Baby 🖤 Bella

Joel Mchale: (Head Chef)Control Cillian Murphy: (As himself)Hate To Love You (As himself)Teach me

Drew Starkey: (Rafe Cameron)Kookville (Rafe Cameron)Me First

Bill Skarsgard: (Pennywise)Fear (Barbarian)Perfectly Made (As himself)Temp Service Gerard Butler: (Count Dracula)My Forever Tom Glynn-Carney: (King Aegon II)May The Gods Allow It Ebon Moss-Bachrach: (Richie)No, Fuck You! Gong Yoo: (The Recruiter)Your Choice Eric Roberts: (As himself)I Object Paul Mescal: (Lucius)Just,Win Josh Hutcherson: (As himself)Employee Of The Month Jack O'Connell: (Remmick)You Will Dance (Remmick)You Will Dance part 2

Callum Turner: (As himself)Neighbor Jon Bernthal: (Shane Walsh)His Alexander Skarsgard: (As himself)For The Night (As himself)Behind The Scenes Joe Keery: (As himself)For The Night Caleb Landry Jones: (As himself)Genius (Jeff)My Gift to You Pedro Pascal: (As himself)Mister Truth Evan Peters: (As himself)Make It All Better Noah Centineo: (As himself)Relief Robert Pattinson: (Mickey 17)The Only Mickey Yao: (Bo Chow)Kryptonite Norman Reedus: (Daryl Dixon)Better Half Aaron Taylor Johnson: (Kraven)Hunted Henry Cavill: (As himself)Kingdom of Wives Hunter Doohan: (Tyler Galpin)Sweet Escape Justin Long: (Darry Jenner)Those Eyes Owen Painter: (Isaac Night)Like Clock Work David Corenswet: (Clark Kent)Double The Secret Hayden Christensen: (As himself)Save The Date (As himself)Puppy Jacob Elordi: (The Creature)Missing Piece Jamie Campbell Bower: (Henry Creel)The 13th Vessel

Peter Claffey: (Ser Dunk)Three's A Crowd

Lewis Pullman: (As Himself)Finishing Touches

The only thing that Hayden and Nadine have in common is the fact that they both live on the same street. Other than that, they should be strangers. Instead, they have a relationship dynamic that would even puzzle the brilliant Einstein.

The door of his '98 Ford Explorer swings open at two-am on the money. It's cold in DC tonight, fifty degrees and raining but that has little do with their late meet ups. Hayden can be cruel like that, and as for Nadine, she is as pathetic for him as a girl can come. She trembles and quickly shuts the door behind her, now making his already aged car cushions soggy with rain. "Ew. You're soaked."

"No kidding." Her response is sarcastic, yet she still showed up outside her home the very moment that he had texted her to come out.

"Well, why didn't you wear a jacket?"

Her tired eyes from being awoken from a deep slumber cut toward him sharply, "your text specifically said to come out just as I am... So here I am, in soggy slippers."

"I did say that, didn't I?" He chuckles, "my bad I'm pretty toasted right now— just wanted to see what you wear to bed at night." Partially telling the truth, he skips past the part where he admits to his unlimited mind games and tests— still curious about how far she is willing to let him push her. "So?" He passes his already rolled and lit joint after a french-inhale. "Am I gonna smoke you out, or what?"

"No thanks, I can't even stand the smell of it." Nadine tilts every vent in the car in her direction, praying that the heat in this hoopty will warm her body before catching a deadly case of pneumonia, or perhaps she'll settle for the air blowing the smell of dank out of her face.

Hayden watches her every move, chortling with cruel belittlement, "fucking dweeb." As the car is shifted into gear, he drives them half a mile from their street— a place where they are free to do whatever that he wants, being that the cute pleaser in his passenger seat seems to listen to every word he has to say. Parked beneath the local bridge, the classic rock playing on the car's stereo is drowned out by the patter of rain on his tented windows.

He stares quietly through the shadows... Hayden's handsome gaze glimmers with the few catching street lights around them, as it does on his randomly self-inflicted piercings. "So, this is what you wear to sleep, huh?" Making gentle fun of her boy shorts and tank top, his stare glues to her chest... The rain has stuck the thin fabric of the white tank-top to Nadine's skin like glue. If there were a wet-Tshirt contest somewhere tonight, surely her D-cups with the most perfect teardrop droop would win her first place. "Shit, you really are cold..." he focuses in even harder at her prominent peaks, "fucking freezing, actually.

"I get it." Crossing her arms over her chest, Nadine rolls her eyes as her time is continuing to be wasted during the hours she could be asleep, "Hayden, I don't mean any harm, but... What do you want with me tonight? I have to be at work early in the morning and—"

"I know your schedule by heart." His hand full of skulls and other silver rings takes hold of her arms, moving them out of the way of his view. "I'm outside your job every fucking day, I don't need any reminding."

Muted by his abrupt tone, she can't argue, because it's all true. Ever since they began hanging out, she hasn't had to spend her tiny checks from working at the shopping mall on gas for her car and not even food... When it comes to being a gentleman, Hayden could never. But, keeping her fed and chauffeured seems to be his honor— perhaps even a joy, with a few scattered insults and the occasional grope in between.

"Now come over here." Stern in his ways, Nadine nods in obedience. She climbs over the center console, stumbling sheepishly into his lap. Hayden rolls his eyes, gasping a sharp exhale as she flops against his lean body. "Nice." He mocks her, struggling to speak as the air is pushed out of his lungs. "Graceful as a swan."

"S—Sorry."

...

"You are pretty sorry, aren't you? Forget it, lean back." Seated against the crotch of his cargos, she does as told, leaning her back against his chest as her head lays onto one of his shoulders. From this angle, Hayden looks so peaceful... So handsome up this close to his features, Nadine could easily mistake this moment as being his calm in the midst of whatever storm brews inside him. Maybe his fierceness with her is all an act, perhaps she is his comfort after all.

The smell of conditioner on her dripping curls fills up the entirety of his senses, he feels her watching... He even enjoys the way that she stares. Smelling good, and feeling even fucking better, it aches the young man not to turn this girl every which way but loose— show her how it feels to be his human cocksleeve... But, even as cruel as he can be— he has just as much patience as well. Sex is good, but tormenting is better. His open palms caress the damp skin of Nadine's thighs, immediately growing goosebumps on her flesh wherever his knuckles drag across. If only she knew how he had wished for this all night... How he tossed and turned at the thought of her, and not even tugging one out to her image could have made him feel complete.

Steadfast on the sight of his plush pink lips, Nadine's pout parts ever so slightly as she awaits his kiss... 'Please.' Mentally, she begs. But a kiss would of course be far too sweet, caring, and gentle for a man that gets his rocks off by being the human embodiment of a rain cloud.

"Well?" He interrupts their moment of quiet, innocent, romance together. "Get me hard."

"Oh." She gulps, "right..." Slowly beginning to grind her ass against his lap, it's unknown to why excitement fills her body with his every command... The day that they first met, Hayden had knocked at the door of her house complaining about a stolen package from off his front porch. Tears filled Nadine's eyes as he towered over her in the doorframe of her own home, cussing her, and threatening her. She wasn't the one who stole his package, obviously, but she was just the one that felt good to place the blame on. When the door shut, Hayden went on his way and found the correct neighbor who was the porch-pirate, and Nadine wept from how hurt she felt being spoken to like that— However, as her knees quaked and butterflies ate away at her stomach, she found out something about her self that day— that being degraded made her more aroused than it made her upset...

"You can't look at me like that, Nadine." Her eyes— so puppy like and full of not one cruel thought. It makes the need to damage her that much heavier on him. "Like what?"

"You know just what you do, and when you do it. Don't play dumb with me. You look at me like—" A hand on her hip directs her to drive down harder against his lap. "Like I'm your whole world or something."

"At the moment, aren't you?"

Heated beneath the roll of her body, Hayden hisses from the gnawing ache of a cock that feels like stone against his jeans. "You know— this isn't going to last forever." He grabs her face. A hand full of her soft features squashing her full lips into a pucker.

"I know." Her words come out muffled, still stuck in his grasp.

"You're gonna marry some fucking square who will never make you cum, and I— well, god only knows where I'll be, but I damn sure won't be someone's husband." Words repeated a million times... But the young woman has never been hard at hearing. She heard him the first time he said this, still, it won't be the last time it is said— because saying it out loud is a way of reminding and convincing himself more than it is for Nadine.

"I know." She repeats.

"Do you?" He pushes the matter further, stern and grouchy in his every way. "I said that there's nothing coming from this Nadine, so why are you still here?"

"Because, you told me too."

...

Hayden bites his bottom lip, catching his teeth on his lip piercing to physically restrain himself from turning animalistic. Her words ache him... Hooking up with this girl for only a few weeks now and she's already so well versed. Everything that comes out of her goddamn mouth— so perfect. Glancing at her elongated swan-like neck, he knows just the collar and leash that would complement her luscious bronze skin. "Because I told you so... good." He rewards her degrading honesty with a kiss, the affection she had been silently begging for as she watched against his chest. "Because I told you to get me hard, and you haven't stopped working for it since."

Nadine gulps, mind becoming mush from his delicious torment and her body worn tired from so much grinding. "Exactly."

Hayden's hands lift below her thighs, parting one foot on the driver's door of his car, and the other nearing the gears in the center console— spread like this, his reach is suddenly placed between her legs, touching warmth through the crotch of her pajama shorts and palming the bounce of fat pussy hidden beneath fabric. She lets out a deep breath, amped and ready for whatever as his wide hand cups her sex like he owns it.

His fingers begin to knead... Dough-like as the bed of his digits massage in sickening circles, fondling Nadine through her clothes and arching her spine from lying against him.

Releasing a chuckle dark and low, she can tell that he has no compliment on its way— just something degrading to make her redden in shame. "What are you wearing under these shorts?"

"Mmph— just underwear." Her voice tightens with a moan, wanting to squeal from his skilled teasing.

"Two layers of clothes—" Hayden lifts his hand, showing the gloss of her arousal that soaks her clothes like a sponge. "Shorts and a pair of panties, and my fingers are already beginning to prune. It's pathetic how wet you get."

