"We're sick like animals,
We play pretend,
You're just a cannibal,
And I'm afraid I won't get out alive,
No, I won't sleep tonight."
—Animals
Neon Trees/Chase Holfeider
He couldn't help the way his hands roamed over her. She was gorgeous. He wanted her. Desperately. But then again he had for quite some time. Adam's model had seen things at Lydia's hand that no hobbyist ever wanted to know.
He pressed a kiss to her neck gently. "You look incredible, Lydia… I'm a lucky sonofa I tell ya…" He guided her to the aisle and started toward the priest. "You bet your ass! Make this fox my wife already so I can ravage 'er." He was all but bouncing on his feet. Freedom was coming his way. And through all of it he'd have his perfect Lydia at his side. There was nowhere else for her to be after all.
The service was extremely short. Not much past "Do you"s and before he knew it he was looking into those deep, dark chocolate eyes of hers and saying 'I do'.
"And you…. Lydia Deetz… do you take this man to be your husband?"
He watched her closely, worried she might try to back out again. He held her tightly by the waist, making sure she couldn't budge if she wanted to. He waited patiently but damn it why was she taking so long. Maybe it was just him.
His kiss to her neck barely even registered. There were no vows, no "Dearly beloved's". Every formality was swept aside just as irresponsibly as Lydia was brushing aside the nagging voice of reason telling her to call his name and put an end to all this nonsense. Despite the dispassionate brusqueness of the ceremony, it seemed to drag and drag for an eternity. Each syllable fell achingly slow from the priest's dark, bloodless lips, not quite hitting her ears right. Did Betelgeuse just say "I do" to her? He was looking at her and talking, but what he was saying seemed… unimportant.
Then, there was silence. Everyone was staring. Was she supposed to do something? What did they want?
"I… I do?" She offered hesitantly, giving the only line that made sense. It appeared to satisfy. Father No Name rolled his eyes, as if bored and exasperated by the entire experience, before moving on with the finale.
"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."
Here, Lydia tensed all over— never mind that he'd had his hands on her all night. Kissing was different. Intimate. Special. She wasn't ready, didn't want to give over this last piece of herself. The pale pink line of her mouth shuddered as though she might cry again, but her eyes remained dry. No more tears, not now. He could have them later.
Holy shit she did it. He couldn't remember the last time he was this genuinely happy. Nevermind that his bride was shivering beside him as she said her 'I do'. He was officially a married man! Lydia Deetz was his wife. His long reptilian tongue darted across his lips as he turned to her, pulling her in tight against him.
"Deal's a deal, sweetheart. Pleasure workin' with ya."
He didn't hesitate, simply pulled her in by the back of her neck, crushing his lips to hers. She was so warm. So sweet. His hand at the back of her skull held her tightly in place, pulling at long dark tresses as he thoroughly staked his claim on his wife. After a moment he remembered that breathers had to… well. Breathe. He pulled away from her, a thin trail of saliva connecting them as he grinned.
"God damn, baby girl. You're gonna be a handful, huh? Worth it."
He took her hand and made for the door, already eager to find a place for them to be alone. Hundreds of filthy ideas were filtering through his mind.
This wasn't a kiss. This couldn't be what normal kissing was like with normal boys. This was mouth fucking. His tongue was long and thick, almost too big for the space it was trying to occupy, slithering and knotting around her own, crowding behind her teeth and tickling at the back of her throat. At least he didn't taste too terrible. There was that familiar flavor of sweet tobacco, as well as notes of dark liquor and something else she would probably never have a name for.
Just as she was beginning to get light-headed from lack of oxygen, he parted from her, having left her lips puffy, slick with saliva, and bruised.
Gonna be a handful, huh?
He was talking like he thought they'd be together for a while. That was no good. How long did he intend on keeping her as his whore before fulfilling his end of the bargain? The unnatural warmth in her gut that Lydia wasn't quite mature enough to have a name for subsided to make way for dread as he pulled her along from the chapel impatiently.
"I'm tired," she informed matter-of-factly, in case he'd forgotten that she was only human and subject to human follies. His energy levels were shooting through the roof, the ghoul taken with impatience and glee and victory. She simply wouldn't be able to keep up with him. "Where are we going?"
"Tired? You don't wanna go an' celebrate?" He smirked, leaning close as his voice dropped low and he purred into her ear. "Or you just wanna celebrate somewhere private?"
He pulled her back against him before blinking them to a hotel nearby. One of the more reputable.
"Don't worry, don't worry babes. I'm not about to keep you up all night. Just most of it." He waved to the doorman who let them in with a roll of his eyes. "I know a guy." He explained, leaning down to talk to her on her level. There was a woman behind the front desk who staggered backward at the sight of him, quickly gathering a key and tossing it his way.
"Mr. Juice." She greeted. He beamed at her, Lydia still pressed to his side.
"Hey there, Doris. You go ahead and tell the boss I'm here for my honeymoon, huh?"
Room key in hand he couldn't get Lydia upstair fast enough. He urged her on with pinches and wandering hands, finally stopping his tirade when they were safely inside the hotel room. He licked his lips, locking the door behind them and looking her over.
"You outta keep that dress, kitten. Ya look like sin on wheels." He approached her steadily, smirking to himself. "Now… come to daddy…"
Just as she had all night long, Lydia allowed him to muscle her this way and that until they were alone in the honeymoon suite. The time had come for her to pay the piper. By unfortunate accident, she found herself standing at the foot of the bed as he made quick work of closing the distance between her and the locked door. Frozen in sudden terror as the reality of what was about to happen seemed to finally click, Lydia was incapable of doing little more than trembling in the inappropriate, uncomfortable tall heels he'd conjured for her.
"I-it's pretty," she complimented the gown tremulously as he approached, thinking he might be inclined to be kinder to her if she flattered his choices. In truth, she had no intention of ever wearing it again. Clawed hands came to grasp her hips almost gently, and Lydia could feel his gaze burning down at her though she wasn't brave enough to meet it, instead focusing on the swell of his Adam's apple at the center of his thick throat.
"I'm not—" she began to warn him once more, pale hands clutching at the watery crimson silk that coated her thighs, "— I don't know how to do this."
