Idk what I'm doing

But now, in the middle of July, when even he, a cold-blooded creature, seemed to warm up under the near-tropical sun, it was hard for him to attend his usual ballets, operas, and plays. Usually, he would prowl the streets until the early hours of the morning, finding a couple or a gaggle of friends that had finally finished partying to tap blood from. Spirits genuinely spoiled the sweet, metallic taste of blood, but a single, even petite woman would be able to get him drunk. And oh, how he enjoyed lounging around even more after that, his sky-high confidence peaked impossibly higher, and the skip in his step just a little more enthusiastic, albeit wonky and less coordinated. But now, the sun rose even before six, right when people were coming out of densely decorated townhouses in their gowns and jewels, stumbling across the alleyways where Lestat would usually pounce. The sun also went down too late for him to catch his shows at the nearest theater.

One day, he found himself leaving the city center for a change, tired of walking empty, boring streets and having to kill only the ones that were already dead, to society at least. Beggars in torn and dirty clothes, money-hungry conmen with snake oil and opiates, and street preachers that would fall to their knees if they found out what daggers he hid beneath his lips. Until one day, one faithful summer evening, mere minutes after the sun had fully set and the sky no longer had any color aside from the grey clouds floating overhead, he found his new target. She was mysterious, prowled around at night so much that he, for a beat, questioned if she was one of the few other vampires wandering New Orleans.

Only, she wasn’t. Her blood was fresh, sweet, young, and untouched by the curse of age and time. She never spoke to anyone on the street, and her glance was always aimed at the sidewalk or the street, if not the many different types of birds that sat on the railings of balconies overhead. Lestat knew most about her: where she went to eat, where she bought her clothes, where she sat to read her fantasy novels, even where she lived. He also knew that, unlike the front she had put up, she was far from Christian or Catholic. Only did she go to the church to fit in—and occasionally stare and daydream at the sight of black-clad nuns who hid their beautiful figures under shapeless gowns and veils. It was like she wondered what was beneath it, and if she would ever see such a thing from women so modest. She was curious, odd, yet only Lestat seemed to ever notice that about her.

After months of tailing this woman, Delia, her name was, Lestat decided it was finally time to invade more than just her privacy and personal life—he was going to break into the apartment she had bought with her father’s inheritance after he died from pneumonia. He’d heard her conversing about it with a priest at the man’s funeral, which Lestat had naturally watched from afar. Strangely enough, she seemed not to care in the slightest when the coffin was finally buried. It only made him wonder more.

The Vampire had to scale one of the buildings to break into a window he knew Delia kept open. Finding her leather-bound journal and reading it revealed to him that she kept this very window open to let in the smell of petrichor whenever it rained—which, in the summer, was nearly constant. He read about her fantasies of medieval knights and kings, of monsters, amongst which were vampires, and that her mother had become handicapped due to a traumatic brain injury, now to be indefinitely taken care of by Delia’s younger brother at her familial home outside of the city.

Her stories of her family and the tragedy surrounding it weren’t long, ten pages of perfect, flowing, curling words at the very most. After that came her thoughts on those beautiful, graceful nuns, even some words on the priests that roamed and heard her out in the confessional, though they weren’t nearly as passionate as the next few drafts and scribbles in that journal, some of the words smudged with drops of ink as if she’d, in her passion, had pressed the pen down too hard.

Delia’s thoughts were direct on paper, as if they wrote themselves when that pen of hers contacted the little book. She spoke of working women, whores, ones she’d only dared to come to in the dead of night when even a city as alive as New Orleans seemed to die. Lestat had to sit down on a nearby couch when he read these vile sentences in utter entertainment, detailing every single night of wickedness that Delia seemingly savored with every inch of her being.

It was as if these prostitutes had corrupted her poor, innocent mind. The pages after another female-friendly quarrel seemed to peak in their godlessness. Lestat read thoughts of pain, finding pleasure in it, the way she seemed to enjoy it whenever grabbed by the throat, and how she could not stop thinking about the time a whore bit her neck in the throes of passion, how it sent her thoughts reeling into a realm of the romanticization of filth.

Lestat enjoyed these deeply personal stories as he read, and even lit the candles scattered around the room in bronze candelabra to create a cozier ambience to read in; it almost felt as if they were friends. He knew every small, minute, disgusting detail, and she wasn’t even aware of his existence at all. He would’ve probably read it in her journal if ever she had seen him and was suspicious about his presence.

. . .

Delia’s return home was nothing short of a shock, the smell of melted wax filling her mortal nostrils as she ascended the stairs to her apartment. It was peaceful inside, and well lit with flickering flames. As if somebody had suddenly decided that she needed a roommate.

She moved further inside on careful feet, her steps quiet to her own ears, but loud to Lestat’s preternatural ones.

When rounding the corner of a particularly large, ornate, hardwood cabinet, the vampire finally came into view. He was sitting on her couch as if he owned the place, her book of secrets open in one of his hands, the other balled up into a loose fist to hold up his head as he leaned his elbow on the couch’s armrest.

“Ah, you’re home.” His deep, rich, and smooth, French-accented voice rang through the house, mingling with the ambient crackling of wood in the fireplace. “These stories, ooh la-la!” Taking out his fist from under his jaw, he fanned his face with it, a flair of dramaticism in his action.

“Who the hell are you?” Delia trembled, demanding answers with two balled fists and a fast-beating heart. She wasn’t going to allow this man to take her house, or her dignity, whatever it was he planned to do with her. When her eyes flicked to a brand-new letter opener on the salon table in front of Lestat’s legs, his eyes followed hers.

“Kill me?” He scoffed dramatically, throwing the open journal on the table with a thud before rising to his feet, making her cower and step back a few feet. “You mean to kill me? My love, I mean no harm. You are simply so… intriguing. One would be mad not to, ehm, snoop.”

“Get the hell out.” She snarled, her heart jumping as she kept her eyes firmly on his form—only for him to disappear in the blink of an eye. A gentle gust of wind hit her when he flew past, and soon he was behind her, taking her jacket like a pseudo-gentleman. The smell floating off his garments could only be described as musty and earthy, like the wet bark of a tree after a rainstorm, or brown leaves that had long since fallen off their host and dwindled into a cold puddle on the pavement. She was petrified with fear, yet her heart pumped a fierce hit of adrenaline through her veins, even as this man seemed to pose no threat.

“Ma Cherie…” He tutted behind her, and with another gust of wind that swept her loose curls over her left shoulder, he stood in front of her, about two feet away. Close, but not too close, merely close enough to inspect and smell her. “You wound me so, can’t you see I mean you no harm? I’m simply here in search of a companion, and I couldn’t help but let my eyes and mind linger.”

“A companion?” Delia scoffed at the man, having to crane her head slightly to look up at him. She was five feet and four inches; he may have been six feet at the least. “This is how you seek companions, is it? By breaking in and reading what is to be kept private!—"

Lestat twirled a lock of his thick, blonde hair around his right pointer finger, inspecting her as a painter would inspect his model. There was no grace in his look, bright blue, icy eyes staring at her bashfully. Sinfully, almost. Like he was seeing through her clothes. “Well, I suppose I understand the anger. Though, maybe I would be a little more grateful if I were you.”

“Grateful?” Her eyes flicked to the book on the salon table. “What will you do now, huh? After you’ve read my darkest secrets? Will you rob me, kill me, or rape me? Will you tell the church so they come after me in your stead?”

A genuine, humorous laugh ripped from the man’s throat. His mouth was wide open, chin pointed up at the ceiling, and now she could clearly see.

Fangs.

Four of them, pointy and white, untouched by time and corrosion.

She exhaled sharply, stepping backward on instinct as if she had just been punched in the gut. This couldn’t be, no. It couldn’t. Vampires were only real in her imagination, in her dreams and nightmares alike.

“They say it is never polite to play with your food.” Lestat’s eyes met hers when he tilted his head down again, his pupils wide with both hunger for the blood and excitement of the kill. She stood still, petrified beyond her limit, yet concealing her fear. “I agree, it isn’t. But that doesn’t take away the fun, does it, Cherie?”

“What are you going to do?” Delia’s pounding heart rang loud in Lestat’s ears, like a distant drum, taking over the sounds of the outside world and creating a lovely rhythm in his head. The smell of her changed, more adrenaline surging, yet there was fear now, far more than there had been, now that she knew she was in his mercy. “Don’t kill me, I beg you.”

“Interesting.” He kept his focus on the sound, quickening as he stepped closer, his scent intensifying in her nostrils. “Now you cower. Now you beg for mercy. And, I promise you, my love… As much as I enjoy hearing the cries of the damned, I’m merely here to play.”

A new scent tickled his senses, arousal. She was aroused, whether by the sight of him, or his smell, his deepening voice—he couldn’t tell. He had tried to mostly tune out her thoughts, enjoying the hunt and the mystery of her, but now that he tried to probe, there wasn’t a single thought. With furrowed eyes, he watched her, trying to enter an empty mind, one running purely on instinct and need.

“You have no thoughts,” Lestat exclaimed. Her heart kept thrumming in his mind. “Are you flustered?”

