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hellfiretropical · 6 hours

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The Hollow Heart - Chapter 1

Pairing: Hellcheer, Gothic AU

Summary: To escape her mother's control and the stifling society of Gilded Age New York, heiress Christabel Cunningham impulsively marries Henry Creel, a charming and seductive stranger, and accompanies him to his remote mansion on the West Coast. There, as Henry grows cold and cruel, Christabel must uncover her husband's sinister secret before it's too late. But can she trust Kas, her husband's enigmatic assistant, who seems to be her only ally in this strange place, or is Kas's loyalty to his master stronger than his attraction to Christabel?

A/N: This was inspired by the moodboard for "Vecna's Bride" by @a-strange-inkling. I saw the title and the Gothic imagery and my imagination just ran wild.

I changed the names to differentiate them from my Regency AU and better fit the Gothic vibe, so Chrissy is now Christabel (after the poem by Coleridge; the fic title and chapter titles are also quotes from the poem) and Eddie is Kas, because I took some inspiration from the D&D lore of Vecna and Kas (big thanks to @waterfallsilverberrywrites for helping me with that!) When I did a poll, the consensus was that Eddie's Gothic name should be Edmund, but... I prefer Kas :P (I already have plans to use Edmund for another AU.)

Chapter warnings: none (but Eddie doesn't appear in this chapter yet... please bear with me)

Chapter word count: 3.9k

Chapter 1 - At the Old Oak Tree

Christabel ran.

In the distance, she could hear the shouts and cheers of the hunting party, the excited barking of the dogs, and the occasional gunshots, cracking sharply in the crisp autumn air. She was not far enough. Lifting her heavy wool skirt above her knees, she pushed deeper into the bushes. The dead leaves from years past formed a soft carpet under her feet, muffling the sound of her steps, while the leaves of this year, despite having turned all shades of gold and crimson on the trees, had not yet fallen, so she need not worry about being discovered from their crunch underfoot. She hoped the party was not headed this way. After all her endeavors to snatch a moment alone, she intended to savor it to its fullest.

Christabel Cunningham hadn't had many opportunities to be alone in her twenty-three years on Earth. The only daughter of a wealthy New York businessman, she had been since birth surrounded by nurses and governesses and servants, who took care of her under the watchful eyes of her mother. Her father had died, quite suddenly, of a heart attack, when Christabel was only a child. Christabel did not miss him. To her, he was but a dim, distant figure, always away on business trips, or holed up in his study when at home, hiding from his wife, leaving Christabel to bear the brunt of her mother's nagging. The sole mark he'd left on Christabel's life was her name, given to her by him in a fit of romanticism, much to the disapproval of Mrs. Cunningham, who preferred classic names like Elizabeth or Catherine or Amelia. His death didn't leave much of a void behind.

Her mother, an ambitious and exacting woman, embittered by her failure to have a son and by becoming a widow so young, had poured all her affection and thwarted dreams upon her daughter, smothering the girl with them. She dictated everything Christabel wore and ate and read and play, and all the friends Christabel made and all the parties Christabel attended had to be approved by her. And so Christabel had grown up with her books and her dolls, lonely but never alone.

In truth, she hadn't been allowed to attend a lot of parties. As she grew up and learned more about her father's will, Christabel discovered a more mercenary side to what she'd once thought was her mother's overprotectiveness. As the trustee of her daughter's inheritance, Mrs. Cunningham could enjoy a lavish lifestyle, a townhouse on Fifth Avenue, a summer cottage in Newport, the latest fashion in her wardrobe and the most luxurious dishes on her table. But as soon as Christabel was married, she would be in charge of her own fortune, and Mrs. Cunningham would be left with half of what she was used to. Christabel believed that to prevent this, her mother would have locked her away forever, like Rapunzel in her tower.

