"I can show you pain,
and make you say my name,
you will believe my lies,
that I'm not like other guys,
that sparkle in my eyes,
is part of my disguise."
—Bruises & Bitemarks
Good With Grenades
As with everything else he had shown her, Lydia was enraptured by the lounge. It was something from a different era entirely. She couldn't help her giddy smile as Betelgeuse escorted her closely around the tightly packed club toward the back. The party was in full swing, a skeleton band on stage blowing their vacant lungs out while a beautiful siren with blue skin, red hair, and a screwdriver embedded in her skull belted a classic. Deceased patrons flung each other around like ragdolls, in-between legs and up through the air, skirts flying through the smoky atmosphere.
Soon, they approached an empty booth toward the back. Unable to speak at normal volume over the music, Betelgeuse pulled her close with a large hand planted firmly on her ass to growl in her ear and ask what she wanted to drink.
"Jolly green giant," she returned the favor, pressing the entire length of her body up close to him as she stretched, using his brawny arms as leverage to pull up and speak into his ear, lips brushing along the cold flesh there as she did so. This was an intentionally flirtatious move, Lydia titillated by the overtly sexual atmosphere and the events that had brought them here. Not a bad first date at all. She would never be able to dance like any of the women out on the floor, but she could take a little liquid courage and give it her best shot. For his sake.
There was a lull in the crowd as the song ended and the band took five to prepare for their next set, and Lydia waited patiently at the booth for her husband's return, watching each passing ghoul with large interested eyes. The lighting was dim in here, and people weren't staring at her the way they had when she walked with her husband in the day time. Maybe they just couldn't tell that she wasn't one of them. Suddenly, a mammoth of a corpse returned her gaze as it passed over him. Quickly, embarrassed at being caught staring, she averted her gaze, but it was too late. She got his attention. He was already moving away from his booth and towards her, a telling smirk lifting his lips.
"Hey, sweetheart," he grunted at full volume, collapsing the weight of his palms on the table to cage her in, making it shudder. "What's a pretty lil doll like you doin' all alone?"
"I'm not," she swallowed, sinking back into her seat, instinctively making a smaller target of herself. "I'm here with my husband."
A set of cold, pale blue eyes that eerily reminded her of Claire flickered toward her left hand, searching. The sight of the impressive ring there brought an ugly grimace to his mug but unfortunately wasn't enough to dissuade him.
"Well, I don't see 'im. Tell ya what. Why don'tcha let your good pal Mikey watch after ya for a min' until he gets back, huh?" With no effort at all, he dragged her from the booth by her wrist to roughly pull her up against him, securing her with a thick, hairy arm. He was huge, bigger even than Betelgeuse, and Lydia shocked into frozen terror by the abruptness of the action. "Consider it a favor. Your old man'll thank me. He shouldn't be leavin' a tasty lil bite like you—" he squeezed her ass hard, making her yelp, eyes watering in humiliation, "— all by your lonesome anyways. Somebody might scoop you up."
Suddenly, something seemed to register in the behemoth as he felt her up shamelessly. Eyes widening a fraction, he planted his sweaty mitt over her tit, still keeping a firm hold of her ass. There it was. A heartbeat. She was breathing.
"Oh, lil girl…" He grinned darkly, pressing her harder onto him so that she could more fully feel his arousal. "Your husband is one stupid sonuvabitch."
Betelgeuse was happy to pull her against him, muttering in her ear as an excuse to be pressed up against her. The affection was returned, much to his surprise, as she pressed right back all but purring against him.
Better make this quick.
He wove his way through the crowd to order their drinks -doubling up on Lydia's just in case- and took a moment to take in his old stomping ground with new eyes. Before Lydia, he'd probably be here at the bar, hitting on anything that moved within his eyesight. Now he couldn't care less. Even the bartender, a large-breasted blonde, held no interest for him.
He smiled, turning around to check on his wife. His heart sank to the floor. Goddamn Mikey Lapone had her in his arms, pressed up against him as he whispered something in her ear. She looked terrified. He growled, slamming payment onto the bar and making his way back toward them.
"Lapone, I know you ain't got your filthy hands on my wife's ass." He hissed, drawing himself up to his full stature. He set the drinks down, leaning against the table and glaring at the ex-gangster. "Come here, baby." He crooked a finger, pulling her forcefully away from Mikey and nearly into his lap.
"Take a hike, Mike."
"Beej!"
There was barely a need for use of his juice on her husband's end of things. The sight of him made Mike's hold slack in surprise, and Lydia was rattled enough by the experience to fling herself against him for protection as she hovered near; arms around his neck and face half-buried beneath his jacket. She was thoroughly shaken by the encounter. Of course, she finally let her guard down to have a little fun and someone sensed the weakness and honed in on it.
"Jesus H. Christ, Betel, when'd ya pick up a piece o' tail like that?" The gangster carried on, wiping at an imaginary line of sweat above his unibrow. Oblivious that he was prodding a hungry, irritated lion, he carried on. Wife or not, the striped ghoul didn't do relationships. In a place like this with men like them, women were toys, and Mike was keenly interested in getting a turn playing with Betelgeuse's shiny new doll. It wasn't as though they hadn't passed around whores before.
"Can't believe ya gotcha one of them breather babes, you dirty cheatin' bastard. Young thing, too. What'd ya do, off her parents? She's awful skittish. Bet she's got a nice tight puss, dontcha sweetheart?" Unable to help himself, he drew closer as if to touch her. "You ever even took a cock in that little ass, baby?"
Lydia stiffened, clinging impossibly closer to her husband. Thick, sausage fingers reached for her jaw, ready to force her away from her husband and make the stuck-up little bitch look at him. They never made contact.
