his back, pulling her closer with one arm and scratching at his round, heavy stomach with the other. "Right, right, right… sorry, kitten. Daddy jus' can't get enough o'ya." He ran his fingers through her hair, flipping the television on with a nod of his head. "Get some rest, sweet girl, tomorrow we gotta find us a house. I got some ideas, but since… you know. You gotta live there too…"
He shrugged. This was one of those kind, loving things he found himself doing far too often with his little human wife. "Anyway. It'll be a good time if nothin' else."