But social standing has its advantages. Afraid of the wagging tongues of the town, the whispers behind closed doors that she was keeping her daughter from society to hold on to her money, Mrs. Cunningham had reluctantly allowed Christabel to make her debut when she came of age. Since then, her days had been filled with balls and theater trips in the winter, tennis matches and yacht races in the summer, giggling friends and fawning suitors, still under the watchful eyes of her mother. It was tedious, but Christabel had endured it because it was better than staying at home, surrounding by the dark walls of her room and feeling her mother's disapproving stare on her at all times. Besides, that was what was expected of all the debutantes. Smile, dance, flirt, ride, sketch or sing a little, play a little piano, speak a bit of French, a bit of German, be amusing but not sarcastic, be vivacious but not feisty, be modest but not withdrawn, and hopefully make an advantageous match, and then have daughters and watch them go through the same thing, over and over again.

Christabel knew she would not break free of this cycle. Her whole life she had been taught to do what she was told, to never question, to never put a foot out of line. But as her own, feeble form of rebellion, she made it a point to refuse every proposal she'd ever received—and there had been plenty of them. With her delicate features, dewy skin, wide blue eyes, and strawberry blonde hair, Christabel always turned heads in every room she walked in. It was true that her nose was slightly upturned and her front teeth were slightly crooked, but these flaws were seen as charming, not defective. And if her manners were at times rather listless and uninterested, well, her inheritance could more than make up for it. So a lot of men had fallen in love with her, or at least with her beauty, or with her money, and had proposed, but she had refused them all.

When Mrs. Cunningham found out about these refusals, Christabel always had a believable reason to convince her mother of her decision—the family had an unpleasant reputation, their fortunes were not equal, or the boy himself did not have a promising enough prospect. Mrs. Cunningham was appeased, for a while, but after two seasons and Christabel remained unmarried, she began to grow uneasy and warned her daughter of the perils of spinsterhood.

To all her admonishment, Christabel said nothing. It wasn't that she wanted to be an old maid for the rest of her life, far from it. But unlike other young women, who dreamed of marriage as a celebration of love or even as a way to further their social connections, Christabel saw it as a means to freedom. And none of the men in her circle could give her that freedom she so thirsted. They all grew from the same stocks, the same root. If she married one of them, she would move in the same circle, lead the same life, beating a tired circle from Manhattan to Newport and back again, perhaps with the occasional trip to Europe, but still seeing the same faces, doing the same thing as everybody else, and never be free of her mother.

For that summer season, Christabel had tried to convince her mother to go to London or Paris, or, if they had to stay, then she was secretly hoping—as hateful as it sounded—to catch the eyes of a European aristocrat, many of whom were flocking to America in search of an heiress to restore their family fortune. Europe would be the ultimate escape. However, her mother disliked traveling, and although Christabel's inheritance was sizeable, it was not large enough to draw the attention of an impoverish earl or baronet.

At least her mother had accepted Mrs. Carver's invitation to their summer mansion in Tuxedo Park for two weeks of English-style country party. There were to be riding and shooting and picnics in the woods, all culminating in a costume ball on All Hallows' Eve. They had just come back from Newport, worn out and looking forward to some quiet days to recover before the winter season, so Christabel had been afraid her mother would refuse, knowing her dislike of the outdoors. But an invitation to the exclusive Tuxedo Park was hard to come by, and when Mrs. Cunningham learned the party was thrown for Mrs. Carver's eldest, Jason, who had just come back from Yale, nothing could have kept her away.

Jason Carver. Christabel sighed. All the debutantes were in love with him, though to Christabel, he had always been just a good friend, nothing more. She'd never imagined he would set his sight on her, not when he was always surrounded by so many other girls. So it had come as a complete shock when, after a dinner party at the Carvers' mansion, Jason had asked to speak to her alone in the gazebo overlooking Tuxedo Lake. There, while the moonlight rippled over the water, turning the surface of the lake into a broken mirror, he had taken Christabel's hands in his and, tremblingly, haltingly, asked her to marry him.

For the first time, Christabel had hesitated.

Jason was one of her few childhood friends her mother had approved of, as the Carvers' Manhattan residence was not far from the Cunninghams'. He had always been kind and attentive to her, and unlike some men, she knew he cared not a jot for her inheritance, since the Carvers was one of the richest and most prominent families in the city. A marriage between her and Jason would send her mother to Heaven.

That was the problem, of course. Christabel never wanted to do anything her mother wished.