Delia didn’t respond; she couldn’t. The mere thought of his vampiric nature had turned her on beyond belief, more than she ever had been. There had been many debaucherous nights in brothels and bars, ones that her conservative peers would deeply disapprove of, but never had she felt so primal. Like a wolf and a lamb.

“Allow me to tell you what I plan to do.” She gasped as he took her arm, guiding her to the couch and setting her down with a hand only slightly too rough to be friendly. She sat and looked at the journal again, then at the letter opener, then at the gorgeous vampire looming over her. “I plan to drink your blood, but not to kill you. You are simply too interesting. I feel a kinship.”

Delia sat motionless like a scared cat, trying to get her emotions in check before she would make any hasty decisions. She felt a pull to him, one so strange, alien, as if she were a prisoner falling in love with her captor.

“Do you want this, Delia?”  Her name on his lips pulled a soft gasp and a twitch from her, her cheeks heating up from the way he drew it out in a sultry rasp. In the back of her mind, she knew his question was a fad. She had no choice in this. The thought of such subjugation only drew her in closer. This was carnality in a godless, even inhuman way.

It was as if there were swinging pendulums in Lestat’s bright, undead eyes, his fangs sticking out his upper lip slightly in a haughty grin when Delia finally nodded. Normally, he enjoyed a little bit more of a fight, but this strange girl was so intriguing that he put his preferences to the side completely.

Maybe, after this was done, after Lestat had had his fill, he would change this pretty woman. Her dark eyes would turn bright, perhaps grey or red, and she would hunt for prey by his side, forever. She already seemed lovestruck even without the grace of the Dark Gift. Lestat wanted to see all of her.

“But first,” The vampire spun gracefully on his heels, away from the girl to a small side table on which she’d propped up a flask of brandy. He poured her a modest serving, then dropped the crystal in her hands, taking a seat beside her on the couch with crossed legs.

“Don’t you—” Delia held the glass out, all of the fervor and anger from before suddenly gone. Maybe he had a true claim on her emotions, or maybe she was simply an impressionable mortal.

“Non, chérie.” He waved the offer off with a limp hand, his nails perfectly sharp and elegant. “We cannot eat human food, or drink human drinks.”

“Oh,” Delia took a tentative sip, allowing the hard liquor to slide down her quivering throat. “Don’t you miss it?”

“Mortal food?” Lestat scoffed, flipping some blond hair out of his eyes with a dramatic flair. “No, dear. I much prefer the taste of blood, and besides, you know where that brandy goes when you drink it, no?”

Delia blinked at him with a mouth full, swallowing it. “My… blood?”

“mhm-hm.” He tipped the glass up with a finger when she took another sip, making her swallow all of it as he watched. “Brandy adds a lovely sweetness to the blood, and I get to feel that buzz your kind chases on warm Saturday evenings.”

“Buzz.” She chuckled, allowing the vampire to take her glass and place it on the salon table. The buzz, as mentioned, came soon after. Lestat sat on his knees in front of the couch, watching her, inspecting the throb of the widening veins in her neck.

“What is it you enjoy?” Lestat rose, strands of his blonde hair falling in front of his eyes as he reached a hand out, which Delia took with little hesitation. The drink was making her more fearless, deeply enthralled and intrigued by a very real, and very dangerous vampire at her fingertips. “Sexually, I mean.”

A flush came over her as he led her to the open space in front of the fireplace, where he spun her with grace and practiced agility. The situation was absurd, yet she couldn’t pull herself out of it, like she was in a trance set by this French, very sexy vampire. “Why don’t you tell me instead? You’ve read all my deepest thoughts, and yet you’ve ceased to even tell me your name.”

“Observant.” He nodded, a proud smile on his lips as he once again pulled her along, now to the small bedroom hidden behind an ornate paneled door. “First,” He sat her on the plush bed but refused to lower himself, almost as if he were subconsciously reminding her that she was below him. “I don’t have sex, chérie. Not in the way you do.”

Delia watched as the vampire walked around her room, lighting the candles with a simple glance. Not a match was in sight, yet somehow the flames flickered over his chiseled face.

“Second, my name is Lestat.” He drew the word out, the final ‘t’ drifting off his tongue due to his western European enunciation. It was as if he said his name so slow to make her remember, to allow her to savor every vowel. “You will remember my name, won’t you?”

“Yes.” She nodded as Lestat gracefully drifted back over to her, removing the blue, swallow-tailed coat he had been wearing and tossing it over one of the bedposts. Underneath he wore a crème-colored shirt with billowing sleeves, ruffles lining the cuffs and falling over about a quarter of his perfect, hairless, large hands.

He watched her then, appreciating the pink hue on her cheeks and the way the very top of her stays bounced slightly with the beat of her heart. Oh, how he longed to stop it, to drain her completely and grant her a new life, to have her by his side forever. Together they would certainly be an interesting pair, far too outspoken and dangerous to haughty society.

“Lestat?” Delia’s southern accented voice was soft and higher pitched than before, now filled with intrigue and arousal rather than fear and anger like it had been before. The sound of his name on her lips would have made Lestat shiver if he were still a mortal.

He laughed ever so slightly at the hint of a plea in her tone, his lips curling up into an innocent smile. “Yes, my love?”

“How does one such as you live without sexual gratification?” Her eyes were wide as she looked up at him, pupils dilated.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, my dearest little nymph.” Though Delia would’ve shown her teeth at any man using that word, which would normally have been spat in an imputative tone, she enjoyed the way Lestat had said it. His voice carried praise. “There is an inherent sense of… eroticism in the drinking of blood.”

Delia chuckled softly, wiping her clammy hands on her dress in a coquettish fashion. The way she had been imagining Lestat’s kind had been true.

Now her thoughts were returning, her mind filled with obscene images of her and Lestat in bed, a dangerously depraved pair. She craved it more than anything, more than the whores, more than the teasingly covered nuns.

Lestat bit his lip when probing her thoughts, swimming through images of them naked, of what she imagined his body looked like, what it would feel like to have him deep inside and to cradle him after. But it wasn’t like that, he wouldn’t be able to grant her such things, not with what had been rendered lifeless after his transformation, what hung between his legs.

“Is that what you think of me?” He finally allowed himself to fall on the bed next to her, undoing the lace near the collar of his shirt. “I cannot give you such things, chérie. My nature doesn’t allow it.”

She turned to him with hungry eyes, tracing down his neck as if she were the blood hungry monster instead of him. His blatant infringement of her thoughts seemed to be of no importance to her. “So then drink my blood, Lestat. I want to know what it’s like, and I want you to enjoy it.”

Lestat’s hand reached for the tie in her hair, pulling it loose with ease and wiping her locks away from her untouched neck. She could smell his signature scent as he leant close, kissing her neck tenderly for only a few seconds, then pulling away. The smack of his moist lips alerted her, and her heart thrummed while waiting for the bite, only for the vampire to laugh and whisper in her ear. “Déshabille-toi pour moi.”

Take your clothes off for me.

She nodded as if in a trance, and they both stood to work on her garments. Luckily she wore only a few layers due to the heat, a soft sheen of sweat visible when Lestat had successfully undressed her all the way down to her white stays and bloomers. He only had to untie a few strings to make the last items fall down onto the pile of fabric at her feet.

“My, my,” The vampire drawled sensuously, inspecting every inch before finally reaching out to grab her waist. She gasped at the icy-cold digits on her sensitive skin, looking up when he had her nearly pressed against himself. “Believe me, love, I do miss it—I do so miss being inside pretty things such as you. Though it can never as much as come near the thrill of the bite.”

“You won’t kill me, will you?” Delia’s voice was softer now, somewhat insecure without the protection of her garbs.

“Not yet.” Lestat answered while tossing his hair back and rolling his sleeves. “I want to taste you first, over, and over, and over. Until it bores you so that even death seems more interesting. Then, if you wish, I shall change you.”

Any normal human would have cowered and ran, but the girl smiled. She wanted this, and she wanted him. He took her over to bed again, laying her down on freshly fluffed chicken-feather pillows before crawling over to her, like a panther ready to strike. With blown-out, hungry pupils he stopped right above her pubic mound, lowering his lips to the skin of her stomach and kissing his way up. Only did he nip once or twice, though saving the bite for her beautiful neck.

“Do you want this, truly?” He whispered once at neck-height, once again kissing, feeling the stream of blood under his lips.

“Yes. Please.”

He moaned softly at the sound of her desperate voice, breathing deeply while exclaiming a soft “putain…” before allowing himself to feed. Delia’s hands shot to the vampire’s soft hair when his teeth sank in, an icy spike of intense pain shooting throughout her neck and dispersing into her shoulder.

It was like a dam breaking, tainted blood flowing into Lestat’s hungry mouth, the cries of his darling victim ringing in his ears like the most beautiful sonata he’d ever heard. Her blood was sweet and had a faint punch to it from the alcohol consumed earlier. Lestat could almost remember the taste of brandy undiluted with blood.

He moaned deeply as he drank, pushing closer as if to mold his body into hers, his eyes rolling back with preternatural pleasure. Slowly his skin cleared up, and it seemed almost as if it were glowing with Delia’s shared lifeforce.