Betel's patience was wearing incredibly thin. Sure, he and Mikey had been friends for decades. They'd shared everything from cigarettes to pussy and everything in between. But Lydia wasn't a thing. She was his wife. He sneered, turning himself slightly to tuck her further from Lapone's sight, his hand running over the back of her neck in an attempt to sooth the rapid pounding of her heart in her chest.
Can't believe ya gotcha one of them breather babes, you dirty cheatin' bastard. Young thing, too. What'd ya do, off her parents? She's awful skittish. Bet she's got a nice tight puss, dontcha sweetheart?
That was enough. He snapped at his cohort, his eyes burning an unnatural yellow.
"Hands off, asswipe. I told ya. She's my wife. Got married a while back." The implication that she'd whore herself out… take it anywhere they'd put it had sickening, spoiled bile rising in his throat. Then he reached for her. Lydia's grip on him tightened.
He saw red.
There was a sickening snap as he grabbed the hand reaching for her and bent. His thumb ended up in his elbow, his forearm snapped as Betel stepped away from his wife to bend the asshole over the table with a thud, jostling their drinks. He pressed in nice and close, leaning down to whisper in his ear.
"Reach for her again and I'll chop your tiny pathetic balls off. That there is the love of my life… before and after. You're gonna apologize. Real nice. Or I'mma send your ass straight to Saturn."
Lydia's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as Betelgeuse doubled over the mammoth in a single, effortless motion, cracking his weighty forearm in half with a gruesome crunch that made her flinch. Mike was screaming like a little girl. Like he could feel it. She had seen Adam and Barbara hurt themselves by accident before; Adam tripping over his two left feet and momentarily forgetting how to levitate, Barb cutting herself in the kitchen in the midst of meal preparation. They always brushed off the incidents without a blink or nod, as if nothing happened. This prior experience told her that Betelgeuse had done something. Physical pain was a sensation reserved for the living, but not for Mike. Not tonight.
You're gonna apologize. Real nice. Or I'mma send your ass straight to Saturn.
"I'M SORRY!"
The writhing man screeched, eyes winced open through the pain to make contact with the target of his apology. A significant portion of the crowd had turned their attention to them now, watching the display with avid interest and curiosity. Their whispers were inaudible over Mike's screams, but Lydia caught a few words here and there. "Betel" and "Wife" and "Big Mike" and "they're friends" were parroted repeatedly as the spirits gossiped, painting a verbal picture of the scene for those who weren't in the loop.
"FUCKIN' SHIT, I'M SORRY, MISSUS JUICE— PLEASE— FUCK!"
Lydia snapped out of her shaken silence. Mike had been begging her forgiveness for far too long. She was no sadist, and the sight of such visceral, honest pain at her expense was twisting her gut into pieces.
"I forgive you," she rushed, genuinely meaning it, before snapping her attention to the snarling poltergeist still holding him captive. He didn't show any signs of releasing him soon. The pupils in those jade eyes had thinned to savage reptilian slits, venomous yellow bleeding into the whites around his irises.
"Beej," she tried carefully, unsure if he would listen, "please let him go."
Oh, this was delicious. It had been too long since he'd had the chance to really fuck someone up. He leaned his weight onto Mike, forcing pressure onto his shattered arm. The man screamed and pleaded, but Betel wasn't satisfied. He'd touched his wife. The only thing good and pure in his whole wretched existence. He had to pay for that.
He could feel the eyes on them, smell the fear in the room. After so long locked up it was good to be cementing his place as the Ghost with the Most again. Most power. Most sadism. Lydia's frail, frightened voice leaked through to his savage brain, his eyes leaving Mike in favor of staring at her, his face broken out into a wide, needle-toothed grin.
"You want me to let him go? You got it, kitten." A hole opened underneath the table, the tell-tale hissing and slithering of sandworms emanating from within.
"You heard the lady, Mikey. Enjoy your trip." He promptly dropped him through the portal and it sealed behind him. He held his hands out in victory, a manic, wild laugh leaving him.
"HELL YEAH! It's good to be back, folks." He turned to the crowd, his hand reaching for Lydia and pulling her into his side without touching her. "This here is my lovely wife, Lydia. Y'all have any questions?"
It soon became imminently clear to Lydia that this was Betelgeuse's house and everybody else was just partying in it. The entire scene was animalistic in its brutality, more akin to something that could be seen on Animal Planet than anything that would happen in a civilized society. The alpha staked his claim. The alpha was challenged. The alpha took out the threat.
Once more, he used his magic to levitate her to his side, though she found herself a tad less willing this go around. He was cackling, high on power— a power that Lydia could feel crackling through the air, crawling over her skin, enveloping her. Blunt, grimy teeth had sharpened and lengthened to crawl past his teeth, his malicious grin eerily, inhumanly wide. It appeared very likely that he might have been on the verge of transforming into his beastly snakeskin. This couldn't be the same man who spent an hour playing with her cat this morning while they lazed about in bed, sleeping in. Was he a monster after all? Was she wrong about him?
This here is my lovely wife, Lydia. Y'all have any questions?
Silence met the question, none of the spirits wishing to suffer the same unfortunate fate as Big Mike. This many eyes on her made Lydia want to shrivel up and disappear. The only sound breaking through the tense quiet was that of her damning living breaths, painfully loud in her own ears. Everyone could probably hear it, down to the band on the other side of the lounge.
No, no no no please don't look at me, please don't look at me, don't—
A painful bleat was swallowed down her throat, ringing loud as any alarm through the club.
He chuckled, reveling in their silence.
"Good." He pressed a possessive kiss to her cheek, handing her a drink. "Here we go baby… calm your nerves."
He pressed his forehead to hers, his appearance slowly shrinking back to what she was familiar with, the chaos leaving him. The air still crackled with his power, a threat that lingered when his fangs had gone. He helped Lydia sit in their booth, taking up his glass of scotch and sipping at it.