"Yes, pathetic." Blushing with guilt, Nadine's body bucks forward as his hand returns to toying with her.

"Fuck, you're a mess." His belittlement continues as a warm whisper against her lips. "Just a touch wrecks you."

"I want more." From gripping the door handle, Nadine reaches for his hand— wishing to place it inside her clothes for an even more intimate feel. Hoping to feel the chafe of his calluses, the pinch of his rings, and even the slip of a digit or two inside of her.

"But you don't need more, you're already so close." Hayden swats her hand away, choking with diabolical laughter as he watches her thighs begin to tremble and the curling of her toes in her fuzzy slippers. "You could've done this at home, couldn't you? Pat your own pussy and wouldn't even have to mess up your manicure."

Bratty, untamed, finding this treatment to be irrevocably painful, Nadine whines as her knees crash in on his fondling.

"I swear I'll stop." He threatens.

"Please don't." Breathy and impatient for a climax that is making her clit throb with its own heartbeat, she gives in, willing to submit and accept whatever he's willing to share with her tonight.

"Work for it." Hayden places her hand over his... Their fingers entwine as she forces his touch deeper against the wet shorts until every seam teases at her sensitive folds.

"Sss! Uh-god!" Fully awoken from her night's rest, her cum makes every muscle in her tiny frame tense into shock. She would hate for the evening to end after this... Needy as ever, she's full of lust for this man. Young and far too inflamed to care for what their future could ever hold. "Hayden please, I'll call out tomorrow, take me back home— to the backseat, I don't care, just fuck me."

"I can't." Still new at whatever they have, he knows that after a few weeks of giving each other head, making out, and other forms of foreplay— Nadine isn't keen to even half the damage he wants to cause her.

"Why? I'm telling you— look how ready I am." She lifts their hands from the defined stain of pleasure in the crotch of her shorts... Pussy so numb and toyed with that the swelling definition of its site makes Hayden have to physically gulp back his thirst for it.

"I wouldn't be able to give you what you're used to." He admits. "Nothing sweet and vanilla."

She moans through their tongue kiss, sucking in his bottom lip with a gentle pull. "It doesn't have to be vanilla, do whatever you want, I won't stop you. How many condoms do you have?"

"Exactly, Nadine." He interrupts with a smacking pull from her kiss. "When I fuck you, there will be no glove— I want to feel every inch of you."

"So what? You're a guy, just time it."

"I'm not pulling out, dumbass. I'd fill you with so much cum it would squirt from your nose!" Hayden sighs, she's not ready. His hands now slippery with her dripping pleasure pause at her hips. "It's late, I need to get you home..."

Nadine doubles down on the matter. "Fine, I will start the pill. What's the big deal?" Again, he refuses— another added kink of needing to breed, he can't help but wonder how cute she'd look fat with his kid. "Nope, the risk is the biggest reward... Like I said, you're too vanilla."

"Hayden."

"I'd make it hurt, Nadine." He makes it extremely clear this time. Sure she's taken his eight inches down her throat, but it's different when he is ramming it against her spine, and using her every hole at his own whim. "Tears, bruises, numb in the brain— I want to break you down mentally and physically."

...

She pauses. Suddenly, Nadine has to rethink what she's asking for— better yet the entirety of who this man is that she's been hooking up with. Hayden describes such cruelty... Wanting pleasure from releasing pain on a girl so sweet that she even flinches at a vaccine shot.

...

"Hurt? But, just a little?"

A jolt in his cock makes Hayden spill down the length of his thigh, staining his favorite black cargos with a hotshot of built up release.

"Fuck!" With eyebrows furrowed, his groan forces a bounce from his prominent adam's apple.  "Yes... shit—only a little, baby."

A sap for her innocence. Hayden covers his face from embarrassment of this lasting cum. "Look what you've done, gotta do a load of clothes now." His cum—somehow her problem.

Putting his car in drive, Nadine hangs around his neck, seated in his lap as she's driven back home. "Tomorrow—" her tongue swirls against the lobe of his ear. "We'll go through with it, all of it, no restraints."

"No way." He scoffs, tossing her into the passenger's seat as if she were weightless garbage as he lights a spliff on the tip of his lips. "Fuck off, just let me take you back home."

"Don't pick me up from work if you're gonna keep acting like I'm something you'll break." Pulling into the driveway of her house, Hayden frowns from the noise of her demand— halfway turned on by it. "What?"

"Get out the car, Nadine." He dims his headlights, hoping to not wake her sleeping family or the rest of the noisy neighbors in the culdesac.

"I mean it." Holding firm on her answer, she's determined to make Hayden eat his words... She might seem vanilla on the outside, but for him, she'll be whatever complicated flavor he needs her to be.

...

As Nadine pops the door after the ultimatum she gives him, Hayden pauses in quiet thought before getting out the car— chasing behind her soggy-slippered footprints. "Wait." He catches up to her. "Gimme a kiss." It almost pains him to ask for such soft affection as he finishes the sentence with rolled eyes.

Beneath the streetlight, Nadine leans into Hayden's chest as his height folds over against her embrace... Their kiss stops the night around the two as the universe allows them extra time for a liplock that will keep them both awake for the rest of the evening.

"Baby blue, tomorrow." Pulled from their kiss, Hayden whispers against sweet lips that stutter in reach for another taste of his.

"Baby blue?" Confusion stains Nadine's round eyes, pupils bursted from their lusty hour spent together.

"Your panties."

...

"Oh..." For a moment, she ponders on it. "The ones with a bow?"

Annoyed with her perfect response, he sighs with aggravation. Listening to her voice, so quiet and soft she could barely possess a yell if she wanted too... But most importantly, it's always her words that are the right amount of docile and wanting to satisfy him. Knowing just what to say— just what to please him... just how to make his cock jump in his pants with those big brown puppy-dog eyes.

"Yeah." His irked scoff is part of a gentle laugh, ending with a handsome hidden grin, "those ones."

As Hayden turns away, continuously relighting his joint, it would make Nadine's night to hear a 'goodnight'— perhaps even an 'I love you'... but with this arrangement, she wouldn't dare hold her breath.

Working her way inside her family's home, she holds the front door tightly to withhold its squeaky tattling— but it's far too late to keep quiet as her sister catches her in the act. "I knew it! That's that Hayden guy from down the street." Only a year apart, Nadine's older sister Ruth catches her at the end of the hallway. "What are you doing out with him every night?!"

"Minding my business." Nadine quickly bites out a tight-lipped sentence as she walks past her sister.

But, Ruth catches her wrist, worried for her kid sister being the fact that she is clearly hooking up with the guy Ruth and the rest of their friends buys weed from. "Wait Nay.... he's not like— your boyfriend, is he?"

The door of Johnny and Cupcake's home swings open letting in the rigid LA heat. "Johnny!? Is that you baby, are you home!?" Her pink manicure slaps closed her bedazzled flip-phone, the same phone that has been ringing her husband's number for hours now.

"Slow down pumpkin, you're gonna fall in those goddamn shoes!" Catching his wife in his arms, Cupcake's five-inch leopard print pumps nearly trip her as she kicks through the floor's mess of beer cans.

"Just hold me." Stifling back tears, her worry has been lifted now that she has seen his face. "I swear when I'm done crying, I'm going to kick your ass!"

He kisses her cheek, wiping away tears with his soft lips. His brows furrow. He tries his best to calm his wife, but there has always been three reasons why he married this woman... The fact that he can't live without her, how adorable it is that her legal name at birth was 'Cupcake', and of course her huge ass— heart...

A sensitive soul, his woman is. If Johnny is able to get her to stop crying today— he just might be able to save their house from flooding. "What the hell is going on? You break my heart when you cry mama. What happened?"

"You happened!" She hits him, slapping his bicep red and soon wiping her tears that have now been traded for rage. "I've been ringing your blackberry for hours now! Your agent called me about another accident on set... Said a goddamn bull gave you a concussion and that you discharged yourself from the hospital hours ago!"

"Ahw come on baby, you know my head is tough as nails." Fluffing his short brunette strands as he unwraps his head injury, Johnny ignores the bruised lump beginning to swell at his temple. "I'm good, muffin. I promise."

"You are not good!" Taken by the hand as her husband stretches across the couch, Cupcake sits on Johnny's lap as he wishes for cuddles instead of another one of their arguments. "You heard the doctor the last time that you got a concussion—"

"One more and you're toast." He mocks with rolled eyes, simultaneously finishing the often overly said sentence.

"Okay smart ass, it will be you wearing a helmet everyday and drooling, not me." Yanked back into his lap, he refuses to let Cupcake leave him. "Come on, let's not do this right now. If you want me to feel better— then give me kisses, I could really use that right now."

Long lashes that complement her soft features makes him chuckle as her sassy eye roll makes his heart skip a beat. Her left hand is pressed against his chest as the rock on her ring finger glimmers beneath this evening's light, her right hand fits against his chiseled jawline like a needle fits a groove, and together they lean into a kiss so intimate that it almost always leads to something more.

Except tonight..."God! Your lips taste like liquor! Don't tell me you went to the bar right from the ER?"

Johnny sighs, now blue-balled by her lips. "Who cares? It's the cheapest form of medicine."

...

Disappointment fills her expression. Cupcake watches Johnny fling an arm around his head as he eases comfortably into the cushions of the couch— uncaring to the amount of discarded beer cans beneath him being that once his friends get here, it'll only be a small percentage to the amount that they'll add to it on the floor... it's as if their home was nothing but a dumpster. "I— I can't."

So used to his wife storming off after he's found a way to piss her off, Johnny ignores her weight lifted from his lap until he hears the sound of her purse and the jingle of her keys. "Baby?" His eyes suddenly fling open. "Come on now, where you going!?"

"I'm done. The ring on my finger doesn't mean I signed up to watch you kill yourself doing stupid stunts. I mean it, Johnny. I can't keep worrying sick about you every time you're on set!"

"I said I'm fine!!!" Dirty black converses hit the ground as Johnny hops up from the pillows for a needed cold one from the fridge. "I mean, fuck— this conversation is giving me a bigger goddamn headache than being trampled by the bull."