The confession came small and pathetic, a painful whimper poisoning the air of the lavishly decorated room. She knew he fucked his way through the whorehouse of thumbelinas, as well as countless other bordellos she didn't know anything about. His expectations were sure to be astronomical. She didn't have wide hips or bountiful breasts like those women. She wasn't informed or experienced. She wasn't anything special or valuable. What was he possibly hoping to gain from a romp with her? What if she didn't— couldn't— live up to his fantasies? Would he get mad? The prospect sent another shot of cold terror down her spine.
"Please don't hurt me."
"I don't know how to do this."
Oh, his poor virginal bride. He really didn't know where the terror she possessed for him came from. After all, through everything that happened in Winter River, he'd never once harmed a hair on her head. And it was such pretty hair too.
He pressed his cheek to it now, carefully resting his head atop hers.
"Please don't hurt me."
"Oh, kitten… hey. It's alright… I gotcha. Listen, I got a lot of stuff I'm into but we're gonna start nice 'n easy. Okay?" The last thing he wanted now that their souls were bound was her running for the hills. That wouldn't be fun for anyone involved.
He ran one grubby hand up her neck to caress her face, smiling down at her. He was about ready to bust out of those tux pants but it could wait. His wife looked so miserable. He could fix that. In a moment he was lifting her, his arms around her thighs as he headed for the bed.
"As absolutely banging' as you look, Lyds… let's get you outta that dress so Daddy can get atcha." He settled her at the edge of the mattress and dropped to one knee. Carefully, almost reverently he lifted one foot and undid the straps holding her shoe on. He grunted when he realized just how tall they were.
"Sorry baby…. these must be murder on you." He frowned when found a small bubble where the shoe has worn at the top of her foot. Suddenly something else hit him and he looked up at her with a scowl. "Hey, that bitch Claire Brewster ran you off your bike… shit, I forgot about your ankle… you okay? I don't got anything for it but I could find somethin' if it's buggin you…"
Naively, Lydia had hoped on a shaky whim that he would allow her to keep the dress on for the deed and preserve a bit of her dignity, but no. Stupid. He wanted the full experience and Lydia wouldn't begrudge him for that. Still, she remained stiff and unsure as he hefted her up to carry her the short distance to the bed before setting her down surprisingly gently on the thick comforter.
This was a nice hotel. Not the nicest she'd ever stayed at, but nicer than anything she would have expected from him. The bed was large— King— and the blankets and pillows soft and clean— visibly— and smattered with rose petals just as deep and crimson as her too-beautiful gown. Tasteful, eerie art lined the rich violet walls, and Lydia could glimpse what looked like a sizeable jacuzzi in the bathroom next door. Despite the moderate decadence, she still felt cheap and dirty. Fortunately, Betelgeuse's initial impatience seemed tempered for the time being. Internally, she was still cowering at the idea of stripping to nothing and allowing another to view her sickly, sallow, bony body, but his unassumingly gentle handling was working at calming her frayed nerves. Maybe she would luck out and he would lose interest at the sight of her.
Ever rigid and awkward, her sweaty palms grasped at the luxurious blanket as he set about removing her heels, one at a time. Did he just say Claire Brewster?
"How do you know Claire?"
She snapped to attention, having already begun the process of disassociating out of habit and against his wishes. Suddenly, the incident he was referencing came back in a flash. It was years ago before she ever met the Maitlands and knew for certain that the house on the hill was haunted. New to Miss Shannon's School for Girls, it didn't take her long to amass enemies simply for being herself. Nothing out of the ordinary for Lydia. Claire had thought it very funny to run her off the road when she was biking home one day, causing her to take a tumble that gave her a nasty sprain to the ankle and a deep cut on her knee that left an ugly scar.
Reliving the event, she remembered how she walked home limping that day, trudged up to her safe haven of the attic— neither her father or Delia noticing anything was amiss— and sobbed silently into the Maitlands' dusty old couch until mental, emotional, and physical exhaustion took her out. He saw that? How? What else did he see?
"The model…" She breathed out in a whisper of realization, finally connecting the dots. He was there the whole time. Quite abruptly, his motivations took a sharp turn in Lydia's mind. She had always assumed his proposal was an impromptu effort at escape, a desperate man jumping through an open window— not an elaborate plot he'd dwelled on for months. Maybe she was jumping the gun. She didn't know enough yet to be making any bold conclusions.
"That was years ago," she mumbled distractedly, still filtering through the many nights she'd spent up late in the attic, trying to remember what other horrifyingly embarrassing, private things he might have seen. "It healed."
Oh God, he watched her belting Evanescence, didn't he?
Years ago. Ah, shit. He'd just given himself away royally. He was happy to see here eyes clear when they landed on him but he found he couldn't respond much past a grunt and a "Well I bet she's still a bitch."
His hands had found purchase on her petite frame now, and rubbed soothingly—he hoped— over her calf as she puzzled it out. He brought her ankle up gently, pressing a kiss to the outer edge where he could still remember the massive bruising that had occurred. Another on her shin, for where he'd watched Delia take tweezers to her road rash. A third over the scar on her knee.
His poor perfect princess. He made a mental vow then and there that he was never going to watch her bleed again at someone else's hand.
Lydia was distracted from her past musings when he began trailing terribly soft kisses up her calf, drawing up the exorbitant skirt of her gown as he went.
"She is."
Lydia thought to confirm his suspicions several beats later, her grip on the blanket tightening the further he traveled up her leg. He was being so calm, so gentle, so— dare she even think it— sweet. Yet, her heart continued to pound in an unrelenting rhythm, so loud and fierce she was sure he could hear it. Gooseflesh popped up wherever he went, aroused by his icy touch. Once those chapped, filthy lips found the fleshier, fatter expanse of her thigh, her legs clenched in defiance of higher reasoning. Wild jade eyes cut to her sharply, dark with unspoken threat. You have a deal, Lydia. After sucking in and letting out a deep, shuddering breath, she was able to force the tendons there to go lax.
"I'm sorry," she repeated for the umpteenth time, letting her eyes drift shut in hopes that in the absence of sight, she could find some semblance of tranquility. It wasn't fair. He was being so nice when he really didn't have to be. Why couldn't she just behave?
Betelguese frowned up at her when her legs shut on him. He could chalk it up to instinct but it rubbed him the wrong way anyhow. He nipped at the soft, creamy flesh of her inner thigh, soothing the sting with a lathe of his tongue over the spot.