"Look… Lyds. I'm sorry ya had ta see that, but… I couldn't let him treat ya like that." His eyes were dark, hungry as he looked up at her. "You're mine. I had ta show 'em that."
Lydia shot back her drink swiftly as it was given to her, huddling into his side as he pulled her into the booth. Then, she sought out the second one, throwing it back just as quickly. The crowd took their settling down as a rightful cue to throw the party back into gear. The band started up again and tentatively, the spirits returned to dancing and talking, indulging in their revelry. It was obvious what they were talking about, but the consensus was clearly to do so more discreetly now.
As much as the incident had rattled her from start to finish, she still felt safer at Betelgeuse's side than anywhere else. He was the monster she knew, the monster she could trust. "Big Mike" had plans for her. Lydia had seen it in his awful frigid gaze, and she doubted they included anything she would have found agreeable. This was not a good man. Still, she mourned that he had seen such a grim fate because of her.
"Is he… will he be okay?"
Barbara returned from Saturn, and so did Betelgeuse— but Barb was a fluke, damn near an act of God, and Betelgeuse's aura was more powerful than any she had encountered in her time as a medium. Who knew if Big Mike would be so lucky? Alcohol seeping through her system, she turned just so to lace her legs over her husband's, placing herself half in his lap.
"You scared me."
"Absolutely not. He's gonna be lucky to come back in the next century."
He watched her shoot back both drinks, gesturing to the bartender to bring another. As she curled into his lap, he pulled her further onto him, nuzzling into the soft skin just below her ear.
You scared me.
"I know… I'm sorry, kitten. I just…. he had his hands on ya and was talkin' about shit that… I just saw red. Couldn't let him even think about ya like that."
Her heart was still fluttering like a bird in a cage from within her chest, and he pressed his lips to her pulse, reveling in the feeling of it against his cold lips.
"How can I fix it? I don't wantcha to worry. I'd never hurt you… unless ya asked me to." He nipped at her gently, his hand sliding to her inner thigh.
I'd never hurt you… unless ya asked me to.
"I know."
She shuddered for more pleasant reasons now, reassured as always by his gentle kisses and sweet pawing. It was kind of… sexy watching him obliterate Mikey, wasn't it? An evil part of her was thrilled by the masculine display of possession and prowess despite her rigid moral code. Lydia never thought she'd have men fighting over her in bars, much less powerful specimens of masculinity like that. She never doubted for a moment that Betelgeuse would keep her safe, even when Mike had his paws all over her, but the threat had been daunting all the same.
"I know…" She repeated a beat after the first, softer this time, creamy thighs quivering under his touch. Oh God, was she wet?
"Please no more fighting tonight."
The bartender delivered a third shot and she took this one a bit more smoothly this time, in less of a rush. The song changed pace again, slowing to something more romantic, and the lights faded from violet to pink to vivid red over them, casting everything in a bloody glow. Eager to change the tone of the evening and return to the pleasantness they'd been robbed of, she conceded to his original idea.
"Will you teach me how to dance? I've got a couple of years of ballet under my belt, so I'm not completely hopeless. I've never done anything like all that stuff, though." She gestured vaguely at a talented, handsome pair of spirits waltzing elegantly across the floor, stealing the show. "Show me how?"
He looked up as the lighting changed, his pointer finger was just a breath away from slipping into her skirt where he could tell she was starting to warm up to him again. He raised an eyebrow at her request, shooting back the last of his scotch and standing, settling her carefully on her feet.
"Of course I will. I'm the one who suggested it, ain't I?"
Ballet. Of course. That explained just how bendy she was, never showing discomfort no matter which way he twisted her in bed. He took her hand and brought it to his shoulder, his own sliding around her waist until he could hold the opposite hip gently. Their free hands met between them, clasped tight. The song was a favorite of his, a slow sultry sound that lent itself easily to them as he carefully guided her to step up onto his feet. He winked.
"We can practice like this first. Get you into the rhythm."
The lyrics of the song kicked in just then, the skeletal woman singing keeping a close eye on them.
"Never know how much I love you,
Never know how much I care,
When you put your arms around me,
I get a fever that's so hard to bear…"
He hummed along, a low throaty sound, pressing their cheeks together as they swayed.
"You give me fever,
When you kiss me,
Fever when you hold me tight,
Fever, in the morning,
Fever all through the night…"
"She's staring at us…"
She was. The blue-skinned siren on stage had kept a keen eye on them as Betelgeuse danced with her slow and sensual, weaving her through the other dancers until they were fully immersed. The jazzy tune was wrought with heated twists, the singer imbuing a lusty timbre to her sultry voice as she carried on past the chorus into the next verse.
"Ex-girlfriend?"
She was an undeniably beautiful woman, but for once, Lydia's insecurities were quieted. After all, she had the ring, and Betelgeuse hadn't made any macho shows of masculine pride for some other woman. For the entirety of the song, Lydia allowed her husband to carry her through it, standing still on the tops of his clunky boots— like a daddy with his little girl. She was a pleasant kind of drunk; more than tipsy, but not sloppy or clumsy. The room was spinning, but she wasn't dizzy.
Despite her confidence that she had the rhythm down by now, she didn't make any moves to step down and move independently. No, everything was just lovely just the way it was. Every inch of her was pressed against him, skin humming and cheeks flushed. His power remained thick in the air, almost tangible. Combined with his strong embrace and gentle swaying, she felt like she was floating.
Betel was more than happy to lead in their dance, his cold, stubbled jaw pressed to the warm silken one of his wife. He had closed his eyes, reveling in the moment and the residual rush from his attack on Mike when she spoke.
She's staring at us…Ex-girlfriend?
He opened them again to see who she was talking about. He snorted softly. "Yeah, you could say that… but she ain't nothin' next to you, baby."
He held her tighter, his hand easily finding its way to her ass and squeezing firmly. The singer finally looked away at that, her expression sour. He pressed a gentle kiss to her neck, picking back up in humming the song. When it ended he made no move to release her, simply continuing their slow sway as the next number started.