"If we are to marry, can we live here?" she'd asked. It sounded as though she had accepted him already, but she didn't care. She looked around at the untamed parkland of the mansion, with the woods surrounding it on all sides and the sparkling lake in the distance. It may not be far enough from her mother, but it would be something.

"Of course!" Jason had said, squeezing her hands. "We'll come here for the summer, and—"

"No, you mistook me. I don't mean for the summer. I mean permanently."

Jason had laughed at that, thinking it was a joke. "We can't possibly live here! I have my business in town, and there's nobody here for half of the year anyway. Why would you want to live here?"

Christabel had tried to say that she wanted to live in Tuxedo Park precisely because there was nobody there for half of the year, but one look at Jason and she knew he wouldn't understand. Nobody would.

"I'm sorry, I can't," she'd said and withdrawn her hands.

She'd half-hoped Jason would try to get her to change her mind, that he would say they could live anywhere as long as they were together, but he had only shaken his head, said, "It's not meant to be then," bowed, and gone back inside, leaving her alone on the shore of that moonlit lake. Of course. No amount of love could be enough to compel a man to throw away his whole life like that, and even if he had made the offer, she couldn't possibly have accepted such a sacrifice. Perhaps it was for the best.

Still, that hadn't stopped things from being rather tense and awkward between them when they set out for the hunt that morning. Christabel had never enjoyed hunting, but she jumped at any chance to be outdoors, to be able to walk and run and move freely without being criticized for not acting ladylike enough. And another reason—her mother, having no interest in hunting and riding, always stayed behind on such occasions. That morning, though, Christabel could feel Jason's mournful eyes on her whenever she turned. She'd only wanted to be alone with her thoughts, but it was difficult when she was surrounded by the hunting party with their guns and dogs and servants. It was only when they came across a flock of partridges and the others' attention was diverted that she managed to slip into the woods.

Now, as she walked through the trees, Christabel pondered her situation. Would it be so bad, being married to Jason? It would at least let her be mistress of her own life... except that life would still be tied to another's. No, if she simply wanted to claim her inheritance, she would've married the first man that proposed and had done with it. This regret was simply because she had started to feel anxious about her future. Could she go on like this until her mother died? Could she live as a spinster, becoming brittle and bitter in her old age, facing the pity and contempt of others? Christabel felt the old, helpless anger toward her father blaze up inside her once more when she thought about the predicament he'd placed her in. What was the use of ensuring no one could touch her inheritance, if she had to saddle herself to a man to claim it?

She passed through the line of trees and came to a clearing on the side of a hill, gently sloping toward a small glen, where an old oak tree spread its cape of gold leaves over a murmuring brook. It seemed something straight out of a Washington Irving story—all that was missing was a covered bridge. Tucking her skirt into the top of her gaiters, Christabel threw her arms over her head and sprinted down the slope, letting the cool air fill her lungs and clear her head.

Near the bottom of the slope, her skirt slipped out of the gaiters and tangled around her legs. Her ankles twisted under her and sent her tumbling down. She rolled head over heels the last few feet before skidding to a stop right by the oak. Luckily, the hill wasn't steep, and her fall had been more embarrassing than painful. She cursed under her breath. When they received Mrs. Carver's invitation, Christabel had begged and begged her mother to let her have a split skirt for the occasion so she could move about with more ease and perhaps even learn to ride a bicycle, as some of her friends had, but Mrs. Cunningham had insisted that her old riding habit, with its long trailing skirt, would do just fine. Christabel shouldn't do much walking or moving about anyway, Mrs. Cunningham had argued. Men wouldn't be interested in overly energetic girls. And as for riding a bicycle, showing off her legs in those newfangled bloomers, like some common hoyden? Forget about it.

"Are you all right, miss?" a voice said somewhere over her head.

Christabel looked up and saw a pair of blue eyes. A man had stepped out from the other side of the oak tree and was looking down at her. She suddenly became aware that she was sprawled on the ground with her skirt hiked up over her knees. She bolted up and pulled her skirt down, face burning crimson.

"Yes, yes, I'm perfectly fine, thank you," she sputtered, struggling to her feet.

Her ankle turned painfully. The man reached out a hand to help her. His grip was firm and strong.