"You're immature." Arms crossed as she nears the front door, Cupcake turns once more to scorn him. "Look at this place, I can't do it anymore!! You treat our home like a fucking frat house!!! All the beer cans, people running in and out of here, drug paraphernalia scattered all over the table... And the nerve of you to get sappy at night— talking about wanting to start a family... You, Bam, Steve-O, and all the rest of you Jackasses are well past thirty-five and still acting like fucking children. What? Should I do it all alone? Raise babies as well as YOU!?"

"Oh jeez." He makes light of the situation, "poor Cupcake, her house in LA is too big, she hasn't worked a day in her life, she spends the week swiping her husband's credit card at every fucking boutique in Cali, her life is just sooo hard!!! She even has to pick up a beer can or two, whoopty-fucking-doo!!!"

Her Juicy Couture handbag is suddenly swung, knocking down a pyramid of bud light cans. "DOES THAT LOOK LIKE ONE OR TWO!?"

...

"That— That was fucking art."

Whether it be his arrogance, immaturity, or the concussion talking, Johnny refuses to take anything seriously. "You don't know how long it took me and the fellas to put that together."

Back on the couch, his feet are kicked up and comfortable once again...

Usually folding around this time of their arguments, instead, tonight Cupcake wipes the black tear strains of mascara from the apples of her cheeks. "Me, or Jackass?"

"Don't do that." As if fear had actually entered the chest of the hardheaded brown-eyed man, suddenly unsettled, Johnny sits up as his jaw ticks with worry. "You promised you would never be that girl— You would never give me an ultimatum between you and the crew."

She scoffs, in disbelief of how he talks about the guys as if it's them on their knees sucking him off nightly.

"I wish I didn't have to. But there's only so much I can take... Seventeen concussions, twenty broken bones, brain hemorrhages, a torn urethra, herniated discs, hundreds of crutches in our garage, and your eye has had to be popped back into your socket twice for Christ sake!"

The ultimatum weighs on him heavily tonight to the point of it inflicting heartache— an injury much worse than any other he's gotten from one of Jackass' amateur stunts. "You're not a teenager anymore, Jackass is going to kill you and you are far too bright of a star to let this be the end of your career... What about all of the scripts your agent has lined up for you? The Ringer, Nature Calls, Bad Grandpa? You're gonna have to come to a point where something means more to you than just partying, skateboarding, and your friends."

"Enough about my friends!" He argues, "Baby, I'm my own man, if I've made a bad call— then that's on me! Not them. I don't get why you're doing this tonight, I'm not just going to leave behind the people that got us here... So please, quit! If this is about not answering your calls today and making you worried then— I don't fuckin know, my bad!!! I'm sorry!!! Okay? Christ, fuck."

Silenced in absolute disbelief, Cupcake watches Johnny turn on his phone, a blackberry with missing text-keys— smashed from being in his pocket with him during every single stupid fucking stunt. "Who are you calling?"

"All these damn missed calls, good grief woman."Through his voicemail, Johnny completely skips over the messages of his frantic wife, stopping instead on a message from Wee Man, Bam, and Chris..

"Where you at fucker!!?!? Haha, probably still at the hospital, aren't you pussy!" The voicemail is filled with burly obnoxious laughter of men who act the size of their shoes instead of their actual ages... Cupcake stares in disbelief as her husband has the audacity to laugh at the message, as if the men on the phone are the only ones capable of bringing a smile to his face.

"Don't tell us you got another concussion! Letting a bull drag its nuts across your head! Ahhhh just fucking with you bro! Gonna see you soon, will wait till Cupcake finishes chewing your ass out and then we'll come by the crib with a couple cases of cold ones. Steve-O will be coming a little late, he's trying to score us some fucking dank Pineapple Express.Call us back fucker!! Let us know when to come by... Peace, love ya bro."

"Those guys are insane." He chuckles, "they sound already fucking wasted too. Hey muffin, you think we got any more of those frozen fish-sticks you can heat up? I'm sure they're gonna be buzzed and hungry already."

Grinning with excitement, Johnny reaches for another beer, already double-fisting two drinks in the first hour of being home.

As if her complaints mean nothing... he has already forgotten her sorrow as he awaits his next cheap thrill. "When are they not wasted or buzzed, Johnny? I can't believe you have so little respect for me, that you would actually let grown ass men be around me like that... Then have the nerve to be upset when something happens like Steve-O trying to kiss me again. If he was never here, then maybe he can't try anything on me!"

. . .

As if a record had been scratched, Johnny's happy mood takes an immediate turn. "Steve-O did what?"

"See, if you weren't always drinking I'm sure you would've remembered." Although she has a point, Cupcake couldn't be more wrong... Being wasted has been the cause of misplacing many things for Johnny, his keys, his phone, even waking up to one of his molars missing!— But hearing that someone had messed with his wife? Even being knocked out cold couldn't keep him from not remembering that.

And out of all people, who worse could it have been, than it being Steve-O... Closer than blood brothers, it hurts Johnny the most to hear that about him... But, at the same time it doesn't surprise him at all.

Three years ago at the 2004's MTV Awards, Steve-O and Johnny had their eyes locked on the very same prize. At the after party, the two were loaded on coke— but still not high enough to mistake a once in a lifetime beauty like Cupcake. Timbaland had won an MTV award for a hit song, as did the crew of Jackass for best picture. The music video for his song starred many celebrities, but none as memorable as Cupcake as the video's vixen...

Throughout the night, and weeks to come, both Johnny and Steve-O had fallen for her— and with Cupcake's heart of gold, she had begun to fall for them too. The decision for her came easy, however... Johnny's way of speaking about a future for themselves and Steve-O's outlandish need for partying and having multiple women, it made her choice in a husband undeniable... But hearing that after years, his own friend has backstabbed him with advances towards his wife, Johnny isn't sure if his friends can be trusted after all... now even unsure if Cupcake is still happy with the choice in husband she made.

Suddenly a look of guilt crosses his wife's face... She can't recall if this is something they once spoke about or not, being that most nights are spent in heated conversations like this anyways. "Just forget it."

"Fuck that."

Her eyes widen... Her sight of Johnny stretches upwards as he overshadows her with his height, now standing barely an inch from her. "When did it happen?"

She realizes how terrible of a mistake she has made... Now remembering that she had kept this a secret for so long, fearing that she would be blamed as the reason for their friendship falling out in the media. "Nothing happened. Your friends are sooo innocent, aren't they?"

Her wrist is suddenly grabbed, keeping her from walking away from the mess that she has made. "He kissed you, Cupcake? He kissed you, and you never told me?"

Attempting to yank away, her wrist only jingles the bangles and charm bracelets down her arm... with Johnny's hand so tightly wrapped around her, his weight begins to feel like a ball and chain. "It would have just been another fight." She promises, "I handled it."

"When was it, where was it, and where the fuck was I?"

...

Defiant as ever, her nostrils flare with rage.

"SPEAK." His tone makes the woman before him tremble.

"Here!" Out with it, Cupcake finally tells it all. "It was here, so what? A month or so ago... You were ripping a bong with the guys and Steve-O asked if I needed help cleaning in the kitchen—"

"That fucking snake." He cuts sharply. "Probably was his weed, getting us high, all while he chats up my girl."

"At first it was friendly, I hadn't noticed he was so wasted. He held the trash bag open for me, carried some of the heavier items, and we shared a few laughs while taking it to the curb. The first kiss, it caught me off guard—"

"THE FIRST KISS?!" Johnny interrupts, "as in there were more than one?!"

"Do you ever shut up!?" Cupcake finally snatches her wrist back, "the second time— he only tried it. I stopped him with a shove. He apologized, and he said that he was wasted... I told him that he needed to leave and he did— well, right after he confessed how much he wished that I had chosen him over you."

...

"Do you?"

"Do I what? Wish that I chose him?" She watches her husband become so worked up, that the vein pulsing from his forehead brings her worry about his most recent concussion. "Would I still be here?"

Hand in hand as they walk to the freezer, Cupcake smacks a bag of frozen peas onto his bruised face. "I dunno Cupcake... You tell me! First you try to leave me tonight, and now you tell me about other men kissing on you."

"If I were to leave you for another man, do you truly think it would be for another idiot from Jackass?" Leaning against the counter of their kitchen's island, Johnny scoots lower for his wife to adjust the frozen peas on his eye-socket and forehead. "Except Wee Man..." She teases, "you know I always had a thing for how much of a sweetheart he is."

Beginning to laugh too hard, Johnny hisses as the frigid bag of peas bite into his bruised flesh. He takes the bag from his head, tossing it a bit in his hand as Cupcake watches the quiet man bite his lip in a deep thought... "That night we met, the '04 after party... Why did you choose me? And I don't mean why didn't you choose me or Steve-O. What I mean is, that club was filled with ballers, rappers, producers, actors... And you— well you are you, any man in that room would've been richer than gold with your number in their palm-pilot, but somehow I won. Somehow you chose me. Why?"

Cupcake shrugs, leaning into the chest of her man as Johnny's arms nearly double around her waist. "You don't give yourself hardly enough credit. That night, I could've went home with any media mogul as you put it, but when I reminisced about meeting you— I felt stupid for the way I blushed and smiled. All of you Hollywood guys are flashy— doing the right things only when people are looking... But when you left the club that night— you stopped and autographed at least the back of ten little kids' skateboards, while the rest of your team had already gotten into the limo with girls on each arm... You're hardworking, admirable, and kind. Johnny Knoxville you are genuinely good. A man I was excited to be with, and still am... But, I think that you don't see yourself as I do. I think that you're stuck in a place between the future and the past, maybe even a little scared of what could be next... I thought that with me being here with you during each step of the way, that maybe it would make it easier for you. But Johnny, even I can't wait forever— I can't live your life for you, only my own, and I damn sure can't make decisions for you."

For just a moment spent quietly in each other's arms in their own home, Johnny comes to the realization of just how much of his entire world is right here in his grasp. Foolishly almost letting her walk out of the door tonight, he cringes at the thought of choosing alcohol and bud over something so precious to him. Far too taken for granted, he can't understand why Cupcake hadn't tried to leave him sooner.