She really was something. Her skin was flushed and warm, though it was hard to tell if it was from arousal or the alcohol, her delicate hands held in his larger, rougher claws. It struck him, suddenly, that it was rather like Beauty and the Beast. She was his Belle and he was her cursed prince. He smiled at the comparison and nuzzled into her, bringing his lips to her ear to whisper, "You wanna get outta here, baby? I can't wait to get you outta this dress…"
Were Lydia privy to his romantic, borderline cheesy thoughts, she likely would have swooned. Beauty & the Beast was one of her favorites, next to Snow White. Despite all the doom and gloom, deep down inside Lydia was subject to the same fascination with Disney princesses that every other girl in the universe seemed to be. She would have found the comparison apt indeed.
As it was, she was not a mind reader and all she had were her own musings. They weren't too far off from his. Lydia never thought she would ever have an experience like this. It more than made up for the inevitability that she would be missing her senior prom, and she didn't doubt that would not have been near as magical— literally— as this. She was whirling on a cloud of emotional and physical high, floating high above the room. At that moment, she would have done anything he asked.
"Yeah," she agreed, dreamy and soft, hanging off of him limply with complete confidence that he would never let her fall. "Let's go."
He grinned, pulling her into a kiss as he transported them home. Percy let out an indignant mewl, scampering off the bed as he pulled her onto it. He gently reached for the hair comb, pulling it free and letting her long dark locks trail down over her shoulders.
"God damn… Have I told you lately how fuckin' gorgeous you are?"
His hands found her bare thighs, sliding up and into her dress as he kissed her again, unable to be satisfied without the sweet taste of the alcohol that still lingered on her tongue.
"Sorry that asshat ruined our date night, kitten. I was tryin' to keep us somewhat incognito…"
Clearly, that hadn't worked out. He tugged at her skirt, lifting her dress up and over her head before letting his mouth fall back onto her soft alabaster skin.
Have I told you lately how fuckin' gorgeous you are?
"Once or twice," she laughed breathlessly as pulled away from that deep, desirous kiss, cheeks flush with intoxication and ardor. She lifted her arms up to help him as he undressed her in a hurry before dragging her back in under the tide of his hunger. In a flash, she was pinned under him, the ravenous poltergeist leaving suckling bites along the column of her throat, leading down to her breasts. The flesh there bloomed under his attention, replacing the marks that had faded with all new love blemishes.
Sorry that asshat ruined our date night, kitten.
"He didn't ruin it," she hummed, lashes fluttering as his grimy mouth latched onto the peak of her tit, pulling it past his teeth and suckling harshly until the flesh there turned from untarnished, pale pink to a dusky rose.
"He just scared me… more than you…"
A pliant pile of liquefied limbs beneath him, her breath hitched with each delicious touch. She was entirely submissive, completely seduced. Nothing that happened here tonight was out of obligation or coercion. His wife was ready to give herself over fully to his lust, and would have been with or without the three shots she threw back in the club.
"He was touching me… and I couldn't see you… He knew I was alive, and— and then he called you stupid… I thought he would take me away and hurt me and I wouldn't see you ever again…"
"I'd never'a let that happen, baby girl…" He caressed her soft breasts, squeezing gently, then rougher. "Don't worry... Daddy's gonna kiss it better."
He took hold of her hip, turning her onto her stomach and drawing her hips up. "I'm gonna tie ya up again. Not a question, just a statement. If ya need me to let ya out you just say 'Sandworm' and it all stops. Got it? Say it for me."
He sat back, loosening his tie and shrugging out of his jacket. He slipped the loop of his tie around her dainty wrists, looping it through a small metal ring on the headboard, exactly for this purpose.
"Now daddy's gonna stake a new claim… make sure nobody doubts who you belong to. You ready?"
Got it? Say it for me.
"Sandworm," she hushed obediently as he took charge, a tad intimidated by what she knew was coming, but insanely aroused nonetheless. He was going to hurt her. She was going to like it. She was already wet for him and had been for a while, about since she sucked his cock down in the dressing room while wearing that little red teddy. Maybe she would surprise him soon, throw it on and catch him unawares while he was distracted with TV or the newspaper. He had earned a little treat.
Now daddy's gonna stake a new claim… make sure nobody doubts who you belong to. You ready?
That was certainly ominous. What was he going to do? Another spanking? Milky flesh trembled in anticipation, but Lydia was a good, docile wife and she knew when to answer a direct question.
"Yes, Sir," she dared to answer this way, using a title she knew he would appreciate. When in Rome.
Yes, Sir…
"Oh, that's pretty… you are so good to me, princess." He landed one sharp slap to her ass before hopping off the bed and making for the large wardrobe in the corner.
Whistling to himself, he opened up a drawer near the bottom. At first glance, it appeared to be empty, but nevertheless he managed to produce a collar and a blindfold from the bottom of it. The collar itself was made from plush velvet, lined in soft synthetic sheepskin. A lovely deep red, he knew it would look great against her pale skin. He returned to the bed, dangling it in front of her.
"Look kitten… it even has a bell. He fastened it onto her gently, pressing a kiss to her cheek before thrusting against her so that she could feel how hard he was. "Now… watch this."
He blinked and there were suddenly two of himself. He grinned lecherously at his double. "You go ahead and take the top I had a turn. I'll take the bottom."
The collar was insulting. Its tinkling bell, near-identical to Percy's, sent a degrading message; she was a pet, a kitten, meant to be stroked and enjoyed by her master without any agency or rights of her own.