"Thank you." Christabel peered at him more closely. He was dressed for a day out in tweed and stout boots, but with a walking stick, not a gun. "Are you with the Carver hunting party?" she asked, for she did not remember seeing him. He was a little older than Jason and her circle of friends, in his late twenties or early thirties perhaps, tall, with a fine-boned, elegant-looking face. But what startled her the most was his eyes, as clear and blue as the sky above, fixed upon her with an expression of fascination and interest quite unlike anything she'd received from her suitors. She reached a self-conscious hand to her hair, trying to dislodge any dry leaf that may have gotten stuck there.

"Carver? No, no, I'm a guest of Dr. Brenner."

Christabel's eyebrows shot up. Dr. Brenner was an eccentric who had inherited one of the largest fortunes in New York, but rather than continuing to run the family business, he had devoted his time to studies of the occult and other esoteric sciences. Unlike most of the residents of Tuxedo Park, who only kept their mansions here as holiday homes, he lived in a cottage deep in the woods year round, engaging in all sorts of obscure experiments, never interacting much with his neighbors. They tolerated him out of respect for his family name; some saw him as a harmless old fool and even invited him to some of their parties to show him off to their out-of-town friends, much like the ornamental hermits that the English aristocrats of old often kept on their grounds. Unfortunately, the Carvers were not one of these open-minded people, so Christabel had never met Dr. Brenner. She had to admit that she sometimes felt envious of him and the male privileges that allowed him to give up his family business, but not his wealth, and pursue his true passion. Alas, no such luck for her.

And here was this man, claiming to be a guest of the mysterious doctor! Her curiosity was pique immediately.

"Are you?" she asked, with interest. "I didn't know he ever invited anyone here. You must be a man of science or some sort of scholar, for him to allow you to encroach on his solitude. What is your business with him?" Then she colored again, realizing how intrusive her question was. Usually she never allowed herself to behave so casually with a gentleman, but there was something about this man that freed her from the confines of propriety. Or perhaps it was the scene around them, the wild woods and the open sky that had no use for etiquette. Still, the habits of upbringing were hard to shake off, so she cast her eyes downward and murmured, "I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to pry."

"Not at all," the man said with a friendly smile. "As a matter of fact, my family came from this area before it was developed, and Dr. Brenner is helping me to research our history. I'm just looking for the ruins of their village."

"Oh. That sounds very interesting."

"And if there's anyone who must be pardoned," the man continued, "it should be me, for I have been so presumptuous in talking to you without so much as an introduction. You must allow me to make amends, Miss—"

"Cunningham. Christabel Cunningham," she said.

"What an unusual and beautiful name." The man looked into the distance. "The lovely lady, Christabel, whom her father loves so well. What makes her in the wood so late, a furlong from the castle gate?" he recited in his rich, musical voice whose reverberation seemed to reach Christabel's very core.

She laughed to hide her blush. "A very fitting quote. Only it's not so very late, and while the Carver mansion is grand, it is far from a castle," she said. "And I'm simply taking a walk, not praying for my betrothed. In fact"—the noise from the hunting party had ceased, and she realized it must be nearly time for luncheon—"I'm just heading back now."

"And alas, I am no Geraldine," the man said. "But may I accompany you anyway?" He extended an arm toward her.

Christabel hesitated, thinking what her mother would say about walking in the woods with a stranger. But surely, there was no harm in it. The hunting party was not so far away, and she could always tell the truth—that she had gotten hurt, and this man was helping her. She took the proffered arm, and they started walking toward the Carver mansion, not following the route Christabel had, but taking the longer way, along the lakeshore, Christabel hobbling to keep up with the man's long strides. There was a dull ache in her ankle, but she bit her tongue, not wanting to complain.

"I see that you are an admirer of Coleridge, like my father," Christabel said.

"Your father must be a man of great taste then."

Her smile disappeared. "I wouldn't know. He died when I was very little." She caught herself again. Why was she telling this man, whom she met not five minutes ago and whose name she still didn't know, all these things about herself?

"Oh, I am so very sorry." The man took off his cap, revealing longish blonde hair that fell over his forehead in soft curls. His eyes were full of sympathy. "I know how difficult it is, losing one's parents. My own parents—" His voice hitched. "They died when I was very young as well. An earthquake, in San Francisco."