The tune of his cellphone turning off ends their quiet moment of reflection. "You and that damn phone always dying, here, I think I have your charger in my purse."

Taking her by the hand, Johnny ends the rummaging through her bag. "Not dead, just off. The fellas— they'll wait."

...

Suddenly put first, Cupcake's blank stare is an awed disbelief of what is happening before her. An argument in which she has finally won... if she knew it only took kissing one of his friends, she would've kissed the whole cast by now. "Is this the concussion talking?"

"Just me." He smiles, "I owe you the biggest apology— and the life that I promised you. No more partying, no more Jackass, and no more beer-can towers. I love you, I choose you, I'm an absolute idiot."

Johnny's hand— wide and tough with thick calluses gently cuffs the back of Cupcake's neck, slowly he tilts her head backwards, watching her lashes flutter shut as he plants a tongue kiss against her glossed lips that could make time stand still... His freehand eases to the small of her back, soon gripping a handful of her ample thickness barely contained by the thin fabric of her Victoria's Secret capris.

"Hmm... Did Steve-O's kiss go something like that?" Jealous and possessive, he taunts his woman as he notices her ways of melting beneath his touch. "Maybe you preferred his, hm? Maybe I'll stop—"

"Don't." Cupcake's whisper against his lips comes out as a needy plea— aiding in Johnny's cruel yet handsome smile as her kiss is felt against his teeth.

His kiss is felt at the tip of her nose, moving slowly across her cheek, jawline, and finding her neck as his tongue leaves a soft bruise against her tawny flesh.

Too proud to beg for what she wants, Cupcake has always been the type who can't help but show her cravings through a doll-like glassed over look in her eyes... that same ol' ditsy stare, arch in her back, and tremble with each inhale she takes. "Take my shirt off." Her fingers race to the seams of his Ed Hardy tee. "Pants too."

She stutters as she rushes to his leather belt, fumbling with its large metal buckle as if she were being timed... But she needn't not to rush, there isn't anywhere in the whole world Johnny would rather be.

His baggy jeans finally find their way from the stride of his sturdy legs— kicking each sneaker off one by one as he strips Cupcake out of her teasingly skimpy wardrobe... always so much quicker than his. Together they leave a trail of clothes behind them, breadcrumbs towards the bedroom as Cupcake becomes absolutely bare against their kingsize bed while Johnny drags her thong down the length of her legs with his teeth.

His kisses pelt across the skin of her belly, never missing her belly-button piercing as the diamond Playboy Bunny gem is flicked by his tongue. "Mine."

His indeed, but her mind forgets to say it as it becomes mush from a tongue swipe through Cupcakes slick core.

"Say it." Catching her breath as her legs are thrown across the tatted skin of his tan shoulders, she answers with haste, wanting more attention exactly where he is. "Yours!"

His lips curl around her needy bud, suckling her flesh and making it tender as it throbs. She grips the sheets beneath her as her spine arches from the bed, eyes squeezing shut tightly as her husband devours and cherishes this week's fresh wax. "Shit! Johnny!" Her coo feeds his arrogance, only adding to his fervor as his indenting fingertips hold her buxom thighs further apart from crashing against his already concussed skull.

Sloppy and sporadic as Cupcake's manicure combs through and grips his brunette strands, he makes sure that whatever kiss she may get in the future or have gotten in her past— it could never amount to the one he is giving her below.

The lolling of his tongue is skilled and precise, knowing where to breathe, suck, and swallow— he watches Cupcake frantic with euphoria, reaching towards her chest as the tips of his fingers knead against her full breasts. "I'll cum! Slow down— fuck, please!"Her squeals and cries make him ache against his boxers, but to prove his word— he'll ache for his until the love of his life surely gets as many of hers as she possibly can.

Worked up from a squirt that has left a puddle beneath them, Cupcake's knees begin to quake as her teeth nearly bite through the hold she has on her own bottom lip. Flushed with a healthy glow and stunning amount of apple-red blushed cheeks, Johnny adores her from below— pupils bursting at the sight of her as he watches her expressions of gratitude over the hill-like globes on her chest. His chin drips with her joy, watching her crash over once more as her moan becomes muted from a captured soul.

He hurries against her body, pinning her beneath him as he makes Cupcake taste herself against his tongue. Barely able to cuff his tender girth with his own hand, Johnny has ached to be bedded in her heat for half an hour now... He eases into her properly prepared flesh like a hot knife through butter. His eyes roll to the back of his head, slowly working his hips— he wishes to not waste this nut so quickly, needing to milk every second of this makeup sex as long as he can. "Fuck, this pussy is good..."

Her fingertips outline each detail of muscle in his arms and shoulders, feeling them tense and tighten with each pump inside of her. Calming his stress with her touch is her specialty, she intwines her fingers with his, and kisses the thumb of his left hand. Johnny's eyebrows unfurl, his right hand becomes occupied with a grip to Cupcake's waist, now eye to eye with full hands as his sweet girl holds one and the other is used as traction to obliterate this pussy.

Encouraged to do so, each deep stroke becomes timed and repeated with everything that he has. Grunting and succumbing to her sweetly warm breaths against the skin of his lips. Weakened by the way her body clenches around his length, he becomes shortsighted and dumb with lust. Overjoyed yet annoyed with how wrapped around her finger this woman has him. "I'll be better." He promises, "I swear to you, I will..." Johnny's grasp suddenly finds the circumference of Cupcake's throat— squeezing her windpipe just enough that her body gives in. "But I swear if you ever keep something from me again, I can get much worse." Her core quakes around him through a lasting orgasm, the threat mocks her self respect, yet it fulfills her every desire of belonging to him at the same time. The feeling of Cupcake coming undone while still so deeply penetrated makes her husband immediately spill his load, crashing the rest of his weight onto her petite frame with a climax that finishes him alongside her.

Filled to her limit, the promise of a family may come sooner than expected... Call it a baby trap, call it laying a claim— call it a reminder for whichever of his dickhead friends ever dare try something on her again.

For a check... Johnny Knoxville will eat things gross and diabolical, be chased by the most dangerously endangered animals in the entire world, be poked, prodded, electrocuted, and will break every bone in his body— but when it comes to his Cupcake, no amount in the world could ever be worth losing her.

Ready to grow up, he's willing to switch over to the other movie roles promised by his agent— and when it comes to his friends, as they all continue to age and become far more fragile than they ever have been before, all he can hope is that they will understand his reason to retire.

"Lay down with me."Voice honeyed from satisfaction, all Cupcake wants is to be cuddled to sleep.

Johnny kisses her forehead, placing her at the top of the bed as she comfortably wraps her tired arms around one of her twenty plush pillows. "Can't sleep honey, remember? This ain't our first rodeo, gotta stay up for twenty-four hours after a concussion— doctor's orders."

"Oh that's right... well, then what are you going to do?" Eyes heavy as sleep takes her, Cupcake still can't help but to be the lady in charge.

He chuckles, "we've got plans don't we? Just gotta make a few calls tonight—my agent and some maintenance guys to get this house squeaky clean, yeah? Get your rest baby— I'm not going anywhere."

Sealing his wife's sleep with a kiss on her lips, Johnny hits the lights and finds himself headed down the hallway, searching for each article of his thrown clothes. He stumbles as he places them on, every piece that he passes, one by one. Finally dressed as he shuts the front door of the house behind him, he skips down the stairs like a man renewed and rejuvenated from Heaven sent sex— but as his phone turns on again, it isn't his agent's number that is dialed, no maintenance men either...

"Yo, Steve-O!" His call is suddenly answered by his ex-friend on the other end. "Where ya at buddy? I'd like to run a few things by you..."

Like a human ray of sunshine, Anya Malone travels down a Manhattan sidewalk tonight in her cinnamon colored hair and her favorite shades of pink and yellow in her sweater and mini-skirt. When described as a ray of sunshine, it means more than just the radiant pieces of clothing within her wardrobe— she embodies the sun, literally.

Light on one's darkest day, this young woman has dedicated most of her life to making other's lives better. From running a soup kitchen for the homeless, free group therapy for whomever needs to talk, community service, and taking in as many extra hours as she possibly can as a full time ER nurse— the only reward this selfless twenty-six year old seeks is contentment, happiness, and a relieved smile on the faces of people she has been able to help.

A few months ago, she met her friend Jeff at one of the lowest points in his life. Around the same age as her, give or take a few years older, Jeff was another young person who was just trying to make a life worth living here in the Big Apple. But, after failing and being fired from multiple jobs, he was left out on the streets, homeless after being unable to afford his rent anymore.

He was brought into the hospital during the night of one of Anya's extremely busy shifts... That evening he had hardly been breathing. Jeff was knocking at death's door with a severe case of Hypothermia. Although the night was indeed busy, Anya still managed to sit with him... She spoke with him during his heated bath treatment and got to know the young man beneath all of this pain as he held his nurse's hand.

Since that meeting, a friendship bloomed between them as did the love of helping others. Soon, not only was Jeff offered to stay in the same church that the soup kitchen was run in, but he enjoyed helping Anya with feeding the homeless, her group therapy sessions, and wherever else he thought he could be of help for Anya's love of offering community service.

———

As Anya heads this evening to a Greek diner she just recently scored a job at for Jeff, she skips down the dirty concrete of NYC excited to see how his first day went— proud of how far her friend has come and what the future may hold for him.

Reaching the westside of town, Anya enters the diner and is greeted by the lovely faces of people who know and admire her for all that she has done for the city. It isn't long before she steps into the busy rear of the restaurant to see her dear friend, Jeff. Currently busy with the last dishes in the sink— his chef-sleeves are rolled up, arms elbow deep in suds, and his ginger waves are tied down with a hairnet. "Anya!" His face lights up with excitement the moment that he sees her. Jeff checks the grease-stained clock on the wall and sure enough, his shift is over. Finally, a first day where he has yet to be fired.

Jeff dries his hands and tosses his apron. He joins Anya quickly in the busy hallway, lifting her into the air at her thighs and just beneath her mini-skirt. He spins her with absolute glee, "Anya! You came! You came and you didn't forget!"