"You nervous, baby? Maybe I can help you… relax." He reaches for the other leg, caressing his way up to push her thighs apart. As her panties came into view he couldn't help but growl, advancing on her hungrily. "Damn. Look at you…" in a blink of his eyes the wedding gown was gone, leaving her in nothing but the tight black lace he'd summoned for her and a garter—she was a bride after all— in his signature stripes.
He licked his lips, advancing on her in an instant. "God damn Lydia, I'm the luckiest groom in history I think." He brought his mouth to her collar bone, mouthing over her delicate skin. He could feel her heart pounding in her chest. What a turn on.
"Hey—"
She objected out of instinct once the dress evaporated into nothing, before remembering that she really didn't have a dog in that fight. Thin, pale arms flew up to cover her chest and her legs curled inward, covering as much of herself as she possibly could.
Skinny bitch. Gross. Vampire. Emaciated. Disgusting. Dead.
All the foul phrases she could ever remember being thrown out about her body— plus a couple her creative mind supplemented— rushed through her in an instant. Most were courtesy of mean-spirited girls in the locker room at school and past classmates. Others came from family. The kind of words Betelgeuse supplied might have been spoken to her once long ago, in a whispering male voice late at night, the voice of someone who had snuck into her bedroom after her mother had fallen into a deep sleep…
Frozen, wet kisses came to dapple along her collar bone and she gasped at the sensation, eyelids fluttering open. He advanced on her, pushing his larger form up onto the bed until she had no choice but to lay back and let him take over. Taking advantage of the legs he worked so delicately at spreading, he nestled himself comfortably between them until something thick and hard was pressed up between the crux of her thighs. He was still entirely dressed, down to his shoes, while she was practically bare.
It's almost over. It isn't real, Lydia. Just go somewhere else.
His hands were worshipful as they trailed over her, pausing to caress her lovely little breasts as he worked south. He could see on her face that she was starting to fade away again and he remedied this by nipping harshly at one firm nipple.
"Hey. Eyes on me, kitten."
She was so soft. Everywhere his fingers touched was warm and giving, taking the pressure of his fingers and bouncing back. It was incredible. "I'm gonna make you feel real good, Lyds… just bear with me."
His journey over her body came to an end between her thighs where he breathed deeply, mouthing over the black lace gently.
"Mm. You good to go, babes? Or need a little more… encouragement?" His long tongue rolled out of his mouth as he winked at her.
That nip jarred her from the illusion she was trying desperately to construct. It was one that placed her far away and long ago from here, back in the kitchenette with the Maitlands playing a game of spades that even her father had found time to join in on. She was winning. Not anymore. Clearly, she wasn't allowed to be anywhere but right here, right where her husband wanted her.
Oh God, he was her husband. She was married. This was real. All that had been shoved aside in favor of completing her imperative mission suddenly hit with violent impact, unable to be ignored or forgotten when she could see and feel and hear him taking his fill of her. When he found his way between her legs to kiss her through her panties, she was suddenly aware of the unbearable liquid heat that had pooled in her belly under his attention and beyond her notice. The shock of such a cold, wet tongue rolling over her hottest, sweetest placed— covered or not— was far too much. She moaned, breathy and soft and worlds out of her league.
"I don't know," she mumbled at his question, creamy, delicate thighs quivering on either side of his gruesome head, "I don't know."
She was so sweet, shivering and moaning for him. That moan could raise the dead all on its own, he was certain. He grinned up at her, immensely pleased to have those sweet, wide eyes focused on him. "Let Daddy check ya out, sweetness."
He carefully pulled the black lace from her body, muttering praise and pressing kisses to her stomach and hips as he worked. With nothing between them now, he couldn't help the low growl that came from him. "God damn, Lyds… Look at you." He ran his hands up her sides, his fingers catching on her ribs before he was working back down. He licked his lips, bending in to take his first taste of his sweet wife.
She was delicious.
His wife. He could hardly believe he was here now. That she had said the vow and was all his. How many times had he dreamed about being between these silky thighs? He could remember the very first time he'd seen them peek past the blue plaid of her school uniform.
He groaned, sliding his hands under her ass to hold her closer. "Mmm. Almost, princess…. Let me… just let me first." He laved his tongue over her hot core, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass as he set to work.
"W-wait—"
Something was wrong. This couldn't be right. She was going to shatter. The shocking contrast of that icy tongue lathing over her pulsating, molten core was equal parts amazing and unbearable. Lydia was no stranger to touching herself, but it was always done in a practical, anatomical way that failed to bring her to the elusive "orgasm" she'd heard so much about. Eventually, she stopped trying. Nothing her own hands had ever done was even in the same realm as the sensations he was capable of inflicting.
That fire in her belly was building hotter and hotter, threatening to incinerate her from the inside out. Then, it exploded. With an incomprehensible shriek that vaguely sounded like his name, her entire body arched like a strung tight bow and those quivering thighs closed tight around his crusty cheeks to trap him in place— as if he had any desire to leave. A burst of blinding white light detonated across her vision as she moved on pure animal instinct, undulating her hips like a seasoned whore to ride out her peak.
Very slowly, color and shadow dappled back in, allowing her to sight the smug countenance of her smirking husband between her thighs, the bottom half of his face glistening.
"Was… was that…?"
Betel had quickly decided that he could spend the rest of eternity eating out Lydia Deetz. The way she shook and whimpered was intoxicating. He has a strong suspicion that no man had ever been where he now had the pleasure of being. He wouldn't have it any other way.
He was determined to bring his girl as much pleasure as he possibly could before the night was through. After all, if this was her first time he wanted her to have fun. He could get his kicks for the next fifty years if he wanted to. His long, serpentine tongue moved in circles and jabs, his lips closing over her tiny button as he worked to bring her over the edge. He could feel her getting close, had to put his hands on her hips to keep her down as it approached.
Then, suddenly, finally, he heard the sound he'd been waiting for since the moment he'd laid eyes on her in that dark attic so long ago. He wished he could watch her fall apart, but her legs held him in place as she rode out her orgasm. All he could do was kiss her through it, laving up the taste of her climax. What a hardship.
When he was able to he sat up to grin at her, fully aware that he was soaked to the collar of his shirt now.
"Was… was that?"