Christabel's heart panged with sympathy. "That must be horrible."

Those brilliant blue eyes dimmed for a moment. "It was."

"So you live in San Francisco?"

"I do, yes."

"What is it like?" she asked eagerly. Outside of Newport and occasionally the Catskills, she had never been anywhere. She had never even left the state of New York.

Before the man could answer, she put her weight on the sore ankle by mistake and let out an involuntary yelp. He turned to her, all solicitous concern. "Have you hurt yourself in the fall?" he asked.

"I must have," she replied reluctantly.

Tucking his cap into a pocket, he knelt down, took her ankle in his hand, and gently turned it this way and that. "Does this hurt?"

"Only a little," she said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, that won't do." He put one arm around her and the other under her knees, scooping her up easily as though she weighed no more than a feather. "I should have noticed sooner," he said. "I'm sorry."

"It's quite all right." Christabel was feeling a little dazed. None of her suitors had ever picked her up like that—indeed, none of them ever touched so much as the hem of her skirt without asking for permission first. She found that she didn't mind being handled, didn't mind the lack of permission-seeking. Nestling against his chest, she glanced shyly up at her gallant rescuer. Despite his slender frame, he was carrying her across the uneven terrain with no effort at all. The sun was shining upon his blonde hair, turning it into a gold helmet, and his blue eyes sparkled as he smiled down at her. She was glad they were taking the longer route.

But all too soon, the shingled walls of the Carver mansion appeared behind the trees, and the hunting party came into view. Christabel was afraid her rescuer would put her down the moment they came upon the others, but if anything, his hold around her seemed to tighten.

"There you are, Christabel," Jason said, stepping forward. "We were about to send out a search party—" His countenance changed upon seeing her in the arms of the stranger. "What happened?"

"Miss Cunningham had a bit of an accident," the man said. "I happened to come across her and took the liberty of escorting her home."

"How fortunate," Jason said, his voice icy. He all but yanked Christabel out of the other man's arms, as though she was a child, or worse, a doll, a toy to be fought over.

"I'm perfectly all right, Jason," Christabel said, fighting to put her feet on the ground. "It's just a sprain."

Jason relented and put her down. Christabel turned to her rescuer, who was replacing his cap on his hat, preparing to go. "Thank you so much," she said. "I hope I haven't delayed you from your quest."

"It was my pleasure. It's not every day a beautiful lady fell from the sky and landed at your feet, is it?"

She couldn't stop a smile from spreading across her face. "I still don't know your name."

"Haven't I told you?" He looked confused.

Christabel frowned, trying to recall. "No, I don't think so."

"Ah." He tipped his cap at her. "Henry Creel, pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Will I see you again, Mr. Creel?"

He flashed her another of his dazzling smiles. "You can count upon it." Then, with a bow in the general direction of the hunting party, who was staring at him, he turned and disappeared into the woods.

As usual, if you want to be tagged, drop me a line! Any likes/reblogs/comments will be greatly appreciated, thank you!

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hellfiretropical · 24 days

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Wake Up Call - (NSFW)

Summary: There is no plot. Eddie wakes up horny, Chrissy is horny. They do the horizontal mambo. The end.

Chrissy was awakened by the touch of Eddie’s lips on her neck. His breathing brushed against her skin as his hands trailed along her sides.

“Baby,” she giggled. “Ooh, Eddie…”

His mouth continued to shower her with affection, fingers sliding along her belly as he pushed up her tank top.

“Need you Chrissy. Angel, princess…” he groaned in her ear.

She chuckled at the way his fingers dug into her skin, “That tickles, Eddie.” She moaned when his thumbs gently caressed her nipples, “Ooh, oh yes.”

He was too busy planting kiss after kiss on her belly, lips reaching higher until he was just beneath the under slope of her breasts. Eddie groaned when she ran her fingers through his curly locks, giving his scalp a gentle scratch. She softly gasped as his long tongue followed the shape of her small bosoms. Holding and softly squeezing them with his big, slightly calloused fingers. His thumbs never stopped teasing her teats, forefingers joining in the process.