A slight guspy breath leaves her lips— startled by his sensitive touch on her skin, the fact that she has been lifted into the air, and also how excited he is to see her... "Of course I didn't forget." She giggles sweetly, "tell me about your day, I must know all about it."

Still being swung, lifted, and cherished like gold— the diner's grumpy graveyard shift joins the tight hallway as Anya and Jeff are both in the way of the time-clock  that they wish to punch in with. "Easy! I'm walking here!" Anya's brown chunky heels may be adorable with their matching bows at the ends of each shoe— but dangerous when the four-inch heel swings by the heads of the other diner's staff members.

"Oh, sorry pal!" Jeff gently places her back onto the ground, with a smile that has yet to fade. He goes to stand in line with the rest of the staff, giving Anya a playful grin and wave from a distance as he punches his card out, while the others punch theirs in.

She blushes... always so charmed by her friend's charisma, yet blind to see the crush on him that continues to consume her.

"So, how did it go?!" Finally together again, they head for the locker room to gather the rest of his belongings. The excitement to hear about his day begins to eat away at her, "you have to tell me, Jeff! I'm dying to hear!"

"Oh everything was grand, really Anya, I can't thank you enough." He begins. "It's all really simple stuff! Soap, hot water, scrubbing pots and pans— the work is almost too easy! For the first time in my life, the bossman actually complimented me. By my first hour at any other gig, I'm usually getting fussed at or have already been fired by then!"

She can't help but to smile, she remembers all the times he had gotten fired from previous work... Those moments never ended well for Jeff, being that he can get a temper when he is being scorned...

The last time he was fired from a job, it was the mattress factory downtown... Somehow a chair went crashing through the window when the bossman let Jeff go with a minor insult— or two.

"I'm really proud of you, I always knew you could do it... You're a hard worker and a kind soul, I just knew that someone would see it in you real soon."

"And get this!" Jeff continues overly-hyped. "After the dishes were clean, they even gave me the opportunity to help plate each entree with a dinner roll during the dinner-rush! Gave me my own tongs and everything!"

"Look at you go! I told you, the sky is the limit." Anya is suddenly stopped at the quiet end of the building. Jeff shows her a small wad of money— a few fifties and twenties being that the busboy gig is a paid under the table kind of situation. "Money..." Perplexed by the reward of his own hard work, his pupils nearly burst at the sight of the cash that actually belongs to him. "Money put right into my hand, no taxes taken, no flack or hassle, an everyday pay... Anya, if it weren't for you setting this up for me, I'd still be so down n' out and unemployed... Please, we have to celebrate, how can I thank you?!"

"No, I couldn't! Keep your money, Jeff." Holding his hand, she balls his fingers up over his pay and pushes it towards his body. "It's yours. You earned this. Your joy is enough of a thank you. And, with proof of this steady income— surely you're on your way to making enough to pay off the back-rent you owe. You will get your apartment back soon, I know you will."

Jeff scoffs in confused disbelief of how such a gem of a person could have found him in the sea of assholes that take up all of New York.... "I just don't get it... What do you get out of this, Anya? Your life is so busy a-and I always see you so exhausted after a day's work at the hospital and everything else you do! What is it? ... You must go home to a warm bed, to someone caring, laying there, and waiting for you in it..."

"Oh, no." Anya chuckles playfully at her own expense. "A man? Romance? Nuh-uh. Haven't had a partner in... four years? Or has it been six?" She can hardly remember anymore.

"Well, I just thought that— hospitals and all... With all those beds, maybe there is someone at your job, ya know?" The squint of curious confusion in Jeff's big blue eyes is adorable, but not enough to stop a cringing chill that runs up Anya's spine. "Eww! Gross... Not at my hospital at least!"

...

Silence fills the corridor around them and Jeff comes up with something else to offer. "You know, I was thinking... You've just been so kind to me, if you felt like well— getting back into the swing of things, maybe you and I could like..."

Instantly realizing where this is heading, Anya's cheeks grow hot with a blushing red, "oh."

"No, you're probably right..." He instantly backpedals with an embarrassed dry chuckle and a scratch to the back of his neck. "I know I'm probably not your type of— uhm. But I just thought... that if I could do that for you, I really wouldn't mind."

Suddenly, Anya's sight reaches the floor, embarrassed by how much she cannot control the reaction and temperature of her face— the toes of her heels curl in on each other as she begins to kick at her own feet. "No, I get it... That's really sweet of you, but, erm—"

"Before you say no..." Jeff interrupts, somehow gaining her attention and their shared glance again. "Can I ask— like... why? I mean it's probably the freckles, right? O-Or the pale skin? Or maybe it's the facial ticks? Sorry, I've had them since I was a kid."

"Jeff, slow down, what are you talking about?" Unable to hear him painfully speak down about himself, Anya doesn't actually see a single flaw within him. Although quiet and seemingly unopened to his offer, it is only because of how much it has caught her off guard... Living a life so full of worrying about other people's wellbeing, it's been so long since the young woman took into thought such things. Also, now that she thinks about it... Jeff's so-called ticks, freckles, and pale skin are all the things that make him handsome and unique... as does his gentle kindness he has for others and the soulful rasp in his sensually deep voice.

"Is it Father Anthony?" He suddenly brings up the youthful priest at their church, a man who also helps them run the soup kitchen on occasion. "I—I really try not to pay it much mind, but I see how he is around you... I mean, you guys would look really good together! Like a fucking cover of a magazine." He ends his statement with an accidental thought to himself. "I mean, really, I get it... The community loves him, he's a great guy, and Christ!— I mean the guy looks like  Clark Kent in a clerical collar and here I am... a frail busboy."

Jeff's short laugh is suddenly filled with pain, as his eyes are glassed with tears... "Hell, he helps run the soup kitchen... and you found me needing to eat from it."

Anya can't take it... Something so pitiful and peculiarly beautiful about the man before her— his self degrading behavior makes her want to cradle the handsome face of his against her chest. "Don't do that, Jeff." She gulps, "what you think you saw between Father Anthony and I, well, it isn't true. And if I'm honest, I'm very much attracted to you."

"You are?" Light catches in his large sappy eyes, or could it be the look of hope?

As Anya goes to nod yes, Jeff wastes no time at all... His hand is suddenly pressed at the small of Anya's back as he pulls her against his body for an unexpected kiss.

Things move far too fast for a girl whose romantic life has moved impossibly slow for years now. She pushes away at his chest, gasping in shock as their lips smack apart. "Jeff?!"

His sight is locked in on her... With pupils dilated and a look of absence across his expression, Anya isn't even sure if he can hear the words coming out of her mouth.

"Can I— I need to kiss you." Beginning in a way of asking a question, the inquiry in his voice drops with a statement of purely needing more.

"You what?" Barely able to make another sentence, Anya finds herself back into his tight embrace as their lips lock together once again.

Using all of her strength to push away, Anya notices the bright glow of the red exit sign only a few feet away... she heads for the door, afraid of the sudden change in her friend. Quickly walking away, the clacking of her heels near the speed of a run, soon going silent as her wrist is grabbed and she is suddenly pulled into the dim-lighting of a janitor's closet.

Backed into the cement wall of the closet, her nose picks up on the scent of bleach and cleaning supplies as the handles and sticks of mops and brooms fall out of their way and hit the ground. "What are you doing!? Jeff, stop!"

"I just— I need to do it again." Once more, Jeff's kiss is pressed roughly against Anya's mouth. Stuck between the walls of a room impossibly dark, small, and damp— the front of her is pressed against his body. Suddenly trapped, the frame of a man who although is over six-feet tall, he had always seemed to be quite frail, weak, and innocent... but he becomes strong— hungry for whatever it is that he wants. Jeff's fingers graze the top of Anya's yellow thigh-high stockings... rimming the band of them and teasing at the thickness of her legs. Gently opening her mouth to take a gasp of breath in, he immediately takes the sight of her parted pretty-glossed lips as an invitation for his tongue. She receives his French kiss, and goosebumps chill her skin as she hears her own voice come to an unexpected moan...

With her body becoming a stranger to her self control, she becomes far too pleasured with arousal... Anya's pinned wrists lose all strength to fight. "You— You'll have to stop..." Nervously stuttering with each word, his kiss leaves her lips and begins to bruise against her neck and breasts. "Jeff, this is insanely inappropriate. I-I only wanted to be of help to you!"

Little does she realize, what she has given him has done far more for the man than just help.

"Does it feel nice when I kiss you?" His raspy tone is still as innocent as ever... Nothing at all sinister in his question although he has clearly lost all restraint, but it's true... all that he truly wants is to make sure that she is pleased— to give back for all that she has given to him.

"No." So tightly crushed by his body, Anya feels every detail of his hardening erection as it presses against his jeans and her skirt. The feeling of it releases another moan from her lips and Jeff nearly pouts in heartache as his eyebrows furrow with rage— heartbroken that she would keep her glorious lust filled sounds of gratitude to herself. "Why? Why Anya? Why would you lie to me?" His voice cracks on the brink of tears as if he knows how wrong his behavior is tonight, yet, he still needs this anyways. "Need to. I'm sorry, but I need to." Her eyes widen at the sound of this declaration. Anya is now lifted by the back of her thighs... the same lift that felt so innocent when he had ran to her with his greeting earlier this evening... But instead, this time, her legs are parted around him as her back aches against the press of an unmoving concrete wall. She hears the unzip of his trousers and is sure that her panties will be enough of a barrier to protect her from any sudden intrusion... but, it isn't.

Like a bulldozer or an animal that cannot take no for an answer, the thin fabric already puddling against her slick arousal puts up no fight as his swift plunge half tears the lacy-garment and moves the rest of it to the side. Her once widely-opened eyes close tightly with fallen tears and a hiss as Anya finds herself speared onto the most unsuspecting cock tonight. "Jeff, oh my god..." The words feel like fire leaving her throat as her body trembles in the grasp of man pounding her with fierce thrusts. His face burrows into the crook of her neck, groaning from such the intimate feel of her as Anya's nails dig through his shirt into the skin of his shoulders, "what are you doing to me?"