She weakened, her heart slowing, eyes drooping, her grip failing. The two of them shared a moan when the vampire finally ceased his drinking, hovering over the girl with a  blood-stained mouth. A mixture of the blood and Lestat’s saliva dripped onto her pale lips, where she licked it off, fierceness still present despite her drained state.

“How does it feel?” Lestat crooned, wiping a tear that had slipped from her eye and threatened to roll into the shell of her ear. She was happy, laughing, and extremely drowsy. “Do not fret, dear, you are nowhere near the end. I merely drank enough to make your body a little… confused.”

“I—I don’t know.” Delia squirmed beneath him, desperately trying to focus her eyes on anything, but failing. “I feel… like I’m floating, but also like I’m falling.”

“You,” Lestat flicked her chin, then affectionately and gently bopped her perfect nose, “are an immensely brave girl.” He watched her sweet smile for a second, drowning in the glimmer of her eyes while panting. “Now, I think it is most appropriate for me to return the favor of pleasure.”

Before Delia could answer, his hand was cupping her wet sex, running a finger down the slit—a finger that was now warm with her own blood. She moaned weakly at the contact, her vision spinning as the loss of blood slowly manifested into the feeling of nausea, something she was able to ignore for the time being.

“Yes, darling.” Lestat moaned softly at her pleasure, probing her mind in an attempt to share some of the sensation. It was there, faintly tingling in his loins, though not nearly as agreeable as mortal sex, or blood drinking for that matter. His long finger soon dipped into Delia’s wet, taut pussy, welcoming his hands with unwavering need.

“Lestat,” She moaned, letting go of him when he sat back on his heels, hair hanging in front of his eyes when he introduced a second digit, and then a second hand. One pumped his fingers in and out with practiced precision, the other rubbed her clit in tight, perfect circles, making her quiver. Nobody had ever made her feel this way, made her ache so deeply for release. “Yes, please, please,”

“Petit lapin, you whine so, and you don’t even know what for.” The vampire laughed, his fingers curling, drawing more desperate moans and pleas from Delia’s used and tired throat. Arousal began to drip from her, and the scent of her sweat filled the clammy room. “Let it come over you, my love, just as you did before. If you stay still and listen to me it will feel better.”

Her skin burned with arousal, her tired legs twitching  back to life as Lestat continued his ministrations on her. His hands were so perfectly trained that the movements felt vaguely clinical, like some perverted doctor ‘treating’ his female patient. She shivered at the thought, welcoming the fantasy for a brief moment. The vampire raised an eyebrow and chuckled at her when he saw the vision too, shaking his head.

“Naughty. So very naughty. Nymph.” He spat the last word out slightly, though there was still not a single trace of malice in his voice. He loved her depravity almost as much as he loved himself. The sensation strengthened in his lower stomach, alerting him to his muse’s imminent orgasm. “Let go chérie, let go. Do it for me.”

After a few more pumps and some encouraging words from her newfound vampire lover, Delia finally cracked. Her tired, half-alive body writhed and shook with the orgasm that crashed through her in waves. Lestat’s hands continued to work until the very end, until she sobbed from the overstimulation. Only then did he stop and lick his fingers clean.

“There.” The vampire stood, leaving the girl to recover in bed while he found a mirror to fix his hair in. She watched with confusion, grabbing his coat off the bed post to wipe her sweaty forehead wit it, surely staining the expensive fabric. Though he didn’t seem to care.

“You have a reflection?”

Copia finally entered his trailer after a successful show, stomping his way inside with heavy, painful, tired feet, and a pitiful groan that shook his chest. You’d been running errands in-and-outside the venue, making sure everything was going smoothly—which, of course, with the likes of 8 hellish Ghouls tended to prove difficult every now and then. Still, nothing you couldn’t handle. Sister imperator chose you for the job because she knew you had great skill in such matters. 

“Tesoro,” Copia sighed breathlessly despite having gotten off stage a good 45 minutes ago. He was such a drama queen, always out for your attention, your pity. Upon walking in he noticed you, in only one of his large shirts, with only a few buttons done up, and some shorts, watching YouTube videos while Lounging on the couch. He could never get enough of seeing you so blatantly in his personal space like that. You weren’t allowed in his quarters all the time back at the ministry. 

“Hey,” you quipped innocently, greeting him with a gentle smile as you sat up straight, switching off your phone and placing it on the couch next to your leg. “How’d it go?” 

Copia let out another loud, overly dramatic groan as he walked over, allowing himself to fall into the couch next to you, the leather groaning under his weight. He’d long ditched his show clothes for a comfortable plain black tee and black sweatpants, though the sweaty odor from his earlier performance was ever present in the room. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it, though, sometimes it almost made you wonder if he held out on showering just to get a reaction out of you. 

“The usual.” He hummed, yawning as he stretched his arms, letting one fall and drape over your shoulders, a rare, ungloved hand playing with a strand of your soft hair. 

He was silent for a beat, before looking at you with a tired face, maybe even a slight pout. 

“I missed you.” He murmured, his voice a little hoarse and sleepy. 

One of those nights again, one where the attention of thousands of fans wasn’t enough to satisfy your dear Papa. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to be pampered. 

“You were gone for like… a few hours.” You snorted, looking at the man’s pitiful face, his makeup messy with sweat, though it was still surprisingly intact. “You always act like I leave you for a year or something.” 

“It feels as if you do.”

“Oh, you poor, poor man,” You cooed sarcastically, wrapping your arms around his head and pulling his cheek against your bosom, to which he didn’t resist at the slightest, snaking his arms around your waist as he pressed his face into your covered cleavage, sighing softly as he smelled his own perfume on you. 

“Aren’t you just soooo neglected, so starved of any attention, huh?” You drawled sarcastically a second time, running your fingers through his greying hair as he nodded and let out a soft, muffled hum against your chest. He knew you were teasing him, but the mere implications of needing (and receiving) care were too much for him to ignore. He was going to take anything, any scrap of pity. 

You chuckled upon realizing how pathetically needy he truly was, whimpering against you at the slightest touch. Part of you wanted to keep teasing him, making him realize how much of a manbaby he was, put him in his place for such juvenile behavior–but you couldn’t. You loved him too much, loved it when he got clingy, needy, jealous of anyone getting your attention beside him. 

“Hmm, ‘s’at what you want? You want some attention?” 

Another soft whine escaped the man’s mouth, his arms tightening around your waist. “Uh-huh, per favore…” 

The change from his stage persona, this overtly sexual, confident hunk, to how he acted around you, it was almost ironic to see the switch every time. He’d been thrusting on stage, blowing kisses to pretty girls in the crowd who were fawning over the mere thought of his presence, exuding the very essence of dominance over a stadium full of people, and now he was here, cradled in your arms like a child in need of attention. Pitiful. 

You ran your nails over the back of his neck and kissed the top of his head, making him shiver before he peeled himself free from your warm body, giving you the most desperate puppy eyes he could muster. You couldn’t help but giggle at the sight, kissing him on the nose after he sat up straight again. 

“You’re so cute, Cardi.” You praised, watching a distinct pink blush peek through his white face paint as you turned a quarter way toward him, one of your feet tucked up onto the couch while the other was still on the floor. Your hand found his thigh almost instinctively as you kissed him. 

“You’re so good to me,” He murmured against your lips, smiling softly as he wrapped his arm around your waist again, pulling you closer while your hand inched further upward toward his crotch. He let out a huff once you squeezed the sensitive flesh of his thigh, his cock already beginning to form a slight tent in his sweatpants. 

“Satan,” You chuckled, breaking the kiss to look at his lap, where the head of his ever-hardening cock left a clear outline in his pants. “No boxers?” 

“Ah… hehe…” Copia shifted his hips forward a little more, slouching slightly in his seat. “...no…” 

“Bold move.” You kept on grinning, grabbing a firm handful of his cock and balls, earning a deep, needy growl. He had been thinking of your skilled hands on him all day, all night, even during the show he just couldn’t stop thinking about… this.

“Ah, cazzo,” He sighed, feeling your nimble hands squeeze and fondle him just the way he liked, kissing you again, sloppier and needier this time. His spit tasted like the sweet tea he used to soothe his vocal cords earlier. “You’re so… so good to me, tesoro,” He grumbled against your lips, his hips rolling gently against your hand as he pulled you closer. 

“I need you,” He moaned breathily, his cock stiffening more under your skilled ministrations, some precum dampening the fabric of his sweatpants. His hand roamed to your ass to squeeze it, albeit it weakly as he continued to whine and writhe under your touches, one of his thighs developing a slight quiver. 

“Satan, I swear you’re becoming one of the ghouls,” You giggled, allowing him to breathe for a second before tugging at the waistband of his pants, his hips lifting off the couch slightly to aid you. You let the waistband sit right under his balls, your hand coming to grip the base of his rock-hard cock. “It’s like you’re in heat sometimes.” 

“S-sì, it feels like it–ngh,” He groaned, his hand once again roaming your body as you began to gently, slowly pump his cock. Upon finding the buttons of your (or technically his) shirt, he began to pop them open. There might’ve only been three or four done up. 

He eagerly pushed the fabric down your shoulders, letting it all bunch up around your forearms, exposing your breasts to him, nipples pebbling into hard peaks. 