“Oh wow, oh Eddie…”

His hips grinded along her leg, clearly feeling his hard-on upon her thigh. Her hand trailed down his soft abdomen, cupping and fondling the front of his briefs, “Mmm, big boy. Such a big boy aren’t you sweetheart?”

Eddie’s stupid grin made her heart flutter, nodding against her chest as his hand slid down to her panties. His smile grew when he felt a little wet spot, tugging at the waistband and letting it snap against her skin. She let out a little yelp, giving him a playful pout. He pecked her cheek, returning to her neck while his hand made its way into her garment. Her jaw dropped when his finger graciously circled her clitoris, hips rising briefly as he caressed it. She felt his wolffish smirk along her skin, his wet lips latching onto her neck. Sucking and lathering a nice, juicy hickey.

His voice became a little gruff, “Babe, ooh baby, my sweet Chrissy.”

She bit her bottom lip, letting her groans tumble out with each and every one of his methods taking over. She continued to grab his covered cock, but she was much too focused on her own pleasure.

“You’re mine,” he growled in her ear.

She watched him position his body above her. Making sure that the gap between them was closed as he continued to please her. She could sense the spot in her underwear growing, spreading her legs further apart as he situated himself there. His tongue licked the lovely inner space upon her thighs, teeth coming in to nibble and nip at such a sensitive spot. Her little squeals and groans further fueled his desire to love her. She smelled divine, her scent was intoxicating and mouth watering.

Eddie grabbed at the wet center and pulled it aside, taking in the pretty sight of her wet curls and pudgy lips. Her skin had a lovely glow to it, they tasted as delicious as they looked. Chrissy grabbed at the bedsheets, crying out his name as he went to town. She watched the incredible display of his masterful tongue whip and stir itself along, in between, and inside her secret garden. The tip snaked itself between majora and minora, tracing the shapes in slow motion.

“Play with your tits, Chrissy,” he groaned. “That’s right, just like that.”

She obeyed, her hand sculpting and kneading herself. Huffing hot air as he drew closer to her clitoris. Her lithe fingers twirled her hardened nipples, tugging on them gentle as she waited with anticipation. She squeezed herself when the tip of his tongue wiggled just centimeters away from her pulsating button.

She begged, “Eddie! Please!”

He let out a cruel chuckle, his tone mocking, “Please! Please what?” He snapped at her panties again. “You’re a big girl, Chrissy. Big girls always use their words.”

If anyone spoke to her like this, she would have gladly smacked them. When Eddie did this, it just made her body shiver and pussy pulsate. She felt safe around him and she loved when he could be kind and patronizing.

He squeezed her leg, “Come on, I haven’t got all day. What do you want? Hmm?”

“I want… I want you to touch me,” she whispered.

“Where?”

Her hands quickly removed and shucked her underwear aside. Spreading her legs further apart and grabbing onto Eddie’s face. He went right back to it, wrapping her soft, strong thighs around him. He munched and mauled at her, an animal starved and thirsty for sustenance. The hot, wet sounds emitting from that filthy mouth of his sounded deliciously delectable to her ears. He was a menace with that mouth of his in life, at school, and in bed.

Finally he reached her clitoris. He started out slowly, long and loving circles around the bud. He held onto it with his lips, gingerly suckling it, all while watching Chrissy’s body. Little beads of sweat formed and flowed down her face. Muscles clenching and air escaping her lungs. She was so sensitive, she loved the way he touched her. She adored the fact that he knew her body so well. He studied her, his mind always made notes regarding her every sound and movement.

“Yes! Ooh, Eddie… oh- god!”

One finger filled her, curling and pressing along her moistened walls. Long, dexterous, and bendable. Eddie handled her with careful precision, exploring her gently and oh so intimately.

She pushed down on his digit, “More.”

Her wish was his command, and so he offered her a second finger. Joints bending and cycling in a slightly faster manner. Eddie released her clit with a pop, reaching back down to sample her from his fingers up to her nub.

He humped the mattress, “Fuck, your pussy tastes so good.”