"Needed this pussy, I swear I have." His jaw tightens with the grit of his words, "have mercy, forgive me, but I couldn't resist you a second longer."

Wanting to be angered, Anya can't help the pit in her stomach from being craved this badly. Whether it be butterflies or shame, all she knows is that if he continues to drive this thick cock against her gspot a second longer— the fallen cleaning supplies in this closet will be needed for the mess that she is to make.

Her mind boggles with the thought of not knowing how long he had felt this way about her... Her pussy grows tighter as she recalls how naive she had been to not know the devious thoughts and ideas that were filling his head each time that Jeff had looked in her direction. She only thought their shared glances were innocent, that he was another grateful recipient of her community service...

"Mmm' oh—fuckkk." The clenching walls of her tight cunt makes him delirious and unable to hold back, letting loose beads of precum that makes her feel even wetter. "My angel— how I prayed to find something good and worth living for in this life and was given you. You saved me."

"I— guhh." Unable to speak or make a full statement, Anya goes crosseyed as her pussy is pummeled and her tits have been fucked out of the top of her sweater.

Misunderstanding her pleads for pain instead of the immense euphoria that is capturing her soul, Jeff's thrust slow as he checks in on the one that means the world to him. "Am I hurting you?"

"Shut the fuck up." The profanity is spilled from her tongue throughout her breathy whines. Never has he heard his sweet Anya dare cuss— yet again, never has been inches deep into her core either...

She listens in disbelief to the wet sounds of slapping that is of her own flesh, she reddens in shame. A sinful energy that Anya always thought had dried up and died long ago since her last failed attempt at romance, but tonight, it reveals itself again... proving to be alive and well— hungry, and impatient for each sporadic plunge that Jeff can give her. "Harder."

Awed, he could nearly drop to his knees and cry with how glad she has made him. He follows her command— locking in and lifting his hips as he gives his all in the strokes to come. His pelvic bone nearly bruises Anya's pretty soft brown skin as they grunt together within each breath. Her French manicured fingers lock around his neck and all he can think about is the day he'll be able to afford to put a ring on that perfect little hand of hers.

From the outside world around them, they hear a crash of plates come from the kitchen. An employee on the way to the mop and bucket lets out a shout that comes closer to them,"I'll get it!" The door begins to creak open and Jeff's boot kicks it immediately shut without faltering even a second of his god-like ruthless fucking. It makes Anya chuckle with a bitten lip... revealing a precious smile that is instantly kissed upon as Jeff gets a glimpse of her perfect all-whites. "I love you, been loving you, won't ever stop."

The tip of Jeff's manhood continues to kiss at Anya's gummy cervix, his happy trail drips with their shared pleasure, and each rock-bottoming blow into her tiny frame slaps his sack against her throbbing bud. "Wait, no, don't stop." Her beg is teeth-rotteningly sweet, but as his hips grow into a sloppy rhythm, there isn't much holding out that he can do. "Been wanting to cum since the first time I kissed you, Anya— I can't."

With a lasting pump so deep that he's sure she can feel it in her spine, Jeff tenses with a vein-popping finish. His load— hot and filled with vigor brings a shrieking squeal from Anya's tongue. Her abdomen pools with his spillage, a shocking moment shared between them that she has never experienced before with anyone else... Always have played it safe within her dating history, Jeff is the only man for her to have cum inside where it is so sacred and intimate for a woman. Whether it be his seed or claim that he has planted here, a shattered Anya watches him with parted lips and eyes that beg to trust him.

Put back onto the same heels that were just flinging from each side of his waist, Anya tugs on the front of her skirt— her trembling legs with streaks of semen nearly fail her with each step as if she were a newborn doe. "What—" She gulps, fixing her image as she tucks her wild ginger strands behind her ear. "What the hell was that?"

...

She knows exactly what it was... She just doesn't want to say it. It hurts to know that if it were anybody but him, it would feel like more of an assault than what it was... What embarrasses her the most is how much she absolutely loved it.

Jeff shrugs, his mind fills with thoughts as his pale skin and freckles continue to redden into an orangey-peach. "I— uhhh." He begins. "I told you, I just wanted to show you some type of appreciation, ya know?"

...

He told her that he loved her. He told Anya that when it came to her— he physically could not resist himself any longer. He wished for her not to lie to him when he asked if his kisses felt good— so she will be goddamned if she lets him get away with saying that what he had just committed was an act of fucking appreciation.

Her palm suddenly aches from the slap that she plants across his face...

"Appreciation? Is that how you thank someone, you asshole!?" Jeff holds onto the sting of his cheek... He turns to her with tears swelling in his gaze as if he were the one betrayed. As if slapping him was as unworldly as laying hands on a child. "I want you, Anya... I just want you to be mine."

To be his. 'Haven't they already passed that point?' She thinks to herself. A man who has fucked her in a supply closet and left her core dripping and hollow from his pummeling...

She watches him shudder at her every shift in movement, as if he were to be hit again... maybe she should. Anya knows just how wrong he is for the vicious attack... An attack that began as soon as there was a look of nothing behind those bursted pupils and the moment that he became animalistic... Yet, still there just is something about his absolutely shallow and pitiful nature. His timid ways, like some wide-eyed puppy— a man so soft, stupid, and doughy... but still strong enough to overpower her for what it was that he desired the most — to finally take her pussy and make Anya absolutely short-sighted with an orgasm of bursting stars. It was fantastic.

Maybe not the most romantic tale of a beginning love story... Especially not for someone as sweet and innocent as the world sees her to be, but Anya Malone is going to enjoy every second of this... and Jeff is going to eat his every word.

"I lost myself... I did. I'm so fucking sorry Anya but truly, it was me showing appreciation!!! Well, and maybe some personal relief but—"

"Rotten bastard, you think!?" He flinches again at the sound of her storming tone, expecting to be slapped once more. "But, it was a thank you..." Jeff trembles with a groan, already pathetically hard again in his pants— whether it be him ready for more sex or another slap, he'll take whatever Anya is willing to give... "My god, how I would like to thank you everyday... and, I'd like to thank you a few more times tonight."

...

Anya finds the front of his shirt, balling it up into her fist as she pushes him into the adjoining wall. She lays a kiss on Jeff that makes his world spin— whimpering, and chasing after her already missed lips as she pulls it away from him.

She watches his mouth, obsessed with his perfect voice— full of rasp, ticks, and always near a whine or on the brink of tears... His full lips always standing out on his pale skin being how red and irresistibly pouty that they are.

"Fine." She agrees to what he wants... tonight and the rest of their lives being spent with more of his peculiar— thank you's.

"Hey you handsome-thing you!"

Hazel Eris, script-writer, and now new home-owner teases in just a pair of boy-shorts as she shouts from her bedroom window this early AM.

A traveling-contractor known as Lewis Pullman on the receiving end of her bellow shades his eyes with a dirt-stained callused hand, dodging the bright morning sun that blinds him.

He looks up into Hazel's direction as the sweet image of her makes his lips curl into a grin. "Hot-stuff!" His laughter is so very handsome, "there you are. Thought I was gonna have to come up there— check if you were still breathing or not."

"Still breathing, just dreading today! Thought that I could postpone it by sleeping in a bit longer..." Hazel sits on her windowsill, breathing in the early breeze of living in the quiet and sweet countryside. "Can you believe it, Lewis? Our last day together?"

...

After a year full of adventure spent together, the day has finally come for the two to part ways— the only friend that Hazel has made here in Tally, Wyoming.

From being at the top of her game— praised by every director imaginable in Hollywood, it was Hazel's scriptwriting that brought every summer's hottest blockbuster... Yet, perhaps it was the hustle and bustle of LA's fame, dating scene, and party atmosphere that caused her most recent crash to happen... Two scripts—two amazing films long anticipated for Oscar nominations.... they were two colossal failures...The hype of doing so well, written in "TIMES" magazine for being the youngest and bestselling scriptwriter, at the top of the entertainment industry quickly closed in on her after the last two movies that she wrote for became box-office bombs...

With the amount of gossip and bad-mouthing in the air and media, it became impossible for the young writer to focus on redeeming herself with better scripts. Her pen froze with writer's-block, as did her creativity... What she truly needed was a break from it all, a bit of peace and quiet from the sudden free-fall her career had begun to take.

After spending so much of her riches on keeping up with the scene of the wealthy and fabulous, she found herself with a mortgage far too expensive in a place where she was suddenly blackballed. Having to sell her home with less than a hundred grand to her name, she realized quickly that wherever she were to plant herself— it would need to be somewhere humbling. As humbling as a fixer-upper like a 1930's farmhouse several states away, and in the middle of absolutely nowhere.

Fifty-k on the house, and another to remodel it... Hazel has finally become broke as a joke! With not even a penny to her name... However, thankfully on her way to the well-needed detox from life in LA's: far too many men, and far too many champagnes.

A home...A project in which she will rebuild a house as she rebuilds herself. A home in which she'll find peace and solace— but most importantly, Hazel will find the love she once had, and has now lost for writing.

With all thanks to a new character in her own personal life, this Lewis Pullman— a handsome handyman who Hazel happened to run into just in the right nick of time.

Freshly moved to Tally around a year ago, Hazel had her hands full of nonsense-supplies at the local hardware store. Seen reading paint labels that may as well had been in a different language for the Westcoast-Princess who hardly had ever lifted a finger for the hard work it takes to rebuild a home in her entire life, she carried buckets of bubblegum-pink paint in her arms, precisely the worst color ever invented. The contractor in Lewis couldn't help but to interrupt what he assumed would soon become a house somewhere looking like a Malibu Barbie had vomited all over it— he just couldn't stand to see it happen. In that moment, Lewis Pullman stuck his neck out for a woman he had never met— a woman that he continues to look after even till this day and who has quickly become his very best friend.

Hearing the ideas of a gorgeously vintage farmhouse being stained in the color of Pepto-Bismol made him cringe, and the thought of so much glitter made his skin crawl. Immediately in the aisles of the appliance-store, Lewis showed Hazel his work... a masterful portfolio that he carries with him everywhere he goes. The portfolio was filled with hundreds of blueprints and pictures of his work— turning all kinds of dumpster fires into magazine-ready mansions, all work that he had done all on his own... Not only was his work beautiful, but seeing the gentleman so very captivated by his own art, as Hazel once was her writing, it showed that he was just the man for the job— a hard worker with just as much determination to make her house a home that she had her very self.