The look that he gave you was all too familiar, with puppy eyes and slightly parted lips, silently begging you as you as his hand rested on your waist, thumb stroking back and forth. 

“Say please.” You cooed, stroking him slightly faster than before, watching him struggle to keep it together. Oh, how you loved seeing him so desperate. 

“Oh, please, please, per favore–” 

“Shhh, don’t overdo it, baby.” You chuckled, shushing him with a hand to the mouth. He nodded almost instantly, his hair falling out of shape with how vigorously he moved his head, eyes wide and needy. “Good, good boy, go ahead.” 

Your hand never left his cock as he all but lunged forward, attaching himself to one of your nipples and eagerly sucking on it, gently nipping. You could tell this position was uncomfortable for him, especially at his age, where he wasn’t all too flexible anymore. Somehow he didn’t care, possibly because the reward was… well, one of his favorite things, boobs. 

“So beautiful,” he sighed, his hot breath dampening your skin as he moved back and forth between your nipples, eagerly sucking until they were red and shiny with his spit. He kept his hand on your waist as you pleasured him, eventually pulling off of your nipples to breathe, instead leaning in with his ear against your chest to listen to your rapid heartbeat. He slouched more, allowing you to cradle his head in one hand, and his balls in the other, once again squeezing while his cock twitched eagerly.

“You’re so sweet today.” You whispered, scratching the side of his head and giving his cock a few more strokes before letting go, trailing your sweaty hand up his chest, all the way to his throat, wrapping your fingers around it and squeezing lightly. His cock jumped again, and a needy moan fell from his lips as you squeezed at his arteries. You knew he loved being roughed up every now and then. “Who’s puppy, are you?”

“Yours.” He whimpered immediately, looking up at you through hazy eyes. “Please, I-I need… to-to be inside—”

“Inside what, Cardi?”

“You, ah—per favore—I cannot take it,”

“Hmm…” You pretended to hesitate, but your façade broke when you noticed the utterly desperate look in his eyes. He need you so badly, needed to stuff his cock inside you and give you all until he couldn’t anymore. “Aw, okay, fuck you’re cute.”

You laughed shook your head lightly as you stood up from the couch, taking off your shorts and panties, and dropping Copia’s shirt on the pile while you were at it, before stepping closer and straddling his lap, planting your hot, wet pussy on his hard length. He hissed, his hands flying up to your hips to grip them loosely while you ground yourself on him.

“Caaazzooo…” he breathed, letting his head lull back against the couch, the twitch of his cock a welcome stimulation against your tingling clit. He rutted himself against you, gently, as if testing your limits. He looked deep into your eyes when you finally lifted your hips, the tip of his cock probing gently against the hotness between your legs.

You knew he could be rough, dominant, demanding and everything in between, but now he was none of that. He looked at you like you were a goddess, his hands still holding your hips but not guiding you or pushing you down on his cock like he would be inclined to do at times.

You grabbed the base of his cock with one hand and planted the other on his shoulder for leverage, kissing him gently as you finally sunk down, earning a needy moan and an involuntary hip-buck from the man, his tip nudging against your cervix in a way that made you gasp.

“Shit,” You groaned, your chest heaving with anticipation.

“Mi spiace, please forgive me,” Copia quipped, pressing a sweet kiss to your chest. “Please, do not stop, cazzo—”

“Shh,” You chuckled, shushing him a second time. “Just watch me, Cardi.”

All he gave in response was a nod, watching you begin to roll your hips over his throbbing erection. His eyes shut for a second as he bit his lip, his hands flexing on your hips as his teeth scraped some of the already messy lipstick off.

“So pretty,” You praised, leaning closer to him as you finally began bouncing up and down his cock, your sweet, hot cunt engulfing him, squeezing around him like a vice. All he could do was whimper, moan, tremble, and desperately plea for you to keep going. Satan knew he wouldn’t last long like this, not with you riding him like a pro.

“N-no, you,” He smiled crookedly before leaning forward and pressing hot, wet kisses against your chest. “Il mio angelo caduto…” he murmured against your skin, whimpering softly at every movement your hips made, eventually leaning back to stare at your bouncing breasts, touching them after a little while of only looking, squeezing tenderly and running his fingers over your bruised nipples.

You could see the sweat accumulating on his forehead and neck, slightly dampening the collar of his shirt. He tensed after a little while, your perpetual grinding and bouncing sending him into utter bliss, closer and closer to emptying his balls deep within you.

“P-please, can I-“ His hands trembled as he held your hips, gently beginning to thrust up into you.

“y-yes, you can,” You panted, your legs beginning to burn and shake lightly from both your constant movement and the sheer pleasure of your pope rearranging your insides. “You’re so good, fuck, you feel so—mmfff…”

“Thank you, grazie, grazie,” Copia chanted through shallow breaths, rutting up into you and pushing you down simultaneously, the sound of your thighs meeting echoing through the trailer. He wasn’t rough at all, but he was so needy, desperate for release.

His arms came to wrap firmly around your waist as you planted both hands on his shoulders as he pulled you in close, his hips erratically thrusting as he whimpered, eyes shut with pure focus and his lips parted in a way that made you think he was about to start drooling.

“Going. To. Fill. You. up.” He grumbled, each word punctuated by a desperate thrust. “Please, come with—oh-“ His back arched, his eyes shut tight, and he let out a high-pitched whine that was surely loud enough to penetrate the flimsy trailer walls, filling you to the brim with his very essence. He couldn’t stop, his thrusts shaky and irregular, but oh-so good, and to top it off, he began desperately circling your clit.

“Oh, fuck, Papa,” You mewled, grabbing a handful of his hair and tugging roughly you came, Copia’s hips ever moving even though the noises he made suggested overstimulation. It all felt too good, he was so experienced.

The two of you panted heavily as he finally stopped moving, his hands running up and down your back.

“Grazie,” He sighed, kissing your shoulder. “My angel.”

Being a new summon meant you were only expected to do simple tasks, like doing the laundry, helping during Dark mass, and cleaning Papa’s office. Today was a day you did the latter. Only this time Papa was present while you organized his books, swept the marble floors, and organized the drawers in his ornate desk.

“Ah, mio Ghuleh,” He said, peeking up from the papers he was reading and signing. You looked over your shoulder, holding an old book. “They are organized by alphabet, si?”

“Yes, Papa,” You nod, trying to not show your boredom or exhaustion from doing all these seemingly useless tasks. You knew Papa was just testing your obedience, training you to one day be on stage with him. Like all things in life—you started at the bottom of the ladder.

The older man gave you a nod, looking back down at his papers as you organized the last few books and ensured the bookshelf was tidy.

Now, usually, Papa was out doing whatever it is popes do, so this next task was a little degrading while he was there. You walked over and kneeled on the floor next to the chair he was sitting on, opening the bottom drawer on the side of his desk. You couldn’t see the glance he was giving you as you innocently grabbed the papers and pens out of the drawer, but needless to say, he was happy to see you on the floor.

You began organizing once again, sitting so delicately on your knees. Papa wondered why he’d never been there while you cleaned before, and he was definitely going to accidentally be in his office whenever you were tasked with cleaning it. You seemed to pay his endless scribbling no mind, your tail still as it lay on the floor.

He couldn’t help but stare, your hair falling slightly in front of your face as you leaned forward to ensure the drawer was completely organized. You moved on to the next one mindlessly, having done this many times before. Papa somehow always managed to make his office an utter mess.

“hm, you’re good at sitting on your knees, aren’t you?” He said in a cocky tone, not a single sign of embarrassment in the way he talked. Your presence always made him a little more confident and dominant, possibly due to your height.

You found his statement a little strange, though he was known to be quite odd at times, so you paid no mind to it.

“Such a good Ghoulette for me, such a good helper.” He said in a slightly deeper tone, his large gloved hand coming down to pat your head. He chuckled when your tail whipped excitedly, giving away your mood. He gave you a last scratch before his hand disappeared again, presumably to continue his paperwork. You smiled to yourself as you also continued your work.

It took you a little while to organize all the drawers on both sides of his desk, then help him organize his papers and clip them together. You started mindlessly sweeping the floor a second time after that, secretly enjoying Papa’s presence.

“Are you out of tasks?” He raised an eyebrow as he watched you repeat the task you’d done at the very start. He knew what you were getting at, boldly calling you out and making you feel embarrassed. You blushed and looked at him, leaning the broom against the nearest wall as you nodded sheepishly.

“Well, mio piccolo mostriciattola,” He failed to hold back the smirk that crept up his painted cheeks, his leather glove squeaking as he balled and unballed his fist absently. “If you’re that insistent on doing chores…” He smirked wider as his mismatched eyes stared into yours. “My shoes need cleaning. Would you—perhaps—want to clean them for me, Tesoro?”

You bit back a smile, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you checked his expression, making sure you both had the same thing in mind. His devious expression confirmed your suspicions, And with that, you made your way over to him, giving him a shy glance as you kneeled next to his chair. He promptly spun to face your way, his legs crossed. He wore his signature rat-bitten jeans—the ones that made his thighs look absolutely delicious—with his frilly shirt and his shiny dress shoes. It was enough to make any man or woman crumble beneath him in the same way you were now.