"Hmm? Oh. My god. Kitten don't tell me you've never come before. What have you been doin' to this pretty pussy without me?"
"No," she panted out the truth, still catching her breath. He did not appear to be having the same issue. "I've never…" done anything like this.
The lie trailed off before it could fully form. No, she had never experienced the kind of euphoria he had just doled out, but she wasn't some sacrificial virgin either. She was damaged goods, prime to be used and thrown away yet again.
"I tried," she confessed whispishly as crawled his way up her body once more, landing wet kisses here and there as he went, "but… I just couldn't."
The gift of her first orgasm had earned him this tidbit of information. He hadn't mocked or hurt her yet, discounting his roughish toying with her in the cemetery— which she earned after baiting him like that. Maybe this would be… okay. Flush, lax, and damp, still coming down from the aftershocks of such an intense peak, she lay prone and pliable for him as he took his time in mapping out the careful lines of her body until he was positioned above her once more, even going as far as to wrap her still-shaking legs about his waist without any direction from him at all. She was learning.
"At the chapel, uhm…" She was so exposed and vulnerable, in almost every way. His attention had left her feeling warm and open in a way that was alien to the chronically detached Lydia. He deserved to know this too, right? Why not? "That was my first kiss."
He was still reveling in being the source of her first orgasm when he really tuned in to what she was saying. He frowned softly, kissing up thigh, to her hip and on, carefully covering her lithe body with his own. He smiled when she wrapped her shivering legs around him, and he chuckled softly.
"Well, it's an honor to be the first to getcha there, baby… hopin' to be the last too. You're mine." He tilted his head at the confession of her first kiss and raised an eyebrow. "Really? Huh… that. Makes no goddamn sense to me. You're so fuckin' gorgeous.. I'm amazed you ain't got a boyfriend topside." He brought his lips to her throat, sucking gently at the perspiration that had gathered there during her climax. His hands ran up the backs of her thighs, slowly cataloging as much of her pale flesh as his fingertips could find.
He was hard as a rock in the pants of his tux, but he didn't want to spook his wife now. Not when he was so close to finally having her fully. He settled, snapping his fingers and banishing his jacket, shirt, and pants, leaving him in nothing but his dirty striped boxers.
"You feel so good against me, kitten. You ready for round two? Please Please Please?" He grinned at her, stretching his arms over his head in preparation for the rest of the night ahead of them.
He knew he wasn't the most conventionally attractive man. And certainly not in the eyes of a living teenager, but he was rather proud of his toned upper body. He hoped that Lydia would feel the same.
Mine. He would still want her after she was a corpse like him? This wasn't a part of their deal. Lydia never agreed to any prolonged relationships of that nature. As it was, what little fight she maintained had been seduced out of her. What could she do? Argue with him? Tell him 'No, you're going to kill me and let me go off on my own and never contact me again as per the implied terms of our half-assed verbal contract'? Something told her a declaration of that nature would only get her burnt in the end.
It could wait. There were more pressing matters to deal with, such as the half-naked man kneeling over her. The sizable tent in his dingy boxers was intimidating enough, but then he stretched, flexing thickly muscled arms and broad shoulders as he went. The color in her cheeks deepened. Smoldering embers of arousal— she could now name that feeling now with a tad more confidence— reignited with a vengeance.
By no means was he an Adonis, but he was undeniably big and male. Even without all those otherworldly tricks and talents, he could overpower her and take what he wanted in an instant. But he hadn't done that. He had given her nothing but diligent patience and shocking gentility, manners and sweetness she hadn't thought him capable of. With this revelation, Lydia gave her permission; wide-eyed and whispering, a seed of her earlier fear returning as the finale was upon them.
"Y-yeah. Okay."
Oh hello…
He watched, pleased as a spark of arousal crossed her face. He grinned, leaning back over her to kiss her gently.
"Atta girl…. You're gonna be so fuckin' good. I can tell." He pulled her hips closer still, letting his clothed erection slide over her firmly.
"You gonna help me out here, baby?" His tongue lolled out of his mouth, his cock twitching at the promise of hot, tight, wet that was yet to come. He was aware suddenly of just how small she was. With her legs wrapped around him firmly, he had no trouble sliding a hand under her shoulders and sitting her up. Much better. From here he could reach her pert tits without compromising his cock, which pressed into her mound hungrily, starting to leave a damp spot on the grimy cotton.
He mouthed over her nipple, unable to keep his mouth off of any part of her for more than a few moments. Her taste was addicting.
"Come on, baby… Daddy's lil' friend's real excited to meet you…" Impatient, he didn't wait for her to try and get them off. He banished his filthy underwear and suddenly the head of his cock was sliding along her labia, making him bite out a curse.
"Goddamn… you're so wet, baby…."
Those muscles weren't just for looks. As easily as slinging a rag, he pulled up to meet him with naught but just one of those bulky arms. Lydia, in turn, laced thinner, weaker arms around his thick neck for equilibrium. That round, hairy gut was pressed firmly against her own flat tummy now, the wiry hair there tickling and scratching not unpleasantly. Supporting herself now, those meaty hooks of his were free to slide down her back beneath the curtain of her hair until they came to grasp a buttock each; squeezing, kneading, controlling where she would go next by those soft, fleshy reigns.
She hadn't seen it unclothed yet, but she could feel the swell of his girth sliding along her slick folds, searching while he growled sinful things to her. Daddy, daddy, daddy… He sure liked to call himself that. Did he expect her to do the same at some point? Never. She would die first. Fortunately, or unfortunately, that could likely be arranged. Glossy and slippery from her secretions, it wasn't long before the blunt, fat tip of his cock found its goal.
"Ah!"
A sharp, torturous cry pierced through the air as it impaled her, no barrier in its path to slow his penetration. Clenching internal muscles pulsated all around him, squeezing, choking the invading hunk of flesh. It hurt! Lydia barely managed to swallow the whimpers that followed her outburst, face buried against the hollow of his neck as fresh tears balled at the corner of her eyes. Black-painted nails dug into the mottled flesh of his back leaving little crescent-moon shaped indents, and her legs tightened into a vice around him. Each and every muscle was strung taut with stress, the girl having no choice but to cling to the source of her agony and search his embrace for yet another shred of comfort— if he had any left to spare.
