Ok, so I couldn't wait. Careful - Remember it's rated M so be ready for some mature themes. I don't own anything, the Addams Family is a product of Charles Addams.

Enjoy!

Part Eight: Escalation

Wednesday felt that escalation was the only way to really know for sure if her brother was immune to her torture or if he was only faking nonchalance. She'd begun to notice that each night he seemed less and less scared of her intrusions into his sleep, and during the day, he barely even flinched at the sight of her. She wondered if perhaps he'd gotten used to the routine and was thus no longer frightened by it. She decided to find out.

Instead of her traditional nighttime torture – that is, breaking into his room, startling him, disappearing so he tosses and turns all night, and leaving something threatening behind for him to find when he wakes ­­– she decided to go with something a bit more extreme.

So she was rather surprised that when she snuck into Pugsley's room through the rafters, in her traditional way, that she found him, not tossing and turning as per usual, but wrapped tightly under his covers and snoring like a baby. She stared at him, unable to understand how he could sleep so soundly when he should be dreading her revenge. Though the light was low, she swore she could detect a tiny smile on his lips.

"Great," she thought. "He's enjoying this. He's gone and turned a perfectly rotten torture into a pleasurable experience. I hate it when he does that." So it was with a heavy heart that she set up her last mark in Pugsley's room, her doll Marie Antoinette, headless, of course, hanging from a noose over his head, hoping at least she might get a little squeal out of him in the morning when he realized she'd broken in yet again. Then again, she realized that was simply wishful thinking.

She moved slowly as she retreated back to her room. She couldn't decide if she'd gotten Pugsley back for his torture on her. She was pretty sure she'd scared him silly at least a few times before he began to enjoy it, so she thought maybe that made them even. A huge yawn filled her chest, and she realized that she was glad at least that she'd be able to get some good sleep now that she didn't have to be up every night scaring Pugsley to death. She pushed open the door to her room and gasped.

There, seated on her bed, surrounded by a pile of all of the things Wednesday had left in Pugsley's room over the past several days, was Marie Antoinette, holding her head in her lap and staring at Wednesday with unseeing eyes that seemed to mirror the horror in Wednesday's eyes. To top it all off, a tiny noose hung from the ceiling above Wednesday bed, a post-it note taped to the bottom. Wednesday grabbed the note, and read, despite her shaking hand, "I believe these belong to you. Sweet Dreams, sister."

She cupped her hand to her mouth, just in case the scream that she felt building in her chest might escape, and, not believing that Pugsley could have gotten into her room faster than she – Hadn't she just seen him snoring away in bed? – she raced down the hall to double check that he was asleep.

She peered through a tiny crack in Pugsley's door and saw that, indeed, he was still asleep, snoring away. Shivers racked Wednesday's body and she shook back, hoping to dislodge the creepy crawly feeling that was taking over. Without a backward glance, she rushed back into her room and closed and locked the door.

In Pugsley's room, Pugsley managed to keep from chuckling until he heard Wednesday's door close and lock. Then he let out a tiny chuckle before he sighed, "I've still got it" and fell fast asleep.

Elsewhere in the Addams' mansion, someone else was wondering if he still had it. It'd been a long time since Morticia and Gomez had played with this particular apparatus and Gomez was feeling slightly anxious about whether or not he still had it in him to play the game.

Not as young as he once was, Gomez eyed the Catherine Wheel with both a devastating wave of desire and a slightly nauseating wave of, well, nausea. Sensing his distress, Morticia appeared over his shoulder, and, wrapping her arms around his waist, she whispered into his ear, "Nervous, darling?" She proceeded to remove his coat and shirt.

"Nervous?" Gomez raised his eyebrows, "Never. Gomez Addams fears nothing," he added in a voice sounding strongly like a matador. He turned so that he held his wife's eyes, "I adore the Catherine Wheel, my darling, and no one is better with hot pokers than you, Querida," he paused, "but…"

"But?" Morticia tilted her head questioningly.

"I loathe the distance." His voice began passionate now. "My hands chained at my sides, and your body, kept far from me by the length of the branding iron. The distance is too much to bear."

Morticia felt a blush rising up her neck, and, to hide her own inflamed passions, she nodded and turned away from her husband. Fearing he had upset her, Gomez cried out, "Querida? Have I said something wrong?"

She neither answered, nor turned to face him, but waited, several paces away from him with her back to him.

He rushed to her side, and placed his hands around her waist, "Cara mia? What's wrong?" He crooned into her hair.