He uncrossed his legs momentarily to lean forward and grab your chin, making you look up into his menacing gaze.

“sei così, carina.” He chuckled lowly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before leaning back into his plush chair again, once again crossing one leg over the other, wiggling his foot tauntingly.

“Go ahead.” He insisted in a murmur, his voice low with desire.

You gave him one last look, breathing deeply once before leaning forward and darting your tongue out toward his shoe. You ran it over the dull leather, your face completely red with embarrassment at this point. This whole thing was so degrading, yet you loved it. You loved licking your Papa’s shoes clean like a kit desperate for attention.

“Si, that’s it.” Papa gave you a grin, though he had turned back to his paperwork once you looked up at him. His disregard for you licking at his shoes made you more desperate, more eager to please your Papa. You licked stripe by stripe up his shoe until the dull leather had gotten shiny again with your saliva. You checked all around, Papa’s pen still scribbling endlessly on his wooden desk.

Upon casting another glance, he noticed you were already done with the first shoe. He stretched out his leg and propped it up on your shoulder, inspecting his now shiny shoe thoroughly.

“Hmm, good girl.” He gave you a soft smile, tilting his head as he noticed your shy reaction to his praise. He let out a breathy chuckle, dominance radiating off of him as he pressed the sole of his shoe against your collarbone, pushing you back slightly. The view you had from where you were kneeling on the floor was sinful and oh-so intoxicating. From the way he sat, you could see a sliver of his pale skin peek through between the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his pants. His tight pants also made his bulge that much more visible to you, making you stare at it for a few seconds.

Papa followed your gaze, raising an eyebrow. “Now, now, mio Ghuleh.” He said in an amused, yet scrutinizing tone. “That’s far too inappropriate, no? You’re not supposed to look at your Papa that way.” His voice grew lower, now playfully scolding you.

Your eyes trailed back up to his face, looking into his with a half-confused, half-apologetic look. He wasn’t awestruck by your puppyish eyes, rather frowning at your blatant manipulation. You didn’t catch his disdained expression and eagerly touched his thigh, which he didn’t appreciate.

 A glimpse of anger flashed across his face before you felt his leg skillfully hook around your neck, pulling you down a little before the heel of his boot forcefully pushed against the back of your head, throwing you off your balance and causing you to fall flat on the cold floor. His heel remained on the back of your head for a second, squashing your cheek against the marble before he planted it beside your head.

“Did I say you could touch?” He grumbled, scowling at you as you looked up at him, shaking your head. “Speak.” He quickly demanded.

“N-no, Papa...” You murmured gulping softly as you tried to sit back up on your knees, only for Papa’s other foot to plant between your shoulder blades and force you to the floor again. You let out a small huff as your chest hit the ground. And, oh, fuck, was it turning you on.

“Hm.” He jerked his chin up, somewhat satisfied with your answer. “You are where you belong now, hm? On the ground, beneath me.” He chuckled as he saw your obvious blush, letting him know how much exactly you enjoyed his praise and his degradation.

His legs were spread, one foot planted on each side of your head as he went back to writing and scribbling on his paperwork. You gulped and looked up at him, not getting a reaction just yet. So, again you started licking his dirty shoe, polishing the leather with your spit whilst simultaneously cleaning off any dirt. Luckily his shoes weren’t all that dirty, considering he was inside the pristine ministry most of the time, and never really outside besides the occasional visit to his brothers in the cemetary.

Your licking got more eager as Papa started to ignore you, only glancing at you ever so often to make sure you were doing what he told you to.

“You’re pathetic.” He said with a slight chuckle, watching you do your work. His voice made you breathe shakily, the warmth pooling between your legs. You were horny now, wet and eager to be filled by a proper cock.

You lay there on the floor, submissive to your Papa and licking his shoes clean like a slut. It was such a pitiful sight, yet Papa found your obedience endearing. He almost started to feel bad. Almost. But even Satan himself knew that Papa was far too arrogant to stop now.

You went on for a while longer before the second shoe was clean as well, shining in the same way the previous shoe was. Papa inspected it again, giving you an appreciative nod.

“See?” He smiled, way too kind for just having pushed you to the ground. He spoke in a sweeter tone now, satisfied with your obedience, even if he had to discipline you to get you there. “That’s what I like to see. My good little ghoulette working hard to make her Papa presentable.”

You smiled, sitting back up on your knees and moving closer to Papa as he started to softly stroke your hair, petting you as he would a dog or a cat. Your soft, ghoulish purr made him smile.

“You’re adorable.” He hummed, adjusting himself in his seat. His pants had started to get tight while he’d been watching you, his cock hard and straining against the fabric. He let out a soft, barely audible groan that made you look up in confusion, now noticing his arousal.

He grinned upon seeing you notice, stroking your cheek as he put the pen in his other hand down.

“I’m sure an obedient girl like you would like to please her Papa even more, no?”

You nodded furiously, giddy for his cock. “Yes, please, Papa.” You muttered hastily, gulping as he teasingly palmed himself.

“Good.” He grinned proudly at your answer, undoing his fly and pulling his cock out with a smug expression. His tip was red and eager, already leaking precum onto his jeans. Your eyebrows arched as you looked at it, needily biting your lip. Your tail swished behind you excitedly.

“Ah, carina, do I need to tell you to do everything?” He said with slight annoyance when you took too long.

“Uhm... sorry,” You gulped, quickly leaning forward and taking his head into your warm mouth.

Papa groaned loudly, slightly surprised at your quick movements. His hand was on your head in no time, gently petting you and pushing you down when he felt you needed guidance. His hands and the taste of his cock made you dizzy with need and arousal, your panties already having been soiled beneath your uniform. He felt so amazing. His touches the perfect balance between rough and gentle.

It didn’t take you all too much licking and sucking to start drawing moans and grunts from your Papa, his gloved hand grasping the armrest on his chair. He was no longer doing his work, all focus was on you as a reward for your obedience. You basked in the attention, closing your eyes and moaning softly as you bobbed your head up and down.

Papa gave your head an affectionate scratch, still petting you softly and grabbing ahold of your hair when he felt like it. You were such a sweet, obedient ghoul, one he could pleasure by simply praising. He wasn’t estranged to fucking his ghouls whatsoever—but lately, he’d just been so busy, he’d almost forgotten how much good a simple blowjob did from time to time.

“You are so good to me,” He praised breathlessly, his head lolling back as he started to sweat. He was starting to lose his grip, too enveloped in how good your mouth felt. He’d been too tired to even jerk off anymore, maybe a short break was all he needed to recharge.

“Si, Si, yes,” He moaned slightly louder, his voice echoing off the walls. “Shit, a-ah...” His voice was getting raspy now, his hand eagerly tugging on your hair as his hips started to buck against your face.

“You’re taking my cock so well.” He grunted, his eyes shutting and his eyebrows knotting together, pleasure washing over him.

You braced your hands on his thighs, softly squeezing the flesh and drawing a small laugh from your Papa. Even while your throat was stuffed with this man’s dick, you couldn’t help but touch his perfect body. He held onto your hair as he thrust into you, your nose touching his pelvis. He pulled you up a little higher to let you breathe once he heard you starting to choke.

“oh, cazzo, cazzo, non riesco a trattenerlo... merda...” He cursed mindlessly in Italian. You understood nothing, but you knew he was satisfied. “you want my cum, si? You want it?”

Somehow you managed a nod with him down your throat and holding your hair, and he moaned louder, a quick grunt escaping his lips as he came. He shot multiple thick ropes of his cum down your throat, coating the inside of your mouth as he mindlessly fucked your face. He was all desire now, his passion fading away and being replaced by carnal lust and pleasure.

He slowly began to calm down, his cock twitching slightly and slowly softening up once he pulled you off of him. You looked up at him innocently as you leaned your head on his thigh, inspecting his blissful expression and the heaving of his chest as he let himself come down from his climax. He pet your head lovingly, fixing your messy hair. He could tell you were aroused, your face all flushed and focused on what move he was going to make next.

“Good girl...” He sighed, smiling down at you. “You’re dismissed from doing tasks for today, okay?” He said softly, his accent more prominent due to his tiredness.

He tucked himself back in his pants with a huff, pinching your chin afterward. “Go back to your quarters, mio Tesoro.” He hummed softly.

You gave him a confused, slightly frustrated look. Was he seriously not going to grant you any pleasure after all that?

Papa noticed your expression. “I am a busy man, you know this, Tesoro.” He looked at you with a sympathetic expression, his hand falling in his lap as he motioned for you to stand up. “Andare. Back to your quarters.” He repeated and nodded his head toward the door, looking up at you as your face scrunched up in a cute pout.

“You just made me do all that and now I—”

“No, silenzio.” Papa cut you off, holding his hand up. “I know you want to be touched but I must get back to work. I promise I’ll take care of you later, but not now, si?”

You sighed, crossing your arms.

“I want no more out of you. Go, join the others.” He patted your thigh as he turned his chair back toward his desk. “You did very good, mio ghuleh."