He was more than happy to simply rock against her a while, appreciating how she held onto him and he could go about touching her as he liked. With so much of her now touching him, he felt as though he might be melting. Sex with dead chicks nearly never included the heat or the slick slide of sweat as he was feeling now. It was absolutely intoxicating.
As his rhythm stuttered a moment he cursed when the head of his cock was suddenly inside her.
"Oops… hold on baby girl, I gotcha, I gotcha… It's okay…" He shifted them again, settling himself flat on the bed and pulling her hips to him, slowly, until she was straddling him and slowing sinking onto him with assistance from gravity. He was idly aware that she was crying again, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from where her thighs were trembling as he pressed into her.
She was incredibly tight, but that was all that seemed to be in his way as he guided her steadily all the way to the root.
"Shit. That's good, Lyds… very very nice…" He knew that now that he was in, it'd take a herd of wild sandworms to pull him away. He rolled his hips slowly, growling at the tight pull of her around him.
As each centimeter sunk deeper into her unyielding flesh at his careful insistence, Lydia let loose tiny pitiful, anguished sounds muffled behind a bit lip. She couldn't even hide her despair against his throat anymore, firm hands at the nip of her waist keeping her seated upright on his rigid cock so that he had a spectacular view of every inch of her. He was far, far too big for her and her body was letting her know in no uncertain terms. Just when she thought it was deep as it was going to go, his hips arched at the same time that the grip on her waist tightened and pulled down, forcing the last obscenely thick inch or so to stretch her clinching opening wide for him.
Now, he was fully lodged within her. Snow-white hands curled into the wealth of moss-infested hair that coated his chest to give her purchase. For long, aching moments she kept very still, willing her tensed muscles to please just relax. This would be so much easier if she could just relax. Betelgeuse appeared content to continue roving those filthy mitts of his over every bit of skin he could reach; thighs to ass, up her back and around the front to her breasts, down her tummy and over her hips, then back to her thighs to start the process all over again.
He was so reverent, savoring each touch with unquestionable hunger. Gorgeous. Pretty. Beautiful. Mine. He really, truly believed the lies he'd been spouting all night. He wasn't just saying what he thought would make her spread her legs faster. She wasn't ugly— not to him. That much was obvious to the tormented girl. This wasn't so bad, was it? She could do better than this measly display, couldn't she? She owed him.
Determined to prove herself, she used her clasp on his chest as leverage to shift her hips up, withdrawing his throbbing, drenched cock just the slightest bit. It was not a simple task. Her vacuous insides sucked powerfully in protest, dropping her back onto him with a slap, and an injured cry she wasn't quite able to muffle. Then, she did it again, and again, until that stretching ache began to twist and evolve into a good hurt. The change reflected in a subtle but distinctive shift in the timbre of the sounds crawling up her throat.
He was stunned into near- silence, the only sounds coming from him soft grunts as he fought to keep himself still. Don't move asshole, you'll hurt her. He was already hurting her, but he knew that it would pass. He could make it pass.
His hands shook slightly as they trailed over her soft skin. He was awed by the sight of her above him. Surely she'd call it off any minute. She was so tight how was it possible?
Then she moved. His breath caught in his throat, a strangled moan leaving him as she started to bounce in his lap. His hands once more found purchase on the firm muscle of her ass. "Fuck!" His head slammed into the mattress, his jaw tending as he resisted just pounding up into the tight heat.
And then the sounds. There was a change there, and his eyes flew open to meet it. He watched her for a moment longer before his resolve snapped and he was bracing his feet on the bed, only to pull her onto him harder, faster. Well and truly fucking her.
"God, you're good… you're so good, Lydia…. fuck look at ya takin' my cock like a fuckin professional."
"Ah—!" SLAP "Be—" SLAP "Betel—" SLAP "It's too much!"
Lydia may have been on top, but she was far from in control of the situation. He was savage, bouncing her off his groin and pulling her down to meet him with brutal, single-minded intent. Every time that fat, violating cock pounded into the slick, gripping confines of her body, deep, aching pangs reverberated throughout her middle, quickly followed by a balming rush of pleasure that almost made up for it. Ferocious snaps of his hips kept her on the precipice of delirium, incapable of speaking or thinking in any way that could be deemed coherent. She wanted him to stop— did she, though?— but was aware that such a greedy request would only be ignored or mocked. Still, he needed to know.
"Too big!"
Very quickly, a fine misting of sweat came to coat her waxen flesh amid the assault. Snowy breasts with rosy pink peaks the same shade as her lips — both of which had darkened from their usual icy coloring from all his attention— bounced with each thrust, providing further temptation to the lust-deranged ghoul. She had released her hold on his rotting chest hair, instead arching back to dig short nails into his thighs for stability. Similarly, his longer, ragged claws had rooted themselves stubbornly into her hips. Whenever she inspected her reflection next, she would find ten perfectly matching finger-print shaped bruises spanning the expanse of those curves.
"I can't—" she stumbled over his incessant pounding and shook her head in disagreement, making the ends of her long hair brush the tops of his thighs. Her cheeks were damp with what could have been sweet or tears, it wasn't quite clear. That scorching pressure was pooling inside again, much more rapidly and worrisome than before. Oh God, what if his plan was to fuck her to death? It was within his right, as per the terms of their agreement. He probably could if he wanted to.
"I can't!"
"Come on Lyds–" SLAP "You can take it"–SLAP "Fuck, babes you feel so good!"
He was very quickly losing himself in the sight and feeling of her being tossed about by his rough movements. Those soft white breasts bounced hypnotically and he couldn't help but lean forward to suck a mark there– he could do that, he realized with Lydia. She would bruise for him beautifully– as his pace steadied into its abusive rhythm.
"Too big! I can't—"
"Y'already are, babes! Come on… you're doin' great… Jesus, you're perfect." He sat up part way, effectively pulling her even deeper onto him. A change in angle never hurt anything. He busied himself with leaving marks across her collar and neck, one becoming a rather aggressive biting into her flesh, just so he could see where he'd claimed her come morning.