She responded with slow, fluttering eyelashes. Her fingers twirling his gorgeous curls, staring deeply into the ravenous hungry wolf behind those brown eyes. He pecked her mound, nuzzling his nose along the dark, coarse hairs; breathing her in again.

Her hands reached down to gather up just a little bit of her essence. Her eyes never looked away from him while she rubbed it upon her nipples. Letting out the sweetest and sexiest breaths he’s ever heard. Chrissy removed the remainder of her tank top and tossed it aside, pressing her breasts together as she gazed into the prettiest pair of brown eyes she’s ever seen. He moved his fingers faster, lips latching onto her cute nipple.

“Y-Yes… oh fuck, more Eddie.”

He closed his eyes and went to work. Pressing, pulling and prodding at her, never once breaking away from his beloved. She tightly curled her toes, draping her arms around his shoulders. Letting herself drop further down into the waters of romantic and erotic love. The more he sucked, the more he moved his fingers. Her heart rammed against her rib cage, drool forming along the sides of her pink lips. His free hand played and pinched the other one, her slickness felt so sticky sweet upon his fingertips. Even when he switched sides, he never stopped this steady rhythm. Chrissy was Eddie’s muse and instrument, she was his whole world.

Her body and brain were drowning in the ocean of earthly delights. She touched her tender breasts, her lower half felt so empty without his fingers; she knew what was coming next. Eddie stood up on his knees, cradling his very obvious erection. Chrissy giggled at the sight of the imprint, her foot massaging it from below. Eddie bit down on his plush lower lip, trying to keep himself at bay. Her painted toes brushed along the material of his briefs, sweetly licking her lips when she looked up at him.

His devious smile returned, pulling down on his underwear until his shaft sprung free. He curled his finger, she crawled to him and placed her cheek in his palm.

“You’re such a sweet girl, Chrissy,” Eddie whispered, brushing her skin with his thumb. “My love. My life. My heart.”

She giggled, “Eddie we’re past the point of pretty words. Just tell me to suck your cock.”

He held up her chin, “Fine. I want you to say, ‘I wanna suck your cock.’ Go on, say it.”

She was drunk on hormones and lust, “I wanna suck your cock.”

Eddie chuckled, “Good girl, Chrissy. Open up.”

He eased himself on her tongue, letting out a breathy sigh as she took more of him. Her tongue made excellent use of taunting him. Lathering and flicking the underside of the head, following the veiny indents along the sides as well.

“Oh- oh shit, Chrissy…”

She smiled, flattening her muscle as she licked him. He moved her hair aside, breathing slowly as he watched such a glorious sight. Chrissy pursed her lips and let a glob of spit land on his dick before taking him in further. As much as he wanted to shove every inch of himself within her throat, he let her do the work.

“God, you’re so beautiful! Oh fuck, oh yeah,” Eddie grunted.

She loved his taste, his smell, his everything. Nuzzling her nose along his belly when she deep throated him briefly.

“Holy shit! Oh wow,” he groaned.

Chrissy went a little faster, batting her sparkling eyes too. Eddie grasped her locks, biting down hard on his lower lip. His brain and cock arguing with each other. Eddie wanted to finish, but not yet.

“Chrissy! Please, oh please wait,” he begged.

Her giggle ran from his junk all the way up his spine, proceeding to release him, “Aww, what’s the matter? Can't handle a little blow job?”

“Turn around,” he ordered.

“Make me!” she stated with a bratty grin before sticking out her tongue.

Chrissy got off the bed before Eddie could grab her, proceeding to lose his balance thanks to his briefs still on his person. She couldn’t stop herself from laughing, trying to get a head start down the hallway. He was hot on her trail, wrapping his arms around the cackling woman. She squirmed and wiggled, unable to stop her vivacious giggling.

She went right over his shoulder, her squealing turned into a sudden moan when he spanked her.

“Oh! Oh yeah,” Chrissy sighed.

He took her right back to their bedroom, immediately placing Chrissy on her hands and knees. She looked over her shoulder, shaking her rump with a pleasant smile across her lips. Eddie positioned himself right behind her, earning a pitiful pout from her.

“Spank me, Eddie. I want you to spank me,” she whispered in a sugary sweet tone.

Eddie gave her rear a squeeze, “Bend down.”