To Hazel, his accent although alarmingly country, seemed to have sounded more southern than the locals of Wyoming, and indeed she was right. Born and raised in the Carolinas, it turned out that Lewis actually enjoys traveling across states— making this country beautiful with his art one building after the other. Here in Wyoming, his latest project was putting finishing touches on a church who had hired his help. With one project done, it was time to move onto the next state— unless Hazel was willing to take up his offer.

Yet, after a five minute conversation— Lewis realized that there was no reason to draw up a contract after all... Hazel couldn't afford him! Not with the amount of debt and insanely low amount of money she was currently working with...

He was quick to renege— but, although Hazel was only a stranger, it seemed that a certain wide-eyed, puppy-dog gaze would usually get this girl everything she wanted in life.... and lucky for her, it was working on him too.

What was almost an immediate 'no thanks, never mind' quickly became an aggravated-eye rolling 'fineeee' as Lewis noticed the look of desperation in the woman's pretty brown eyes. Not only was she near broke, but she had bought a home in a place so fallen that the town of 'Tally' hardly shows up on any map anymore! "Tally?!" He scoffed in disbelief, "you got sold a farmhouse fifty-miles from all of civilization?!

...

Perhaps the home wasn't Hazel's finest purchase... But what she wanted was a project in a place where she could be alone and free, and in a town like Tally where the number of occupants had now finally become 'one' after years of being 'zero'— alone and free is just what she was getting. Not only a house, but a city to herself... a legit ghost town.

Before being won over, Lewis wished to decline the offer that gave him little to no monetary gain... But, with the southern charm and old school values he was raised up on, the gentleman couldn't get past the worry that overcame him when he imagined Hazel meeting another contractor somewhere else... A contractor who perhaps wasn't raised as honorably... A man who could take advantage of a situation where he would be working on the home of a young woman all by her lonesome... The thought brought an uncomfortable feeling over him. A shiver chilled down his spine and made him unable to leave the store that day unknowing of what will become of the girl who was much like a codependent frazzled pet..

Anddd, If Lewis had to watch her pick up another shade of pink labeled 'periwinkle' or 'pussycat perfect' he thought that he just might snap.

"Listen... I'll draw the contract up, dawlin." He took the cans of paint from her petite and non-callused hands. "Just please, no more pink."

Instantly charmed by her smile and a sinfully-sweet celebratory glee, Lewis knew that if he could give her the home of her dreams, just to see that smile again— then it would truly be a job worth doing.

———

A year since their serendipitous introduction and the beginning of a most heartfelt friendship, Hazel's reminder of today being their last day spent together filled his spirit with gloom... But, it's true. Today is indeed the final day scheduled for her home's remodeling... After many scraped knees and pinched fingers, her house is damn near picture-perfect.

"Don't start that nonsense." The sweet man gulps back tightening tears in his throat as he finally finds an answer, "—not unless you wanna see a grown man cry." He chuckles. "Ya know... Onto more scriptwriting for you, and new projects for me, don't you worry, we'll see each other again... Now, come're dawlin! Tell me what you think of these marigolds I've been planting all morning long."

From her window, Hazel wipes away a tear... Fearful of what could come of this life without the copilot to all of her madness. The man who kept her from wrecking this home and helped her choose and fix every detail, the man who kept her sane and together when she worried that the industry would never accept her back... Lewis— the only person who knows she's out here and the only person who would care whether she were alive or dead...

Dressed for the day in a polka dotted dress just as spotted as her polka dotted panties, she runs downstairs and out of her house— sighing as she lands into Lewis' chest, leaning her face into the dirt and sweat of his taut hardworking body. "The flowers look great, but hold me tighter."

He chuckles softly, finishing with a bitten lip as he prays Hazel doesn't hear the rushing beat of his heart— a symptom he gets each time he's in her presence. He kisses her forehead. "We've had a ball together, haven't we?"

"Yeah."

Her response... soft and teeth-rottening sweet. Hazel watches up at him from the gentle lay on his chest... The summer-wind blows through her tight curls and the bright sun heats the color of her brown irises into a shade as hazel as her name. Fuck. Perhaps today being the last day they share together may be for the best... Two single adults, lonely, young, ambitious, and fiery within their uniquely different beauty, now whom have formed a crush that has been teased at for over a year now—downplayed with flirtatious meddling and the sharing of far too many lengthy glances... Yet, although the two clearly share something deeper than the surface, with his work of constant traveling and her work of focusing on her writing rather than dating— they both subconsciously have made the decision of what their relationship will have to remain... just as it is, only friends.

He gulps... Wishing to take her full lips against his or lay against these wild curls of hers for a moment of inhaling its conditioned scent— Hazel has always had a subtle way of naturally being a tease, even when she doesn't mean to at all. "Alright then." He clears his throat, ending the tension with a playful tap on her backside, "so let's make this last day one to remember, yeah? For the next few hours— I'm all yours. The finishing touches, and I've already gotten started! Hopefully this rainy season won't drown them out!" Wiping the sweat from his brow, Lewis points to her newly planted flowers with his dusty hat.

His notice is now aimed at Hazel's only source of contact, a singular telephone pole for her home-number being that cellphones are useless out here without any service... He sighs, now becoming annoyed, Lewis notices another issue he will need to sort out before leaving her this evening... With the sight of a broken telephone pole, suddenly it makes sense why the home number he rang all morning long to reach her never seemed to get through. With worry in his brow, the young man can be slightly paternal of her. He becomes overwhelmed with the thought of Hazel living here in Tally all alone, fifty miles from the next town over where they had met at the hardware store.

"Listen, Hazel, baby... I know Wyoming's thunderstorm season is a real ass-kicker, but you have to stay on top of your game if you're gonna be out here all alone." Lewis continues to fuss, now pointing at the telephone pole clearly snapped into two. "How long has your line been down?

"I know, I know." She hisses in embarrassment, "it must've snapped from a lightning strike a few nights ago... I mean, Hell!!! It rains here every damn night! I—I just can't keep up!"

"Hazel!"

"I know!" She insists, cringing as she is scorned like a child. "But, I knew you'd be coming here for our last workday together! I figured ya know... we'd just fix it— together?"

"That isn't something that I can just fix, sweetheart." Her handyman grows even more frustrated, "that's something you drive into town for and schedule state-maintenance to come out and fix. Hell, if we touch that line— we'd fry like birds!"

"I get it! An-And I would've gone into town, but—"  Hazel's lips curl into obvious guilt, "but— my truck... something's wrong with her too."

"HAZEL!" Lewis shouts once again, eyes doubling in size and growing more fearful to leave the helpless girl to this home and forty-acres of land.

"I KNOW!!! Ughhhh, look, I know I'm a fuck up, okay? I'm sorry Lew... I know I need to stay on top of these things, but I started writing this new script for a romcom that I think would be such great casting for Jacob Elordi and Halle Bailey, it's about this girl who moves out to the country and she finds love and—" ... Hazel sighs, stopping herself from making anymore excuses for her lack of care. "I'm just, I'm really sorry. I got carried away with writing... that's all, I really don't have any other excuses for it."

"Stop apologizing.. You just— you make me worry, doll, that's all." Lewis softens his tense annoyance, never wanting to see this princess get upset— even when she needs constant support due to her carelessness. "Come on, pop that hood so I can see what you got going on. You can tell me all about this script you're writing if you want to too."

"I wish I could... but, I haven't written an end to it yet."

"Sure you have." Lewis laughs playfully, suddenly losing his dirty shirt and revealing a lean body of muscle that makes Hazel lose her train of thought... "The guy gets the girl." . . .

Softly shaking away her lustful gaze that has gone on for far too long, she corrects herself, "sorry, what did you say?"

"The guy gets the girl." Lewis repeats with a teasing tap on her chin, "give it a happy ending, yeah? That's what the audience wants to see anyways, right?"

Suddenly feeling awfully warm, Hazel laughs, concealing her now shy state of blushing. "Ha! Right, I guess so."

He frowns, elbow-deep in the mechanics of her truck as he cleans the black oil from off of his hands. "Tell me— she start smokin the last time you tried to rev her up?"

"Yeah, it sure did."

"Thought so." He continues, "and tellin from this puddle in your gravel— she been leaking real good for quite some time now... Got a leak somewhere, need to get her towed, patched, and checked over for any other issues."

"Shit... That's gonna cost me."

"Damn right it will, in this economy?" The hood comes down— clicking in place, "nothing's cheap anymore."

"Come on, hop in my truck." Finding himself a clean shirt to wear, it seems that their last day will be spent doing finishing touches, and putting in a dozen maintenance orders before Lewis has to leave her to be stranded.

Hazel can't seem to shake the guilt... She can't help but to feel awful about the entire situation... Being that Lewis is a traveling-contractor, his truck pulls his home right behind it— a recreational trailer to rest his head at night and to carry his equipment in. "I'll pay for the gas." She insists, "traveling into town and doing all of this running for me— all while hauling that big-ass trailer? I can't imagine how much gas it takes."

"No thanks, Ms. Money Bags."Lewis teases his friend, both knowing and jokingly laughing about the extreme debt she's nearing. "Truly, it's on me. I'd hate to take your last buck-fifty."

She can't help but to giggle— especially being that Lewis is already near his usual annoying fit of taunting laughter. "Hush, I've got a buck-fifty... and a couple of saved nickels and dimes too."

"Keep your coins doll-baby, don't worry about it." Aiding her into the passenger seat of his truck, he secures Hazel inside with the seatbelt. He joins her inside through the driver's door, buckling himself in, he never starts the truck... Instead, Lewis pauses for a bit as he watches Hazel with a mind full of anxious thoughts.

"Don't look at me like that." She notices his silent analysis... a gaze so gentle and caring.