His hips never stopped, but now at least he could feel more of her hot core rubbing against him. He didn't bother reaching down to help her out any. If she couldn't come from this alone she was going to have a rather rude awakening from here on in. He could feel his balls drawing up and growled. He wasn't ready for this to be over just yet, but what could he do. "Fuck, Lyds…. gonna come baby…"
Her cries came sharper and more disjointed as he drew up to feast on her neck, forcing the fat tip of his girth to nudge firmly at the limitations of her inner parts. When grimy teeth sunk in for a bite— branding her as his own— he simultaneously gifted her with a particularly savage thrust that pushed her harder into his mouth. The sudden acute pain there made her shriek and served to distract from everything happening down below. He must have broken skin.
… gonna come, baby…
Could he get her pregnant? The bizarre, terrifying possibility only just now occurred to Lydia, causing her to make a distressed noise and suddenly buck as if she might actually get away. It was a fruitless, short-lived effort that only spurred him on. He growled low into the broken skin still caught between his teeth and his thrusts turned more shallow, quicker, and harder, less of him leaving her on each withdrawal, working hard at opening up that tight little body for him. The violent increase in intensity was enough. Without warning, yet another climax was wrenched from her. Hot, slick muscles clinging snug around every inch of that wide, defiling cock fluttered and pulsated, coating it with a viscous cream that proved her body's pleasure— even if her mind was still at war with itself.
This seemed to have an effect on the poltergeist. Whether he could impregnate her or not was evidently irrelevant to him, as he was keen on rooting his cock as deep as it could go to lathe her womb with seed, once more marking his territory. He hugged her tight in his lap, using both of those impressively muscled arms to hold her in place for her breeding. Finally, the ending upon them and two forceful orgasms pulled from the troubled girl, she was able to relax under his abuse; go limp to his biting and thrusting and take it the way he insisted she could.
As he drew nearer he started to babble, muttering about how good, and tight, and beautiful she was. How she was his and he was gonna take care of her best he could. The nearer they drew the thinner his filter became.
He clung to her tightly, his hips pressing into her thighs as hard as they could. He mouthed over the now bleeding bite mark, circling his hips in an attempt to get even closer to her.
Suddenly she was coming again, and he couldn't help the low growl that was ripped from him. He managed a few more deep thrusts before he was following her over the edge, her name leaving his lips like a curse as he filled her.
He wasn't done. Not by a long shot. As she went limp in his arms he carefully slid out of her tight, wet heat, laying her on her back in the center of her bed.
"You're so good, babe… so good for me. Just relax, kitten let me take care of ya." He pulled her thighs up over his hips, pressing back into her with a groan. "You know what they said, doncha? Third times the charm."
What the hell was he talking about? He was going on about her like a man in love. Surely, he didn't say things like this to any of his whores. Initial animalistic lust sated, he was calming, but clearly still ready for more. Very careful, he proceeded to lay her out flat on her back before rejoining with her, pushing gently into her sore, cum-drenched opening, causing her to wince and excess of his essence to drip out onto the blankets beneath them.
Just relax. Let me take care of you.
Easier said than done, but Lydia was in a better position now to comply than before. She may not have been well-versed in the realm of sexual exploits, but she knew enough to know that this wasn't normal either. Male ejaculation generally marked the end of intercourse. She definitely expected a second round judging by how… enthusiastic he was, but not this soon. Not for the first time that night, she worried on how long he would keep her here like this.
Even though the logical side of her knew his sweet words and pretty promises were little more than ridiculous, filthy lies, allowing herself to fantasize that they were true made this easier. She was beautiful. She was his. He would take care of her. There wasn't anything to worry about.
"Is it… am I really that good?"
Winded and wide-eyed, she huffed her self-conscious beg for validation up to the poltergeist heaving over her, humping at a much more indulgent, leisurely pace. After all, if she was going to be a whore, she'd prefer to at least be a good was just settling into a comfortable, leisurely pace when she his eyes met hers and he had to pause.
Is it… am I really that good?
"Best I ever had, princess… promise. Would I lie to you?" He grinned at his little joke, letting his hands rake up her thighs to hold her close. "Want me to tell you again?" He leaned down press a kiss to her lips firmly. "You, Lydia Deetz-Geuse are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen… and you know that's sayin' somethin'." Another kiss, this time at her jaw as he resumed his slow, steady thrusts.
"Knew you were the one the first time I saw you… up in the Maitland's attic. You saw me when nobody else would, baby girl…that touches a guy… ya know?" He grinned down at her, hoping the words were sticking with her. "And then there's all this… I mean look atcha… all thin, curvy woman… How was I supposed t'resist you struttin' around in that school uniform? Huh?"
He continued his steady, slow kisses down her jaw and to her neck, then her collar, careful of the wound he'd inflicted on her. It occurred to him that she really didn't see it. Didn't see how beautiful she was inside and out. Well, he could fix that.
Note to Beetlegeuse… install a full-length mirror.
Oh! His hips swung against her, hitting deep, but she didn't feel any of the burning pain from before. Just a pleasant stretch, like getting a particularly bothersome itch scratched. Oh. This was much better. This must be what "love-making" was. Lydia was floating beneath him, drunk on the affection he was positively drowning her in. Maybe being his whore-wife wouldn't be so bad. She could bear this. At least, until he got sick of her and slit her throat or whatever. Hopefully, it would be something benign and quick like that.
This seemed like such a silly thing to be afraid of now that she was here; housing his cock and cum, sweat-slicked thighs wrapped about his waist of her own volition, wavering from the lingering intoxication of several intense orgasms while he worked diligently at bringing her to a third. Her eyelids fluttered closed intermittently as he pushed against her, filling her with more and more and more. This time, it was done out of an inability to process sight along with all of the other dizzying sensations he was doling out. Her breath hitched with each gentle, icy kiss, little hums of content and gasps of pleasure falling soft on his greasy ears.
Mrs. Lydia Deetz-Geuse
That was interesting to hear out loud. He was very, very good at this, most likely due to centuries of practice. When he returned to her lips, she found herself opening easily to him, returning his kisses curiously and with undisciplined passion. She was a fully active participant now, rather than dragging along on the coattails of his desire, just doing her part to fulfill the bargain.
"Ah— fuck—" His pace increased just so, wet slapping accompanying as his heavy sack came to smack her with each slow, weighty thrust. "I'm gonna— oh, oh oh oh, yes!"