She stuck out her tongue again before following his order. Chrissy let a tiny smile slip when he placed a pillow beneath her body. He kissed the small of her back, hands riding up her thighs, and giving her clitoris another series of gentle strokes. She motioned her hips back, eagerly waiting for more. He gave her a slap across the ass and she yowled. He gave her another one and then another. More soon followed, the sound of slapped flesh bounced along the walls. Chrissy loved it, unable to keep herself silent.

Her ass looked so lovely, glowing such a nice shade of pinkish red. Chrissy reached between her legs and slid her fingers between her puffy lips, fucking herself intimately. Eddie held his cock and jerked himself just the way he liked it. The first drops of his pre-cum slipped out, letting it drizzle onto her fingers. She masturbated with it, so warm and sticky, a delightful mixture that was all for her. She moved her fingers and sucked them clean, keeping her sight on him.

Chrissy blissfully sighed, “Eddie, I want you.”

He grabbed her waist and brought her closer, gliding the tip along her slit. He couldn’t stop himself from smirking at the sound of her pathetic and impatient whining. Still it was only fair to keep her waiting after that little chase. He bent down and kissed her shoulder blades, offering her tiny bites in between smooches.

Before she could say another word, Chrissy had temporarily lost her ability to speak. All she could do was silently gasp. Then she began to moan, the sound growing just a little louder with every passing moment. Eddie went in slowly, fucking her at a careful and easy rhythm. Chrissy felt so wonderfully and deliciously filled again. Looking back at the man of her dreams trying to keep to a gentle momentum. She loved it, he was so kind and sweet to her, but she was famished.

“Harder Eddie, please harder.”

His brain was off, his cock was going to do the rest of the work from here on out. Chrissy held onto her pillow, letting each and every grunt and groan escape her throat. Eddie held nothing back, keeping a good, firm grip on her hips; fingernails digging into her skin. They were so primal, all they could hear, smell, touch, hear, and taste were each other. The minutes felt like hours, their bodies entangled and entwined. They let themselves fall deeper and deeper into the endless pit of ecstasy. Chrissy felt herself getting stretched, trying her damndest to follow Eddie’s thrusting.

Shaking her plush, little rump earned a good spanking, something that she gladly accepted. The combination of getting railed and receiving his hands made her soul skyrocket. Eddie felt his body, heart, and mind were getting tested, and he was not going to fail her by any means.

Neither of them cared if the trailer park or the whole town heard them. Eddie could sense his body nearing orgasm, he was so close and he needed to cum. Chrissy’s orgasms came in waves, one after another the moment things became very interesting. Let there be one, two, many more for her. Her cunt held on tightly to the welcoming visitor, her fleshy surroundings cushioning him ever so nicely. Eddie stopped for a moment, loving this heated entrapment ensnaring his cock. He looked down at the pretty woman, lost in a world of never ending pleasure, with a little bit of pain.

She gave him a look, the look that was enough to make him fall further in love with her. He buried himself deeper and deeper, jack hammering into her. Her eyes had crossed, her tongue hung low. Their heads were empty, they could no longer think about anything except for the raw nature of their love making. This was all that they wanted and nothing more.

The world had ceased for a moment, time had simply vanished. There were no sounds around them, the cold air did very little to affect them. Chrissy shivered with pleasure at the sensation of his essence taking up space within her. Eddie’s grasping fingers released her, hands absentmindedly rubbing the half moon indentions. Easing himself out of her moistened embrace, eyes glazed over with want. Chrissy’s sense of reality started to return, her pupil blown eyes looking down at her hands and then back to Eddie. Their love sick daze was strong, their bodies were weightless, and their minds were still experiencing that blissful high.

Chrissy was the first to plummet, Eddie followed soon after.

“Sorry, I’m heavy, let me just… there we go,” Eddie whispered as he rolled over.

Chrissy snuggled up close to him, nuzzling her face into his chest, “Eddie… I’m cold.”

He grabbed the kicked off blanket and let it fall upon their exhausted forms, “Better?”

“Uh huh,” she answered, letting out a big yawn. “Much better.”

They shared one more, “I love you, Chrissy.”

“I love you, Eddie.”

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