You’d stayed behind in the pews, sitting on your own after the weekly sermon. You wanted to talk to Papa but he was talking to some other sisters. You couldn’t be bothered enough to listen closely to what they were saying, not with the questions you had. Today’s sermon had been—not unusually—about sex, but specifically the orgasm and its importance in rituals. Papa Terzo was undeniably very interested in the topic, and he spoke openly about it, including his own sexual experiences.

Now, of course, there were some giggles and some whispers when Papa expressed his fondness of orgasms, the supposed ecstasy that they brought. It was then that you realized you hadn’t experienced anything similar to what he had been speaking about. Then again, your sexual encounters had been very minimal—but you couldn’t help but wonder, maybe you’d been masturbating incorrectly as well. You figured it was a topic best to discuss with the man who seemed to know all about it.

“oh—Papa,” You said as you hastily got up from the pews, noticing the others had left. Papa’s turn was a tad dramatic as he heard your voice, his robes swishing around him as you made your way to the other end of the chapel.

“Si, cara, what is it?” He said in his usual smooth voice, looking down at you with a fond smile. You’d always suspected he favored you over the others—for reasons unknown.

“Uhm...” You briefly glanced at your feet, then down the hall to make sure it was empty. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Papa let out a soft, breathy chuckle as your cheeks started to burn up.

“Would it make you more comfortable to discuss this in my office, cara?”

“Yes, that’d be... that’d be nice.” You nodded quickly, smiling softly as Papa lovingly flicked his index finger under your chin. You followed him to his office as he had suggested. Your heeled shoes clacked against the marble floors of the ministry as the two of you walked.

“Is it about the sermon?” Papa asked as he cast you another glance. He chuckled once more when he saw you gulp, looking away from him.

The two of you walked in silence for a minute before reaching Papa’s office, he opened one of the large, ornate wooden doors and motioned for you to enter. You hesitantly did so, Papa shutting the door behind you.

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, tesoro, truly,” He exhorted, sitting down in the expensive chair behind his large desk. His fingers tapped on the wood as you took your seat across from him.

“Now tell me—tell Papa what’s been bothering you.”

You twiddled your thumbs, letting out an unsure “Ummm...” as Papa stared at you, waiting for you to tell him what was going on. He could tell you were somewhat uncomfortable, sighing softly as he leaned back in his chair.

“Well...” you began, piquing Papa’s interest. “You were talking about orgasms and such and I uh... I don’t think I’ve ever had one.”

Papa lifted an eyebrow, a small grin starting to form on his painted cheeks. “I see...” He murmured.

After a few seconds of silence, he patted his lap, waving you over to him. “Come sit,”

You sheepishly walked over, feeling his hands wrap around you and hold you steady as you sat in his lap. He smiled at your obedience, and how shy you looked. You weren’t the most outspoken of the sisters, but he’d never seen you this shy.

“Now tell me, Cara,” One of his hands rested on the side of your thigh, his gloved hand swishing his thumb just below the hem of your habit. “Do you want me to tell you, or do you want me to show you?”

Of course, Papa wanted you to agree to the latter, nothing was more relaxing than having a cute girl writhe in pleasure because of his ministrations. It was definitely one of his favorite pastime activities.

“Show me,” You muttered, biting your lip anxiously as Papa squished your thigh with a grin.

“Good girl,” He spoke in a deep tone, carefully pulling your leg open. “Let Papa show you how to relax.” 

You looked at him, seeing his face light up at the thought of being able to pleasure you. He carefully hiked up your already short habit, looking up at you to make sure you were comfortable. A small gasp left your lips as you felt his hand, gently stroking up and down your clothed heat.

“Hm... see what I’m doing? Gotta get you nice and bothered before we do anything else, huh?” He absently bit his lip, his leather glove cold against you.

His gentle movements made for a bunch of comfortable, soft tingles around your lower region, warmth stirring up in your body at the pleasure.

You let out a soft, content sigh as you started to ease into Papa’s touches, he let out a proud chuckle at your submission.

He drew a quick, lazy circle over your clit before stopping the motions, dragging his large hand up your torso and cupping one of your breasts carefully. You let out a soft gasp as his thumb flicked over your nipple, making him chuckle again.

Then, he went silent for a second, his gaze reverting to an old, floor-length mirror across the office. A smirk spread across his cheeks as he let go of you and patted your leg.

“Do Papa a favor and sit there,” He grumbled smoothly as he pointed at the floor in front of the mirror.

You nodded and silently got off his lap, sitting down where he’d pointed at. You followed his movements through the mirror, watching as he took off his gloves before following after you and sitting behind you with his legs on either side of you.

“Papa’s going to show you how to relax, hm... Si?”

The way you panted and blushed as your eyes roamed away filled him with need. The thought of him corrupting such a gentle soul made him let out a shaky sigh.

“Take your uh...” Papa pondered for a second, not knowing the English word. “Your—your mutandine, take them off.”

“Si,” You responded coyly, knowing what he meant. You quickly slid your panties off, laying them beside you.

“Now, open your legs for me.” He kept grinning to himself when you did so, your pussy already slick from his limited touches. “Mio piccola ragazza, you are adorable.” You hooked your legs over his, giving him more room to stroke and rub. He did so happily, his index and ring finger leisurely drawing circles on your puffy clit. His head rested on your shoulder to properly inspect your reactions in the mirror.

The sight was one for sore eyes; your eyes lidded and fixated on his hand in the reflection, your cheeks red and your breathing slightly heavier than usual. You were so responsive, so much more perverted than Papa had ever could have guessed. He loved it.

“Dio, you’re wet,” He bit his lip softly, speeding his fingers up and rubbing your clit a little longer before stopping and inspecting your wetness coating and webbing between his fingers. He let out a soft grunt as he pushed those same two fingers into your juicy cunt, earning a small whine from you.

“Feels good, hm?”

“Yeah,” You replied breathily, little sounds starting to fall from your lips as the older man started to repeatedly pump his fingers in and out. The movement made a wet squelching noise that in turn made Papa smirk. His free hand wrapped around you and squeezed your tits needily, making it harder for you to focus on what he was doing.

After a little while he pulled his fingers out, his hand moving to hold your face as he lifted his hand to your mouth. “Suck them clean for Papa,” He grinned, watching you do as he asked, your tongue eagerly sucking his fingers clean from your slick. He chuckled after pulling them back out and letting go of your face.

“Now, watch what I do.” You watched his hand as he curled his fingers upward. “See? It’s going to feel good like that, I promise.”

His fingers were back in you before you could fully process what he meant. You let out a surprised gasp and watched him do the same thing he did before, only now he was curling his fingers up against a specifically sensitive spot inside you. Your mouth hung open at the intense, yet pleasurable feeling.

He switched between pumping his fingers in and out and curling them periodically, slowly speeding up little by little to push you over the edge. You felt a few soft kisses against your neck as you finally let your head loll back, moans and whines exiting your throat deliciously. It was no secret that the sight alone drove Papa wild, you could feel his rock-hard cock pressing into your lower back.

But this was about you, so you tried not to focus on it too much.

Your moans became a bit louder as Papa hammered his fingers against that delicious spot over and over, your legs started to tremble as you felt yourself grow closer to an orgasm—a feeling that was new to you. You couldn’t keep quiet, it felt too good. You felt a tight, warm knot twisting your insides and begging to unravel. Papa spoke up once he noticed your breathing starting to quicken.

“You’re close,” He grinned, glancing at your trembling thighs. “Rub your clit for me, cara, it’ll make it feel even better.”

Your hand trembled as you slid it down, your entire cunt coated in your juices, as well as the inner parts of your thighs. You’d never felt this great—euphoric, and you hadn’t even come yet. Papa’s hands were like magic.

You carefully rubbed your clit, your legs starting to involuntarily twitch when you started. It felt so intense and you had no clue why you hadn’t ever come to this point on your own.

“O-oh, Satan, I think I’m going to cum,” You managed to mumble between your many pleasured noises.

Papa’s eyes raked over your body, taking in the jumble of hands between your legs, your hard nipples poking through your habit, the slight sheen of sweat on your neck... fuck. He groaned at the sight. You were more beautiful than any painting he had ever seen, your body writhing in pleasure like it was designed to do so.

“Cum for me.” He said in a low, hoarse voice. It sounded more like a command than any of his other sweet comments.

Those three words were all it took. The knot unraveled and you struggled to keep the rhythm on your clit, a wave of tingles shooting up to your head and down to the tips of your toes. Your body trembled as Papa kept up his flawless pace, moaning softly as your back arched and your cunt spasmed around his fingers. You had never felt this great, nor had you felt this perverted. Nobody had managed to get you near an orgasm before, but in your defense you were ill-informed. 

Your moans echoed through the office, they were probably loud enough for anyone outside to hear, but you didn’t care. It all felt too good. Your body was overcome with ecstasy, making you wish the pleasure would never end.

Alas, your orgasm gradually died down. Papa pulled his fingers out and licked them clean himself this time, letting out the softest moan at your taste. He would have loved to dive between your legs and use his tongue to make you cum again, but you looked exhausted from it all. His hands slid down to your thighs, his thumbs soothingly rubbing back and forth over the skin.

“hm...” He hummed, kissing your temple. “Poor thing... you must be exhausted.”