These were the first thoughts that ran through Lydia's head as he strung the dehumanizing accessory around her throat, and logically she knew she was supposed to be upset about it. Yet, she didn't feel any of that burning embarrassment or indignation. She felt safe. No one would come to take her from him. No one was bigger or badder than her husband, and she was his to protect and keep. Was that vow included in the ceremony? She couldn't remember and felt a pang of regret at it. Nevertheless, it was true. She was his wife, his kitten, his princess; all of those things she once spat in his face that she would never be.
All of that peace and acceptance flew right out the window, however, when he ground down against her and grunted out something that didn't make any sense at all.
You go ahead and take the top, I had a turn. I'll take the bottom.
Who was he talking to? The bed dipped, and Lydia jostled within her bounds to get a look, eyes bugging at the sight that met her. There was another. He was an exact replica of the original, down to the pattern of the dirt dusting his off-white button-up. The obscene possibilities that two of them presented were enough to make her freeze up and go rigid, much as she had on their wedding night. Suddenly, the heinous phrase he uttered just seconds before made perfect sense. He meant to tear apart the last remaining shreds of her virginity, spurred on by Big Mike's crude threat, most likely. Between the two of them, she probably wouldn't be able to leave this bed for a week.
The doppelgänger came to kneel beside her head, stringing a gruff palm through silken locks to pull her face up and rub her cheek against his groin, letting her feel the thick, clothed cock there. Simultaneously, the original gave another hard push, pressing that very same cock against her smooth, white ass— healed from its previous abuse, only a single stinging welt in the shape of his large hand branding the area.
It was okay, she reminded herself with a deep, shuddering breath, the teeth of his zipper scratching gently across her butter-soft cheek. She was okay. All she had to do was utter that little two-syllable word and this could be over. She may have been wearing the collar, but the leash was still in her hand.
This was gonna be great. He could already tell. When he spoke to his doppelgänger, his wife had turned, confused, then momentarily mortified. He snickered, running his hand up her back gently.
"It's okay, kitten, you're doing great."
He licked his lips and nodded to his clone. In an instant, they were both completely nude. After all, it wouldn't do to scratch her up her pretty skin quite yet. The Betel at her head tightened his hold in her hair, pulling her face closer to his straining erection, pressing her soft lips against it eagerly. Meanwhile, the original was shuffling down to lay on his stomach between her legs, manhandling her back until he could tuck his face in where he really wanted to be.
He snapped and his fingers came away soaked in a clear, viscous liquid. He snickered, rubbing one soaking finger against her tiny hole, his other hand coming to her clit.
"Relax for me, baby… you just focus on junior up there…"
"Junior?!"
The copy snarled, his grip on her hair tightening until she winced. He immediately gentled, hushing and soothing until those plush red-stained lips finally parted wide enough to grant him entry.
"Ooooh, that's good, baby… That look like a 'junior' cock t'you? Look, y'can barely even fit it in that lil mouth…"
Once she had it nice and slick at his insistent direction, the grimy fist knotted at the base of her skull leading her up and down until she was near choking, he pulled her off abruptly, leaving a slim trail of saliva connecting her bottom lip to the plump, blushing head of his cock.
"Asked ya a question."
"No, Sir." Clearly, Lydia knew her role here.
"Goooood girrrrl," he purred, grinning nastily, then pulled her back onto his dripping cock, "now get back t'work."
Meanwhile, the original was busying himself prodding and stimulating places he didn't belong. A slimy, cold tongue extended to run all along the seam of her nether lips at the time his finger tested the waters, pressing into her ass just up to the first knuckle. A startled cry was muffled around his girth at the intrusion, Lydia pulling uselessly at her bound wrists out of reflex.
"That'll do, honey," the copy groaned, stroking her hair and savoring the tightness of her hot, soft cheek muscles going taut around him. "Daddy's gotta getcha ready… make sure you can take this big dick… that's it… you'll like it, promise…"
Betelgeuse shot his double a look. Where'd he got off talking to his wife like that? Regardless it was hot to take a spectator seat in watching her suck him down. He slowly pressed the finger that had breached her tight ass in further, kissing over her back and sliding his tongue through her wet pussy intermittently.
It took a while but he was eventually able to pump the finger inside of her, her first taste at being fucked there. He groaned low in his throat at the same time the double did, giving her a surround sound of pleased husband.
"That's it kitten… fuck you take it so pretty… look at you stretchin' open for daddy's cock…"
He shook his head. "I am such a lucky sunova…." his double aimed a kick at his shoulder. "Doncha mean we?" "Fuck you."
"Fuck you," the doppelgänger squabbled back childishly, stuffing his cock down his wife's throat with haughty entitlement. Lydia was concerned. This had the potential to get ugly if they couldn't work together. For now, they worked her over with a modicum of patience, the one at her head using her shamelessly for his own pleasure while the one at her hindquarters doled out a deluge of conflicting sensations.
This was dirty. Lydia was open-minded in the realm of sexual exploits and aware that anal was common among many couples, but a little societally ingrained shame couldn't be helped. The two Betelgeuses continual praise abetted in banishing the internalized guilt. They hissed and growled and groaned their pleasure, taking turns manipulating her bound body to their convenience and lathing her in adoration for allowing the abuse.
The stretching ache had dulled to mild discomfort as the one behind her kept at it, exploring her perfectly untouched cavity.
"Hurry up n' give'r another finger," Betelgeuse 2.0 commanded, thinking himself in charge. "I woulda had her ready by now, ya fuckin' slacker."
The hellishly tight passage her husband was working at opening up constricted around his digit at this, marking Lydia's continued involuntary reluctance. She couldn't really help it.
"S'okay, baby," the double soothed, rapidly changing his tune as he addressed her, stroking her sweetly flushed cheek in a guise of giving comfort when really he was out to feel his own cock through her fluctuating cheek muscles. "Gonna love it so much… gonna fill you up at both ends, baby girl… gonna be too busy cumin' t'be ssscared…"
He hated himself. Well. This version of himself, he was cocky and pushy. He wondered if he ever brought this side out on Lydia… no wonder she'd hated him. He growled at the demand to add another finger, glaring up at him over her back.