"That's it, baby…. Fuck.." He dug his long nails into her thighs, loving the way she was opening up for him so readily. The soft sounds coming from her were like a drug, muddling his brain until all he could focus on was Hot, Tight, Wet, Lydia! He thrived on the messy, inexperienced kisses she gave him, eagerly sliding his long tongue into her mouth, nearly down her throat.
He growled at the feeling of her inner walls starting to tighten around his cock, the squeeze almost unbearable. She was so tiny. The slick glide of their combined come was a pleasant contrast to how they'd begun, and he knew before the night was done he'd have to taste them mingling together. But now… now she was close again.
He grinned against her skin, mouthing at the soft mound to his right.
"That's good, Princess… come on… Come for me, Lyds…." He slid one hand between them, his thumb quickly finding and sliding over her clit. He worked her in slow circles, his thrusts picking up in tempo and voraciousness, chasing his own orgasm. "Come on, kitten…. Fuck… Come for daddy…"
Ever obedient, she shattered apart upon his command. Melodious cries staccatoed by his pounding cock filled the room as she emphatically soaked the blankets beneath them, arms and legs wrapped tight around his beastly form to anchor herself. This one seemed to drag on for longer than the others, internal muscles squeezing hellishly tight before releasing, over and over again in a tortuous rhythm.
"No more," she begged in between thrusts once the rippling waves of euphoria began to weaken, pulling weakly at the hand between her legs to remove any pressure from her poor clit. This was wonderful, awful torture. How many orgasms did he intend on wrenching from her before the night was through? "Please!— Just you— Just worry about you— I can't do it anymore—"
"Oh, fuck yes…" He worked her through her orgasm, watching her fall apart through hooded eyes. He was soaked from their coupling and he all but slipped out of her on the withdrawl. When she shooed his hand away he brought it to her thigh, his thrusts slowing to a steady rocking.
He was panting, though he had no breath to lose, and he found that he couldn't tear his eyes off of her face, still recovering from the throws of her extended orgasm and couldn't take it any longer. He growled low in his throat, taking her ankles in his hands and bending her legs toward the headboard. He knew she was bendy– after all, he'd watched her put her legs behind her head for much less fun reasons.
The change of position made her impossibly tighter and he took it to his advantage, pounding into her with short, deep thrusts.
"Fuck, baby…. I'm gonna…. again… Shit. Gonna fill you up, baby girl…" Good to his word, it wasn't even thirty seconds later that he was letting out a sharp yell and emptying into her, watching as his come bubbled back on him, dripping out of her obscenely.
"Oh– that is pretty…"
He found no resistance when he gathered up her ankles to stretch them up above her head and pin her like that, forming a tight, compact little V-shape that he could fuck into at his leisure. It was as though each and every muscle was dedicated to pushing him out, but he wasn't about to go. Betelgeuse rose to the challenge enthusiastically, shoving his hungry cock down that choking, wet tunnel of muscle with forceful abandon until it was all too much and he was filling her up with endless ropes of cum again.
Finally, with a throaty groan, he rolled off of her, lying breathless at her side— much the same as she— like the dirty old man he really was. Lydia was fading in and out, quite thoroughly ravaged, but she was still cognizant of the click of a lighter and the acrid scent of tobacco filling the air.
"Lemme," she murmured after a moment, reaching over to steal the last half of his cigarette without any permission whatsoever. Fortunately, Betelgeuse was in a giving mood. The nicotine rushed her system deliciously, and she sighed out a stream of blue-white smoke serenely. For the time being, things were peaceful.
"So are you, like… free now? For good?" She broke the silence once the cherry hit the filter, wincing as she leaned over to stub it out in the ashtray on her nightstand and the motion pulled an abused muscle. "No more Bloody Mary deal?"
Best fuck ever. He contentedly rolled off of her, settling in on his side, facing her. He conjured a cigarette and lit it, taking a deep drag while he watched her come down. She really was something, even–no. Especially all fucked out. When she reached for the smoke he gave it to her easily, raising one eyebrow.
"Didn't know you smoke, babe. Aren'tcha a bit young for that shit?" He simply conjured another, taking another drag and letting the smoke run out his nose.
At her questioning he smirked, settling on his back and tucking his hands behind his head. "Mmm. It would certainly seem so. 'cept you. When I was lookin' it all up it said that 'The Living Party' – tha's you, babes– would still be able to call the deceased. Me. So I guess I'm at your beck and call, kitten." He was unwilling to tell her the rest of the deal. She'd be pissed if she knew he'd never uphold his end of their deal.
"So… how's it feel to be a consummated wife, Lyds?"
Lydia leveled him with an unflinching deadpan at the borderline insulting implication that she was too young to smoke. It was true, but where did he get off?
"Oh, so I'm too young for smoking, but sleeping with you is perfectly acceptable, is that right?"
As much as he liked to call himself Daddy— and as much as she secretly loved the forbidden thrill it gave her— he was not her father and she wasn't about to take it lying down if he thought he was going to be telling her what she could and couldn't do. She would take other things lying down, apparently, but not that.
"Huh," she muttered at the revelation that she could still call him to and fro. Interesting. "So… if I wanted to put you back… I could." This inspired a terrible glower and snarl from the previously calm ghost, but Lydia was frustratingly unintimidated. She actually laughed, a head of mussed raven hair falling back onto the pillow as though he had just told a very funny joke. "I'll take that as a yes. Don't worry. I probably won't. Not if you don't give me a reason to."
"So… how's it feel to be a consummated wife, Lyds?"
"It feels like I got hit by a truck," she breathed, eyes closing and stretching out to help alleviate the kinks in her abused muscles. "But then the driver got out and offered me some really good drugs, so it wasn't that bad."
He chuckled at the glower he received in response to the jab at her age.
"Well, clearly you're old enough for that… and besides fucking me isn't gonna ruin your lungs." Despite the mock protests, he took the butt from her cigarette and conjured another, slipping it into her fingers easily.
He watched her think a moment, loving how he could see her ideas light on her face before she voiced them. Damn. Okay. Maybe not that one. He absolutely would not be put back anytime soon, thanks. "You little bitch. It's not nice to poke the beast, you know." He reached over to pinch her side gently, almost playful. He loved the soft rollicking sound of her laugh. He made a mental note to make her laugh more often.