“And… you’re sure they’ll approve of me?” You asked for what seemed like the millionth time to Jack. You’d agreed to let him pick you up to formally introduce you to his parents and have dinner with them. Your anxiety had started to peak once Jack rode the two of you onto Beecher’s Hope, the house in the middle of the plot nearing.

“Yes,” Jack answered with a soft sigh. “I’m sure they will, my sweet. Nothin’ to worry about, okay?”

“Okay,” You nodded to yourself, chewing on your lip as you held onto Jack.

It wasn’t long before his horse came to a stop in front of the house. He got off with a swift motion, then helped you off like a true gentleman. You fixed your dress before walking up toward the porch, Jack’s mother and father already standing on it.

His mother looked like a sweet, yet somewhat stern woman, beautiful as can be. His father looked as rugged as him, their faces nearly identical.

Jack promptly introduced the three of you.

“This is my mother, Abigail—and my father, John.”

You gave a soft nod, shaking their hands before engaging in small talk.

Abigail was surprised at how soft and proper you spoke, not to mention the nice dress that made you look overdressed next to Jack. She wondered how a gentle soul such as you had been able to tame her rugged, gunslinger of a son.

Besides that, she was also intimidated, though not showing her worry as she spoke. You looked well-mannered and rich—her ranch must be a dump compared to the place you lived in. Even in her nicest evening wear she looked like a pawn next to you.

John, on the other hand, was proud of his son for finding a girl so gentle. He’d always been afraid of his son falling back in with the wrong people, that life was no longer one he wished to pursue. Jack looked more than happy to be with you, and somehow you had managed to break down his walls.

“Well,” Abigail broke a short silence, taking a last peek at your attire. “Let's head inside, then. Dinner’s cookin’.”

You glanced at Jack as he led you inside, the house smelling like leather and wood.

“You two can sit,” Abigail smiled, walking along the hallway to prepare the food. John stood in the living room, his hand resting on his gun belt awkwardly. He looked at the hallway in search of his wife, clearing his throat when he realized she wasn’t there.

“So,” He began, taking a seat at the table together with you and Jack. He sat opposite of you. “Jack treatin’ you right?”

Obviously, John was concerned about whether or not his son was treating his girlfriend decently. He wasn’t raised to think differently.

You blush softly.

“Yes, sir.” You nod, glancing at Jack.

“Good, good.” He nodded. “If that boy ever hurts you, you come to me, alright?” John could tell you were a frigid girl, someone he never expected to be with his son. He felt an overwhelming urge to protect you, the same urge you knew from Jack. He seemed to always be protecting you from other people, always treating you like you were about to break in his hands.

Jack gave his father a quick, slightly annoyed glance. John didn’t notice the glance, he was too busy inspecting you and trying to read you. You were a tad mysterious and hard to predict, seeing as you were so quiet and awkward, though you seemed to be at ease at the same time.

A few moments went by in silence before Abigail walked into the main area of the house, carrying two plates of stew. She placed the two plates in front of you and Jack before walking back to the kitchen to grab a plate for John and herself. She sat down at the table with a somewhat pensive expression.

“Thank you,” You smiled softly. Abigail couldn’t read whether or not you were truly thankful or just polite, but she smiled back anyway, going with the former for her comfort.

“Well then, dig in,” She said in a high-pitched tone, straightening her back as she scooped a spoonful of stew in her mouth.

“So,” She spoke up amidst the scraping of spoons, looking at you as you properly scooped away from yourself and blew at your food. “Tell us about yourself--what are your parents like?”

You take a quick bite before talking. Your voice was soft as you grew slightly anxious, three pairs of eyes fixed on you. “My mother’s a fine young woman,” you spoke positively, seeming to cheer up at the thought of your mother. “Daddy left us when I was just a girl… left me and momma with little money.” You spoke softly, failing to look either of Jack’s parents in the eye.

“But you’re uh… financially stable, as of now?” John asked, not aware of how rude of a question it was. You caught a glimpse of Abigail nudging her husband, making him shoot a confused glance at her, then at you.

“Uhm,” You blush, not entirely sure if that was an appropriate matter to discuss over dinner. Maybe it was, you weren’t usually all too social.

“We—we aren’t all that rich,” You stated sheepishly, taking another bite of your food.

Abigail gave a confused glance, though her face became neutral again as she realized her expression was slightly rude. She could’ve sworn you were a rich girl, she’d already imagined you living on some plantation with your family.

You caught her glance just in time, knowing she was puzzled by how you looked like you were part of a higher social class than she and her family were.

You smile softly, looking down with a blush.

“My momma’s very concerned with looking proper…” You mumble, shrugging lightly. “We ain’t got much to spend but she likes us to look like we do.”

“hm,” Abigail hummed, her expression softening now that she felt less pressured to impress you. Part of her wanted her son to marry into a rich family, but the part that wanted him to simply be happy had the upper hand.

“You’re a fine young lady,” She smiled, a genuine, sweet smile spreading across her cheeks. “My boy could use a well-mannered girl such as yourself.”

Abigail saw herself In you in a way; a young, slightly lost girl who’d somehow gotten herself mingled in the trance of a gunslinger. She could tell you were tough behind all the layers of shy, polite mannerisms. In a way, you were much like her son, yet the opposite.

“what is it you… uh—do in your free time?” John asked. He didn’t care about your answer, but he felt that he should know you well before you married his son, as one should. He was almost certain you were the one for his boy, the two of you could learn a lot from one another.

“I help my momma with chores,” You reply, shrugging softly as you realize you actually had little free time, all your time away from home and work was when you were together with Jack. “I don’t got much free time, me and momma both work since there ain’t no man in the house.”

John knew you left out the part where you hung out with Jack all the time. He was aware his son wasn’t always helping around the ranch, and he always came back smelling faintly of ladies’ perfume. He saw no harm in it, though. He knew you were safe with Jack.

“I admire that,” Abigail smiled, somewhat impressed. She didn’t know many women who worked to support the family. If you were to stay at their ranch, she was sure you were more than capable of helping out.

You smiled back and looked at your plate as you started to blush. You weren’t very used to getting compliments or praise from anyone other than Jack, even if he was stubborn and generally not good at showing his emotions. You grew shy again, taking a few bites of your stew.

Jack noticed you retreating into your shell, so he took the lead and started talking about you. It wasn’t long before he started rambling on and on about you, switching over to another subject, then back to you again. You stayed silent and focused on your food, nodding and humming when Jack said something that was correct. You answered a couple of additional questions that his parents asked, keeping the somewhat awkward conversation going until all of your plates were empty. Abigail promptly cleaned off the table and John followed her to the kitchen, using the privacy to talk about you.

You sat up and straightened your dress, making sure you hadn’t spilled anything on yourself. You never understood why your mother made you wear such bright colors, knowing you would get it dirty.

“It’s best I go now,” You say sheepishly, afraid Jack might judge you. He never did, not once. “Momma told me to be home before sundown.”

“Right,” Jack nodded, getting up out of his seat. He stared at you for a few seconds, taking in how gorgeous you looked. He hadn’t even told you that.

“You look like an angel,” He said with a soft smile, a few strands of his greasy dark hair hanging in front of his eyes. His words made you blush and look away. He leaned in and softly kissed your cheek, causing your cheeks to heat up even further.

It was now week two of being in an awkwardly distant friendship with John. The two of you weren’t the best of friends before, but you rarely complained whenever Dutch sent you out together, it was all in good spirits—until a week and a half ago, that was.

John had mindlessly wandered into your tent after dinner, slightly air-headed as he opened his mouth to ask you a question, just to notice you in your cot. Sweaty, flushed, and with your cock in hand. You jumped and instantly started tucking your hard-on back into your jeans. It had only been a split second before he turned back around and awkwardly rushed out of your tent, but he somehow managed to get a full look at you while you were jerking off.

Now, this wasn’t something new to him. He’d caught people in all kinds of awkward situations, but seeing you in such a vulnerable position made some repressed feelings come boiling back up. He even had trouble admitting to himself that he had a crush on you. It was too embarrassing, he didn’t know if anyone would even understand.

You had been embarrassed ever since John had caught you, and it was even worse knowing he got you in that situation in the first place. It had all been a series of light, accidental touches and brushing up against you over the week, and he had tipped you over the edge when he groaned in reaction to nicking his finger while sharpening a stick. Your head pieced some images together and into your tent you retreated, your jeans starting to strain.

You and John hadn’t shared a single glance or word since that, always peering at the ground when crossing each other on campgrounds and avoiding each other during meal times. The others had started to take notice after the first few days, but they weren’t worried to such an extent that they felt the need to ask either of you what was going on.

John was currently on guard duty while you and a couple of the other guys had some drinks. You weren’t drunk just yet, but you had had enough sips of whiskey to feel your confidence come back. You were already thinking up a plan on how to accidentally run into him and talk through what happened, the constant awkward silences around each other were starting to get tiring. John was a decent feller, you just wanted to be okay with him again.

Before you know it, you’re up and walking away from the campfire, your bottle of whiskey still in your hand. You walk a little bit into the patch of trees at the edge of Horseshoe overlook, peering around you to see if John was there. You eventually spotted him leaning against a tree with a rifle in his hand, he was barely visible but you could make out his silhouette against the pale moonlight. You could tell he had noticed you, but he was pretending he didn’t, hoping you were just walking by incidentally.