"I'm workin' on it. I don't wanna hurt her… too bad, that is."
He pressed a kiss to her back, gently pulling back his finger and pressing back into her with two. It was amazingly tight in there. He couldn't imagine how it would feel around his cock. He kissed over her back, deigning to ignore his other half for the time being. He glanced up, watching the way he pulled her face into his lap repeatedly.
"Hey, asshole. Take it easy. She's fragile." He mouthed over her core gently, sucking at her soft lips and sneaking his free hand under to brush over her clit.
"You're doing great, kitten. Just breathe through it…"
The doppelgänger sneered, grumbling out an "I know, shit for brains, she's my wife" but pulled her off his cock anyway. Lydia gasped in droves of air past her blowjob-slicked lips once she had the freedom to, neck falling limply into his grasp. He held her cranium up with both hands, keeping her mouth near his shaft so she could lick and kiss it intermittently during her break.
"Ain't ever gonna get tired o' that mouth, sugar," he growled while she suckled soft and sweet at the thick vein just below his head, her tongue gently fluttering against the cold, sensitive flesh. "Fuck— when y'do that… mm… feels like I got an angel suckin' me off, with them lil butterfly kisses… silky lips… mm…"
Something slimy and slithering breached the tight walls of her pussy, simultaneously writhing along the delicate pearl that was the seat of her pleasure, and Lydia's rhythm faltered.
"Beej— Please," she gasped, pushed back onto her other husband's hand and face as best she could. "I need— I want—!"
"Whaassat?" Quick as a snake, he reached under her to pinch her nipple between his callous and index. Not too hard, but enough to send a message.
"Daddy!" She shrieked, straining under her imprisonment.
"That's what I thought ya said," he tutted, releasing the unforgiving pressure to smooth his hand over her breast in a gentle, deep tissue massage. "Now let's rewind n' try that again. Whaddya want?"
"Daddy," she whimpered, blinking big watery eyes up at the more demanding of the two, "please make me cum."
"Hey, knock that shit off. Ya nasty bastard."
He flared up at him and pulled Lydia closer. She was his damn it. He worked the two slick digits into her, spreading and twisting them until he was satisfied enough to add a third.
"Daddy's down here, kitten. Look down. Come on, Lyds."
He grinned up at her, slithering his tongue deep into where she was dripping and throbbing for them. His fingers pressed and twisted, eager to open her up. Finally, he deemed her sufficiently prepared and withdrew them, his hand on her sensitive button increasing its vigor.
"Come on Lydia, come for daddy… I'm gonna fuck you so good in a second. Can't wait, baby… you're so good for us."
Lydia found herself in the middle of a sexual tug-o-war, playing the role of the rope. The meaner one directing her to suck his cock kept firm hold of her hair as the slightly less mean apparition pulled her closer, instructing her to look his way. Whenever she tried, incapable of ignoring a direct order like that, the one holding her hair gripped tighter, forcing her to keep lathing his cock with attention.
"Daddy's right here, Princess," he intoned with faux pity, thumb tenderly caressing the baby hairs at the nape of her neck in contrast to his fist's cruel grip. "He's gonna get you off… then I'm gonna get you off… then you're gonna get us off."
It wasn't fair. They knew it wasn't fair, too. The one behind her tongue-fucked her with increasing intensity the longer she was refused permission to look at him, and his smarmy double relished in his competition's frustration.
"Now," he ordered suddenly, wrenching her neck back so that she was forced to meet him eye-to-eye. The expression he wore was shadowy, a wealth of dark desires reflected in the swamp-like depths of his gaze. "Cum now."
Dutifully, this order was obeyed. She shattered to pieces, still forced to hold his gaze and watch as those villainous lips quirked just so into a self-satisfied smirk.
He was devastated. The softer of the two growled as she fell apart at his command. This guy talked a big game for someone who could be banished at any moment. He pulled back from her, reaching down to stroke his aching cock.
"Fuck you. That was all me."
He ran his free hand up her spine, following the touch with gentle kisses. He shot his doppelgänger a vengeful look, sliding his hands around her to gently pinch and pull at her tits. He may have separated out his harshest bits, but what was left wasn't so kind either.
"Alright then. You said it's your turn. Get down here and do your job." He hissed the words, his jaw clenched tight. He pressed one last kiss between her shoulders before shifting to give his other half room.
Betelgeuse's double returned that scornful glare with a happy-go-lucky grin, making sure not to touch the gross bastard as he crawled into position over his bound wife. Purring in contentment as he took in the slick, pale expanse of secret flesh bared to him in her vulnerable position, he lifted his arm back before letting it swing through the air, his palm landing with a weighty SLAP on the only unmarred cheek she had left.
"Fair's fair," he grunted as Lydia's pained cry subsided.
"Beej," she huffed out thankfully, nuzzling into his hipbone and trailing sweet kisses and licks along his dry, neglected length. This was her good, nice, sweet husband and he deserved the affection she had to give. True to form, he pet her tenderly as she carried on, seemingly having missed her just as much even though he'd been there the whole time.
"Mm mm mm," the one behind her hummed in appreciation, grabbed hold of her hips and positioning her higher to make up for where she went slack mid-orgasm. "Thanks for openin' her up for me," he growled, presumptuously passing his cock along the tight, barely-fucked little pink hole. "Ain't you a pal. This is gonna be fun."
There was a pause where Lydia couldn't see exactly what was happening between them, but something must have. The doppelgänger let out a beastly sound and abandoned his pursuit of that passage, instead aiming a little lower and lunging his hips forward hard until she was impaled to the root on his cock. She was given no warning, no time to adjust. Without preamble, he was throwing his hips against hers with powerful thrusts, filling the room with sounds of wet stinging slaps, Lydia's delirious high-pitched moans, and the faint jingling of the little bell at her throat as she was forced forward into her husband's arms.