"Mmm. Glad you're not in too much pain, Lyds. I could always try to fix it for ya, but… something tells me you're tappin' out for tonight." He winked, letting his tongue roll out of his mouth in case the message wasn't clear. "Mm. I could rub your back for ya… it's gonna hurt like hell come morning." He moved a bit closer, nearly leaning over her again. She was like a dreal like this, splayed out in bed, her hair flowing over the stark white of the linens and a smoking cigarette in her lithe fingers. He took a mental snapshot to file away for later.
Something was nagging at him, and looking her over it only increased his curiosity. She was far from the first virgin he'd deflowered, but there was one difference here. He hesitated before asking, his hand coming to rub slowly up and down her thigh.
"I didn' make ya bleed… did I?"
"Oh no," she decried blandly with mock horror before taking a rebellious puff of her new smoke. "Not lung cancer. Anything but lung cancer."
What he said was true, she was fading. The first thing she wanted to do whenever she awoke was try out that jacuzzi. It would have to wait. She'd probably collapse to the ground if she tried to stand any time soon. His playful pinch drew out her laughter until her belly twinged in discomfort and the tittering ended.
"I'm so sleeepyy—" she agreed with his assessment, yawning wide at the end of her sentence and passing the cigarette off to him. "Maybe later."
Yes, this would be just fine. She would stay here with him in this hotel room until he tired of her— or couldn't pay the bill— and then let him take her life. These pristine sheets that had seen her take so much pleasure would make an adequate final resting place. Idly, tiredly, she mused about what might happen to her soul if she died in the Neitherworld. There was no mention of such an occurrence in the handbook.
Alas, this was a problem for another day. Her husband came to lean over her, petting along her thigh and asking silly questions she didn't know the answer to.
"I dunno," she slurred, half asleep, eyes shut, "it's not like I'm a virgin or anything."
She didn't seem cognizant of her slip. Sluggishly, she trailed a hand between her thighs to gather some of the residual juices leaking from her onto her fingers, then took effort to crack her eyes open and investigate. A flash of bright red tinged the thicker white bodily fluids pink. Just as casually, she swiped her hands clean on the blanket and then turned to face him, curling into a comfortable ball.
"Yep," she answered simply, as if he hadn't been watching the entire display with a hawkish gaze. "Go figure. For a minute there, I thought you were just going to fuck me until I died. That wouldn't be that bad I guess, but I think I'd prefer something quicker if you don't mind."
He frowned at the blurted admission, his eyes going dark. Someone else had touched his wife. Had had her. He growled low in his throat, pulling her tighter against him.
"Nah? Tell me about it…"
He watched her investigate the fluids still dripping from her and his heart gave a strange twinge when he saw that her fingers came away pink. He gladly wrapped her up in his arms as she faced him, pulling to rest her head on his chest. He didn't know if she'd stay there, but it was worth a shot.
For a minute there, I thought you were just going to fuck me until I died.
"Wow, high praise, babe. But uh… no. Thought I'd keep ya around a while longer if it's all the same to you."
He let his hand rub in slow circles, starting at her shoulders and traveling to the small of her back before repeating. He pressed his face into her dark hair, lost in thought. She'd been so cautious with him in the beginning, acting as though she'd never had sex in her life. This combined with the instinctual disassociation and the way she'd blurted out that she wasn't a virgin all added up to an image Beetlegeuse didn't want to consider. He looked down at his wife, a creature in his chest clawing at the surface. She hadn't just been fucked by someone else. Someone had attacked her. His grip tightened until his fingers were digging into her back, thoughts of how to find and murder the asshole rampaging through his mind.
"Tell me about it…"
"There's nothing to talk about."
Her voice took on an edge, despite its sleepy quality. Lydia avoided the subject expertly, shutting down any potential further questioning in case he was thinking about it. It wasn't any of his goddamn business, and it definitely wasn't appropriate pillow talk. She was beginning to fall in and out of consciousness in his comfortable embrace— he was an excellent cuddle— on the verge of sleep when those ragged nails started digging into her again.
"Ow," she muttered, frowning, and pinched his nipple in retaliation. "Stop that."
Lydia had already come to the conclusion that he was intending to milk this free-sex cow for all it was worth. Whatever. The crush he had on her was sure to whither with time. Hopefully sooner rather than later. There was someone out there who needed her more than he did.
He jumped out of his enraged thinking when she pinched at his nipple, the action surprising him enough to get a chuckle out, his hands softening and resuming their massage of her back.
"Sorry, kitten. Just thinkin' through some stuff."
He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually slept next to a woman. If he had ever, it was surely one of the Inferno girls who hadn't had the heart to kick him out when he came crawling, drunk off his ass and depressed.
He remembered one such occurrence. He'd been laying with one of the girls after a rousing game of doctor when she'd asked him about Lydia. He was a talkative guy, after all, and nearly anyon who'd listen got an earful about his hot piece topside. But it had caught him off guard when she'd asked if she was looking for work. Even then the thought of any other man touching her was repulsive.
He made a note to go and see the girls soon. Bring the wife along, maybe. His hand quickly abandoned her back, coming up to stroke through her hair as he held her.
"You should go to sleep, baby."
"Okay," she murmured her ascent, nestled snug to his chest seemingly without a care in the world. She was already more than halfway there, the burdens of the living realm left behind in the cemetery. No more Delia, no more Claire Brewster, no more Miss Shannon's School for Bitches. No need to worry about that five-thousand-word essay on the French Revolution that she hadn't even put a dent in. The only pressing concern she had at the moment was making sure that her surprisingly attentive husband was happy in hopes he would give her a quick, painless demise. He was certainly acting like he was happy, so that job was done for now, but Lydia held no illusions that he wouldn't require more sating in the near future.
He may have roughed her up good for a minute there, but the entire experience was undeniably intense and fulfilling. Where she had begun the night a fragile, wilting flower, she now felt much more like the content, purring kitten he kept comparing her to. A sudden rush of affection and gratitude flooded through her right at the threshold of sleep, and Lydia was too far gone to be wary of it. Sex, after all, was famously good at tricking young girls into experiencing false emotions— or so she had read.
"Thank you," she hushed softly on the way to dreamland, momentarily beholden to his insidious charms. "For not making that terrible. It means a lot to me."
Whether his reply hit her ears or not was indeterminable. Small feminine snores were already crawling up her throat to fill the air with proof of her descent into oblivion.