He could feel his heart rate start to speed up when you came closer, it was clear you were intoxicated, and just as clear that you wanted to talk. He hesitantly looked in your direction, blinking.

“Look—we need to talk about what happened-“ You were barely able to finish your sentence when John cut you off with a groan. He was glad it was dark, or you could’ve already noticed his face that had started burning up.

“Don’t start,” He sighed, absently staring at the rifle he was holding. His thoughts had already started racing.

“It’s—it’s whatever, okay? Let’s just not mention it anymore. “

“so… we—we’re good?” You mumble.

“Hm.” John nods, earning a soft smile from you. He glances at your bottle of whiskey, motioning toward it. “Care to pass that?”

You shrug and hand it to him, watching as he takes a large gulp. You stare at his Adam's apple as it bobs while he swallows the liquor. He pretends to not notice your stare while he takes a few more sips, savoring the burn of the alcohol in his throat.

He glances at your slightly red face as he hands you back the bottle, your eyes meeting for a split second until he peers off into the distance again.

“Dutch is gonna get mad at us if he catches us quarreling out here, you know?” John hinted, though he didn’t actually want you to leave. You saw right through his façade, chuckling lightly as you leaned against the tree beside him.

“Dutch’d be glad we’re talkin’ again.” You countered lightheartedly.

John gave a shrug and a hum, a silence falling over the two of you. Weirdly enough, it wasn’t awkward—more peaceful if anything. You resorted to looking at John’s hands as they gripped the rifle, your mind starting to wander like it usually did.

“would you stop staring?” John said directly, trying to sound stern. “You’re distracting me.”

Your eyes met again as you looked up in surprise.

“Oh, so now I’m distracting you?” You retorted, not even sure what you were on about. You just said the first thing that came to mind, anything to hear John reply.

“What—” John looked as confused as you did. “What does that even mean?”

“Damnit, John—I-“ You stammered, your thoughts about him threatening to spill from your mouth. He looked at you, awaiting an answer.

“I’m—you’re—oh for fuck’s sake, John.” You were starting to get frustrated with your own feelings, and John was starting to get frustrated by your inability to properly talk to him.

You shared a mutually annoyed glance, then you acted purely on impulse and stepped in front of John, one hand pinning his hip to the three behind him while the other held on to the bottle of whiskey. Your lips were on his beforeeither of you could even register what you were doing.

You had managed to break through John’s tough act, pressing up against him as his right hand planted itself on your chest. His scruffy beard rubbed up against your shaven face as your lips moved in perfect synchronicity, your eyes shutting.

John let out a soft growl as he let himself sink into your touch for a few seconds, though his hand was pushing you off before you knew it.

John glanced into your eyes, then at the ground with a guilty expression. “We can’t be doing this,” He murmured. You stayed silent as his hand, despite his protest against your situation, remained on your chest. He could feel your heart thump against his palm.

“We shouldn’t.”

“Don’t start with this shit,” You mumbled in a low tone, attempting to step to the side.

This time, John let his impulses lead him. He tossed his gun to the side as his hand found its way to your collar. A harsh tug sent you stumbling forward again, your lips catching John’s a second time as he grabbed your bottle of whiskey and tossed it in the same direction as his rifle.

His arms slung around your waist, his hands resting just above your gun belt as he pulled you flush against him. You rested your hands on his biceps, leaning against him shamelessly. Neither of you made an effort to be subtle, all the tension crashing down on you and making you melt into each other’s touch.

A soft grunt left your lips as you felt your soft bulge rub against John’s, his hands gently pulling your hips forward to create a bit more friction. There was no shame in this now, all of your doubts had seemed to have washed away in John’s grasp. Your tongues sloppy intertwined as you both tried your best hand at kissing, which neither of you seemed to have a talent for.

John let out a soft huff as he rutted his hips against yours, making it clear he was impatient. It was completely in character of him, though. You’d never seen ol’ Marston being patient with anything before.

“Let's get this over with,” He mumbled in between kisses, his heart pounding at the anticipation.

“Give it some time, will you? I’m not even hard yet.” You mumble in response, slightly annoyed at John’s inability to just enjoy the moment. “You’re always rushin’ everything.”

“You’ve been makin’ me wait for this too long already.” John blurted out in a sigh, letting you unbutton the top few buttons on his overshirt as he kept pushing his crotch against yours, making you feel how desperately quick he was getting hard.

You blushed at that comment. “goddamn, Marston—how long ‘you been keepin’ this to yourself?”

“I don’t want to talk about that right now.” He sighed again, looking at you to see the moonlight reflect off of your eyes.

You leaned in to continue making out with him as your hands clumsily wandered down to his crotch. Much to John’s avail, you unbuckled his gun belt first, then your own, and tossed them aside. He seemed happy with the extra straps out of the way, allowing the two of you to get closer to each other.

John was already growing hard, his shaft pressing against your thigh shamelessly.

“Damnit,” He cursed softly, not feeling you stiffen at the same pace as him. “Let me help you with that, c’mon, I’m not aimin’ to get caught.”

You nod with a soft chuckle, giving John the okay to start pawing at your crotch. His hands were rough and quick, focused only on getting what he wanted from you. You watched his needy expression as he continued to pleasure you, slowly but surely helping you get hard.

A soft moan tumbled from your lips as you felt the oh-so-familiar throb in your jeans. John shot you a grin, happy to know that you were sharing the same feeling of ecstasy.

He gave your hip a soft nudge, urging you to take a small step back so he could unbutton his pants without you in the way. He gave you a grin as he guided himself out of his jeans, proud as he noticed you blush at his size.

“What, not like you ain’t never seen one before, huh?” He teased, holding his cock in one hand as he used the other to swap your positions, now it was you pinned against the tree, John staring you down like a pervert.

He peeked behind the tree, watching the others for a second. “Go on, they all look preoccupied with Uncle’s yappin’.”

“Alright, alright.” You glanced up at John to make sure he was watching, then helped yourself out of your pants the same as him.

John gave a soft grunt at the sight, his cock twitching in synchronicity with the sound he made. You had never anticipated he would be this into doing anything with you. John never seemed excited about anything, really.

You let out a soft gasp once John moved his hips forward, his cock pressing up against yours. You felt yourself throb once again, the other man’s large hand wrapping itself around the two of you. His hand was noticeably colder than yours, making you suck a breath in through your teeth.

John kissed you as his hand started pumping both of you, swallowing the few surprised grunts and moans that you let out. Feeling another man’s dick against yours was a sensation you knew nothing about, it felt strange, but so strangely pleasurable.

His hand quickly warmed up due to your body's warmth and all the friction he was creating, making the interaction even more enjoyable. He stayed mostly quiet, only letting out a grunt or a huff when you jerked your hips. He planted his free hand beside your head to keep himself from falling over as he jerked the two of you off.

“This feels—” He gulped, stifling a moan. “This feels as good to you as It does to me, right?” He asked as if not having heard all the noises coming from you.

“I should ask you that,” You say in a low, mumbled tone.

“Then I think we’re on the same line,” John nodded to himself. His hips gently started rolling against you, and you returned the movement with ease. You were both rutting up into John’s hand now, your soft noises now harmonizing with each other. Neither of you seemed bothered by anything going on behind the trees now, all of this felt too good.

You both leaked precum, the liquids mixing together as it trickled down your cocks. This was all so wrong, so perverted, but neither of you wanted it to stop.

You got more and more desperate, your paces needing to constantly speed up to chase the perfect ecstasy that was your climax. You both got more sensitive, your faces both adorned with brows that knitted together.

As the minutes went by, you got closer and closer to your release. You felt the familiar warm, tingly sensation in your lower stomach, signaling to you that this didn’t have to keep going for much longer for you to bust your load.

John was slowly getting louder, his rough voice letting out perverse noises that you had been dreaming about for months. Your chest was heaving as you matched his speed. All the doubts you had about ever getting this close to another man, especially John, had floated away. You had never wanted anyone’s body pressed up against yours more than now, and luckily your dream was coming true.

“shit, I’m—” You bit on your tongue, stifling a rough moan. You were ready to let your eyes roll in the back of your head, letting you focus fully on what your body was feeling.

“I’m gonna cum,” You whispered.

John bit his lip as he watched your expression, his hand covering your mouth in an attempt to keep you quiet.

“Yeah,” He sighed and nodded, looking down at the mess between your bodies. “Me—me too.”

His breathing started becoming more sporadic as time went on, both of you coming closer to your release.

John gave little warning as he was the first to cum, his sticky seed spilling over the both of you as he let out a grunt. He looked at you, chewing on his lip as he kept thrusting his hips into his hand, constantly stimulating you. You moaned against his hand at the sight, the combined intensity of it all making you stumble into a climax of your own.

You panted and whined as you painted John’s hand and cock with your cum, continuing to rut your hips until you were milked dry.

 John laughed softly at your eagerness, feeling the sticky substance coat him. He took his hand off of your mouth once you were no longer making any noises, only breathing heavily as you came down from your high.

He lifted his hand off the two of you as you both went soft, inspecting the few drops of cum on both of your clothes.