The kinder of the two was enraptured by the sight of his double's… no, his cock disappearing into their wife's hot, tight cunt. He ran his hands through her hair lovingly as she was tipped in and out of his hold, murmuring sweet nothings to her as his rougher half pounded into her. Soon enough she gasping and crying out as she came, her long pale legs shaking with the force of it. He watched as she panted, her pretty brown eyes rolling back as she was rocked through her second orgasm of the night‒ and they were just getting started. Well, that wouldn't stand.
Gently, he slid out from under her cheek and making his way back to where his clone was still teasing her with slow, deep thrusts.
"Move your saggy ass and get underneath. " He tugged at the binds, freeing her from the headboard but not giving her wrists the freedom they'd need to have free range of the two of them. He waited for his other half to get in position before sliding a slicked finger back into her tight ass, groaning softly. "This is gonna be so good…"
He growled, slicking himself with a blink. It wouldn't do to hurt her. Not too much.
"You ready kitten? God, you're gonna be so tight…"
For once, the double didn't have any snarky comments or complaints, sliding beneath his tiny, quivering wife gleefully and immediately seating her back on his cock, where she belonged. He slid up until he was propped on his elbows, linking her bound arms around his neck so that she was forced to hang off of him. Now, she would be stuck staring into those grim, grotesquely happy features throughout the endeavor. He was the same, but he wasn't; a little less restrained, a little less merciful. Still, he clearly loved her every bit as much.
When the slick, blunt head of his cock came pushing, her brows furrowed in discomfort and he cupped her cheek, running a thumb along her supple cheek in a comforting gesture. When it popped past the obstacle of the clamping ring of muscle he'd worked diligently at loosening, she opened her mouth in a silent scream, a single tear rolling down the opposite cheek. A slimy green tongue caught it before it could reach her jaw, then trailed up to clean the remnants of the salt track.
"S'gonna feel good, baby. Promise."
He punctuated his untrustworthy guarantee with a tender kiss as she was further impaled, swallowing her discomforted whimper. The selfish urge to thrust was ignored, the doppelgänger busying himself instead with easing her through the transition. Eventually, she was fully pinned between their round guts, two identical drooling cocks buried entirely within her.
"Fuck—" He snarled with clenched eyes and bared teeth, and rolled his hips once against his better half's wishes. "So fuckin' good—"
"Fuckin Christ, can't you give her a minute?" His hands were roaming her back, digging into the sore, tight muscles at the small of it.
"How are ya doin beautiful? Not too painful, right? Remember your word."
He leaned over her to kiss her cheek, effectively squashing her even tighter between them. When he was sure she was alright he slowly started to move within her, a ragged groan leaving him as her snug, muscled channel did its best to reject him. He kept at it anyway, panting despite his lungs having no breath in them.
"Fuck, Lydia…"
"It's— it's okay…" she husked out, gritting through the discomfort for their benefit, trying her damnedest to relax. They'd yet to make good on their promise, but they knew what they were doing. If they said it was going to feel good, then it would and that was that. She just had to have faith and let them take it all the way.
Slowly, they began to move. The Betelgeuse plastered to her back rocked against her with gentle, careful thrusts, easing his oozing girth in and out of her stubborn, unyielding passage. She was grateful that he, the seemingly kinder and more patient rendition, was the only one with "permission" to take her there. His copy would surely not have been nearly as nice about it.
The other took up his slack where he could. Whenever one withdrew, his twin pressed forward, keeping her constantly full of cock, never empty. The pressure she was under was near unbearable, her insides constantly fluttering and contracting against their gentle ravaging of her. Each time her husband slid back into her reluctant ass, it hurt just a bit less, until the pain was barely distinguishable from pleasure.
"That's it, beautiful," the one fucking her pussy grunted, taking it upon himself to increase his pace just so, gliding into her with impatient thrusts that didn't bother waiting for the original to withdraw first. "Rrr… yer gettin' there, kitten… take it…"
The inside of her ass was like hot, tight velvet around his cock, the sensation making him chase more of it with every thrust. He kept hold of her hips, slapping away those of his double.
"Fuck, Lydia… That's it… you're so fuckin' good…"
The little bell jingled with each brutal, coordinated thrust. He couldn't see her face, but he knew that it had to be wonderfully debauched as they took their turns fucking into her. He could feel the slide of his other half's cock within her, separated by only a thin layer of tissue. He couldn't do much beyond slowly humping into her, muttering all kinds of soft, sweet things to her.
He knew he wasn't going to last, but he was determined to make the most of this for her while he could. He slid his hands between himself and his twin, twisting and tugging at her breasts as his rhythm picked up in pace.
"That's it, Lyds… fuck you feel incredible…"
Lydia was beyond words as they bounced her back and forth between them, all patience and gentility exhausted. Two sets of hands gripped and fondled in places, the girl unable to discern who they belonged to in the froth of their rabid fucking. Two identical voices rasped out filthy nothings to her as she squealed for them in return, nonsensical things that might have been swears or pet names.
Everything was better in threes.
Quite suddenly, the pressure became too much for their overwhelmed little wife. For the third time that night, she was brought to completion, nearly passing out from the intensity of it. Her vision went white, and she sang for him; a melodious, drawn-out cry of sublime pleasure that dipped and rose higher as they capitalized on her euphoria to find their own finish.
Slight differences aside, in this moment, they were one. Each picked a side of her neck and bit down hard, anchoring themselves as deep as they could go into their assigned passages and grinding her down, their balls slapping each other in the effort. Then, they were pumping her full of seed at both ends. Lydia was still coming down from her earth-shattering peak when the doppelgänger released his mouth full of living flesh first to snap out an order at the original, busy gently lathing the spot where his bite drew blood.