He heard the clicking of shackles and felt their iron weight against his wrists. Before he could utter a sound, Morticia had turned around and was wearing a sly, wicked grin on her pale face.

She took a step back and revealed to Gomez that each of his hands were shackled and chains to hooks along the floor, giving him just each slack to remain standing, but not each to walk more than a pace in any direction. She took another step back, out of his reach.

"Is this better, mon cher?" She asked, humor dancing in her dark eyes. She crossed her arms and she watched the concern on her husband's face get replaced first by surprise, then admiration for her stealth, and then the lusty ardor that graced his features every time he was restrained.

She supposed that it was utterly unfair of her to torture her husband with the weakness he'd only just revealed to her, but she felt it her responsibility to give him both the pleasure and the pain that he so loved.

Gomez tried not to gawk at the sheer beauty of his wife, the way she teased him with her flirtatious smile, her fiery eyes, the way she tempted him with her tight dress and that low cut neck line, and the way she stood, so impassive despite the raging desire she created in him. He knew instinctively that she stood outside of his reach, and yet, he couldn't keep himself from taking that step toward her. He knew she was waiting for him to lose control, taking her own pleasure from his animalistic tendencies when chained. The chains clanged, halting him mid-step, as he knew they would, and he saw it – that tiny smile in Morticia's eyes, revealing her pleasure. The smile inflamed him further and he found himself rattling the chains in an attempt to close the distance between him and the object of his desire.

She found his intensity endearing, and suddenly found that she was fighting her own battle of will, trying to will her legs to keep her in place, and not let her body throw itself into Gomez's thrashing embrace. When she felt she couldn't keep still any longer, she decided to walk. Keeping her eyes on Gomez, she walked in a slow circle, being careful to stay outside of his reach.

He settled down then. Chest still heaving from brutal efforts to remove the chains from the floor and from the raging passion inside him, Gomez struggled to regain some semblance of calm and sanity. Only his eyes revealed the fury of the beast within him as they watched Morticia circle in the same way that a cornered animal sizes up its predator. Morticia looked back at Gomez only intermittently. Once, she stopped and turned her back on him completely.

Rage and desperation took over and he threw himself at her immobile form. She didn't even flinch with the crashing chains caught and Gomez howled a feral snarl.

She chuckled. And when she turned back around, she held in her hands a bullwhip.

Gomez's eyes widened in surprise, and then nearly rolled back in his head in anticipation of the pain and pleasure that awaited him.

"Querida, the bullwhip?" he tried to sound nonchalant.

"I thought it appropriate," she replied, detached. "You seem beyond animalistic tonight." She smiled, and added, "And, you do know how I love to play Lion Tamer."

Before he could respond, she let the whip fly, and landed a blow squarely on Gomez's chest. The welt blossomed like a red sash across Gomez's already glistening skin. The pain of it knocked him to his knees and he howled between gritted teeth. He bowed his head to the floor, squinting his eyes against the pain as he tried to regain control.

When he lifted his head, he could see, despite Morticia's best efforts, the effect that his pain had on her. Her arms, wrapped around her chest, shook slightly as her staggered breathing lifted her chest. Her fingers, wrapped around the handle of the bullwhip were white from clutching too tightly. These tiny details, an untrained observer would never catch, but they stood out to Gomez. He smiled and rose.

She saw his smile and was not amused.

She let the whip fly again, this time slicing through his trouser leg and drawing blood along the inside of his right thigh. He clutched the leg, this time unable to squelch the cry that escaped his lips as he fell to his knees yet again. The pain from the wound ran like shivers up and down his body and he felt as though the tingling pleasure, now forcing his body into convulsions, might push him over the edge. The pleasure was intoxicating and it called to him, but he knew it was nothing compared to the feel of Morticia's body and the love they made together. He gritted his teeth against the mounting pleasure, and, with an extreme force of will, raised his eyes to his wife's once more.

Her eyes were hungry, greedy, but she refused to give into her own pleasure before she granted him his. She raised the whip for a final strike, but this time he was ready for her. She let the whip fly and Gomez reached out a shackled hand with superhuman speed, forcing the whip to encircle the chain and become tangled. Before Morticia could react to Gomez's sudden movement, she found herself being pulled by the whip in Gomez's waiting arms.

The last thing she heard before she was lost in a sea of sensations – the cold of the stone floor on her back and of the chains across her skin, the heat of Gomez's body, the smooth feel of Gomez's hands on her face and body, the sharpness of his teeth and nails digging into her skin, and the mounting ecstasy of untamed passion – was Gomez's throaty growl, "Not without you."