"Move over. S'my turn."
Third time's always the charm… he thought as she fell apart between them, keening and crying out in the most beautiful orgasm he'd ever witnessed. He kissed over her shoulders, panting.
Move over. S'my turn.
He looked up at him with an unamused expression. "Fuck off." With a wave of his hand, the clone vanished. His body jerked strangely for a few moments before he blinked down at her. "Damn. That shit always gives me a splitting headache."
He carefully withdrew from within her, taking a moment to admire his work. She was absolutely dripping from both ends, her flesh swollen and red from their abuse and painted in a lovely layer of white release. He groaned, running a finger up her tired pussy. "That's fuckin' nice… look at you, Kitten."
He pressed a kiss to her shoulder once more before carefully turning her over and tugging his tie loose from her wrists. He took one dainty joint in his large hands, massaging the roughed up skin. "Thanks for that… that was fuckin' amazing…"
"You're welcome," Lydia hummed drowsily, ever polite. She was already well on her way to the fields of Elysium, perfectly content to bask in the afterglow and allow her husband to dole out some much-needed aftercare. "I don't think… I can do that too often…"
Everything below the waist was either panging with a residual ache or numb. An indignant pout stuck out her bottom lip just so, and she found the energy to stare accusingly up at her guiltless husband— acting completely innocent, as though the other he'd been decent enough to banish before he could have his way wasn't him.
"You're mean."
"I do my best, yeah…" He snickered, pressing a kiss to her pouting lip before biting at it roughly.
He switched wrists, pressing his thumbs into the sore flesh. "We should getcha in the shower. You're kinda.. well. You're drippin'." He cared lifted her, making for the bathroom.
"That was fun, huh? I don't wanna do it often either. Splitting up like that reminds me why I fuckin' hate myself." He sat her on the bathroom counter, hoping that the cool marble would be at least somewhat comforting. He started the water in the large tiled shower, snapping to summon a low bench that she could sit on.
She really was something. He didn't know a single other woman who'd have taken it like she had. She managed to remain beautiful and demure through the abusive treatment, and now had the gall to tease him by pouting so cutely. She was going to be the death of him. Or herself. He shuddered. Never.
Lydia only pouted further at his insistence she shower but knew that it was for the best and silenced any protests. She wanted to sleep. For a moment, she was struck by the irony that she was just fine with basking in the filth of their "lovemaking" while Betelgeuse was prioritizing cleanliness.
"You don't have to," she objected gently as he took her into his arms again and carried her into the stall, strutting fearlessly beneath the hot stream. He settled at the bench he summoned, positioning her on his thigh with a sturdy arm around her waist, her legs spread over his knee. A clean, white washcloth magic'd into his hand. Very gently, he ran it up her thigh until it met the junction between her legs, dutifully cleaning away the remnants of their trysts. Though the rag was made of an incredibly soft material, he only applied the barest pressure, careful not to aggravate anything.
"I know you don't like water… because… you know."
Lydia possessed more tact than to vocalize the why. Nevertheless, the downpour didn't seem to be doing anything for his perpetual coat of grime. If anything, it was just making him… slimy.
"Real sweet of ya to care, kitten but quite frankly I don't think you could do this alone right now." He kissed her collar bone gently, his hands gentle where he tidied her up.
With the evidence of their union washed away, he was free to take his time in washing the rest of her. His hands roamed over every inch of her smooth, supple skin. If he forgot to use the hand with the washcloth once in awhile no one could blame him.
He pulled her shampoo down from the shelf and sniffed it, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
"Ugh. Well. It smells nice on ya."
Lydia moaned as he washed her hair, lathering the sweet-smelling soap into her scalp with gentle, scratching circles that felt just divine. How was he so good at that? He took his time, using the detachable head to rinse her down so she wouldn't have to stand to be close to the stream, then using his hand as a comb to rake conditioner all the way through to the ends. Once that was rinsed too, he finally seemed satisfied.
"I'm not a pet," she informed matter-of-factly as she was wrapped in a fluffy towel and carried back to their bedchamber by the attentive ghoul. Despite her half-hearted objection, she very clearly enjoyed being treated like one. Still, his actions this evening had planted a seed of doubt in her that needed assuaging,
"I love Percy. And you… love me. But… you don't love me... like I love Percy… do you?"
Pampering his wife was one of his favorite pastimes, after all, so taking the time to clean, condition, and comb out her long, dark hair for her was likened to how others meditated. It was peaceful. He cocked his head when she spoke, his eyebrow arched up into his hairline. He turned her to face him gently.
"Lydia. I love you… hell. Not like you love Percy, no. You're not my pet. You're my wife… I… love ya like…"
He searched for the right words for a moment.
"Like Delia loves bad art. Or… Adam loves his model. Like… I guess like Babs loves Four-eyes too. Like I've never loved anybody before. Does any a that make any sense?"
It was silly of her to doubt him. Hadn't he done enough to prove his love? Why did she keep testing him? What was it so hard to believe that someone could genuinely feel that deeply for her?
"It makes sense," she agreed, lying, relaxing back onto his arm in their bed. Percy, having watched the entire fiasco from start to finish with bored animal indifference, hopped up to the comforter to curl into a comfortable ball at their feet once he gathered Master and Mistress were settling in for the night.
"I love…" there was a tense pause before Lydia continued on with her inadequate declaration, well aware that it was falling short of what he wanted and drowning in guilt over it. "My new clothes. Thank you for giving me a nice first date."
He snorted. Typical woman. "Well, you're welcome, sweetness. I'm glad you liked it. We'll have to do it again sometime."
He ran his hands through her hair, then down over her back. Before long her breaths evened out against his chest, her muscles that were always tense when she was conscious relaxed, and her eyelids fluttering with the motion of her dreams.
That had gone stunningly well. Now to deal with Daddy Dearest and get some information.