"You make it hard for me not to... know that?" Full of worry, Lewis still manages a gentle grin and places a fallen curl behind her ear for better sight of her. "I'm just worried about you... I recommended to you long ago cutting back your wood line. I always feared that something like this would happen to your electricity and telephone pole, and now look... Storm season has your phone down and tree limbs are everywhere. It's my last day in these parts of the country and not only are you unable to contact anyone on your own, but your truck is fucked up too..."

"In case of an emergency, what would you do?" Lewis continues to press the matter. "You would've what? Walk the fifty miles to town by yourself?"

"Hopefully at mile twenty— a car would see me!"

Without a smile, he becomes even more stressed than before...

"Yeah, funny— more like a bear or whatever other hungry wild life is out there waiting to gnaw on your lil bones... Just listen, before you give me a migraine, make sure you call my phone number the moment your service is back on, okay? Please?"

. . .

"Eight Seven oh— nine double six- five three four three."

Lewis pauses... His heart could burst, warmed and infatuated with the fact that Hazel has his number remembered by heart. "You will be the only one I wish to call." Sweetly she reassures, "I promise."

———

There's something about a warm breeze swarming the insides of a souped-up pickup truck, staticky tunes, and the laughter of two people who truly care for one another.

Although Hazel can't stand Lewis' taste in vintage country music, something about listening to lyrics that are all about the good times in life and loving one more than yourself— surely has a sweet taste to it even if the music on the track is absolutely hideous.

While traveling together an hour into the nearest town, the two share each other's opinions about each of their work. Lewis shares a helpful masculine perspective of how to draw in a male audience through Hazel's script-writing, and Hazel shares a helpful feminine perspective for remodeling buildings that are female-oriented, like hair salons, spas, tea parlors, and bakeries. With her dainty touch, Lewis quickly realizes that maybe a touch of pink-paint here or there wouldn't be so bad after all.

With their first stop being at the town-hall, it's instantly decided that Lewis should be the one to report Hazel's downed telephone-pole and truck problems— being that maintenance-men are known for of course up-charging the woman-kind of customers. He enters inside the State Department of General Services, handling business for his friend being that he'd best be the one to talk turkey instead of letting Hazel get charged double for the very same services.

"Alright doll-baby, today is your day, like I said, all of the finishing touches."Lewis sweetly begins, en route to the next store of their busy last day of remodeling. "If I recall, you were interested in some potted-plants, vintage-frames, and patio furniture... There's that Antique store down on Burkley Road, wanna check that out?"

Hazel instantly cringes. She knows that store very well... A family owned Antique shop, belonging to an all too conservative and prejudiced family and run by their sons— two meathead brothers who have made uncomfortable advances towards Hazel each time she's ever visited the place. "Uhm, that's okay actually... Maybe I can order a few things from a catalog or something."

Lewis frowns, one hand on the wheel, the other around her headrest... "You sure?"

Hazel's smile is uncomfortably fake as she nods a simple and quaint yes.

"Mhm..." He reads right through her suddenly tense temperament. "Them boys behind the counter there ain't ever gave you any trouble,  now have they?"

. . .

The brown doe eyes that simultaneously feed and eat Lewis' soul, begin to burn a hole in him... "Maybe they have, once or twice."

Knowing that Lewis has some unexplained scars on his knuckles and lips, Hazel could always tell that her friend has never been the type to shy away from dealing with disrespectful men or maybe even a bar-brawl.. She decides not to go into detail about what has happened with the men of this store... Deciding to keep to herself the memory of their uncouth flirtatious harassment and even a pinch from one of them on her backside as she shopped alone one day in the store.

His eyebrows furrow, eyes darkening with irritation. "They've said something to you?"

With a head hung low, her response is silence...

Seeing her displeasure makes Lewis' grip tighten on the steering wheel— unintentionally whiteknuckling as he drives them to their next stop. "I see..." He gulps. "A few young hillbillies flustered by someone so beautiful, huh? Don't know how to act in front of a lady, especially out here in bumfuck-Egypt."

Softly she giggles.

"Want me to say something?"

"No, not necessarily." Hazel refuses, "but if we do decide to go—you could just, I don't know, stay close?"

Arriving at the store, Lewis parks his truck and trailer. "I'll do you one better. Here, hold my hand, I bet they won't have the courage to say anything then."

Hazel rolls her eyes with friendly laughter, "this wouldn't be a ploy to just hold onto me, now would it?"

"Maybe..." He lifts her from the tall truck, "anddd, this way you can't work me like a dog if I only have one hand available to help you with."

"Shut up!" Hazel nudges him playfully. "Okay, fine, I'll hold your hand— just keep your cooties to yourself."

Lewis laughs, "no promises."

———

Together, hand in hand, just feels right— natural even.

A house plant with a gold-trimmed clay vase catches Hazel's eye immediately. As she gets familiar with her expensive taste in decor, Lewis familiarizes himself with the teen boys behind the register... Although young, they seem to be massive in their statures— clearly arrogant as they toss a football in the air, still in their uniforms as the high school  jocks that they truly are.

Because of their adolescence, getting physical isn't something Lewis can legally do... But soon, a silent battle of male ego occurs. The two brothers' chests begin to puff and rise as they feel Lewis' tight-lipped and sharp blue-eyed scorn... They scoff smugly, looking down at Lewis as if they could easily take him. But being that he's never been one for an obnoxious dick-measuring contest, Lewis flexes a sharpened carpenter's blade hoisted against his hip in a leather work-belt— immediately letting the imbecile teenagers know that if they decide to try something, or harass Hazel today, with him around they wouldn't be getting off as easily as before.

As a muted agreement is made, the brothers lower their lifted chins and puffed chests, finally getting back to what they are supposed to be doing anyways— their goddamn jobs, instead of trying to ruin their family's business.

Lewis exhales in instant relief, finally able to enjoy himself as he follows Hazel into every aisle— watching, adoring, and gladly being a puppy on the end of her leash.

"Absolutely beautiful." Making a quiet comment under his breath, he is wooed by the sight of Hazel bending to sniff flowers not nearly as pretty as she is... As a flower falls— accidentally popped from its stem, Lewis places it behind her ear and against her curly brown hair... Gently tapping her button nose instead of giving her the kiss he wishes to give her. "Cutie."

Once again, always finding herself blushing around him, Hazel smiles and grips his hand a little tighter. She enjoys holding the callused skin of his grasp. Although hardworking, it still carries a feeling of warmth and a gentle touch— hands that she has imagined across her body a thousand times or more.

Within an hour, their cart fills up heavily. Hazel works her way down a last aisle of fabric, touching and imagining which shades and textures would make perfect curtains for her house's dayroom.

As Lewis stands back, continuing to admire from afar, he's suddenly stopped by a man who is familiar with his work. "Sorry to interrupt, but you wouldn't happen to be Lewis Pullman? Would you? The same Lewis Pullman who just remodeled the Fellowship Hall at Gleanings Catholic Church a few miles down the road?"

The man, clearly a priest from the clerical-collar he wears around his neck, also presents Lewis' very own business card to him... the business cards Lewis carries with him that have his picture, name, and number. "I'm Father Henry Mulligan, my home church is SandMills Catholic Temple of Buffalo, New York... I'm here in Wyoming as a guest speaker for Gleanings Catholic Church and I'm only here for a day more. I'm truly honored to meet you before having to leave for home. You see, my stay at Gleanings was more than lovely! Especially being the fact that I truly admired the work that had been done there! The director of the church— she handed me your business card here. I was told that you are truly the best! That you make ideas come to life with your craftsmanship! Did you know Jesus was a carpenter too? Anyways, I've gotta say... The first thing I had planned to do when I got back home was to call your number, but God willing, we meet here in person! My church in NY could use some serious upgrading... and being that you do travel for work, well, I was wondering if you had an availability to come by and maybe give me an estimate for a full remodel? I know that your time and skill are extremely valuable sir, trust that the clergy and I— would, say, make it worth your while, if you know what I mean."

. . .

Lewis pauses in absolute awe.

All he has ever wanted in life was for his work to be recognized and appreciated. He can't imagine what remodeling a church in New York would do for him if remodeling a small church in this part of little ol Wyoming was enough to have this priest interested in his business as well... Also, Father Henry has a way with words... The only thing that Lewis saw after hearing the words 'make it worth your while' were dollar signs... The kind of dollar signs that roll on winning lottery machines when you finally hit the jackpot.

"No, I'm sorry, but I can't." The instant rejection floods from Lewis' lips like word-vomit... He hasn't the slightest idea where they even came from, it just— happened.

Shocked himself, Lewis takes a deep breath in... Suddenly realizing how much he's lost his determination and drive ever since meeting Hazel... Suddenly seeing how important she is to him, Lewis can't even think about his career during this time of his life. To him, his work isn't important— only the fact that New York is far too much of a distance from the woman he loves, and that after all, he just can't leave Hazel alone even if he had too. "I'm sorry, Father... I'm just not open to any new clients right now—"

"He'll do it." From behind them, Hazel interrupts with thoughts of her own...

"Hi!" Bubbly as ever, her hand is presented to the priest as she introduces herself. "I don't mean to interrupt you Father, but I can't let my friend here be so humble!!! You're absolutely right, his work is astonishing, and he has just finished with remodeling my house, it came out absolutely perfect."

"Haze, babe don't—"

"He is open to new clients! Just a little shy." She continues anyways, ignoring Lewis' self-sabotaging and refusing to let him do this to himself.

Father Henry laughs warmly, deciding to take a pen from his pocket and jot down the address, name, and number of his church back home. "Well, I tell you what Lewis, whenever you have the chance to make that decision— just give us a call, ask for Father Henry. It was wonderful meeting the both of you." Lewis is given back his own business card— this time with a number for an opportunity of a lifetime jotted down on the back of it. "Good day to the both of you, and God bless!" . . .

Quietly watching the priest's footsteps until they vanish out of the store, Lewis is able to finally drop the f-bomb he had been saving until the man had left. "Hazel, what the actual fuck!?!"

"I don't need you to speak for me! If I wanted the damn job I would have—

"I know what you're doing..." Her words mute him. "Lewis, do not let your worry for me ruin all that you have worked your ass off for... You're a traveling-contractor— so travel! Go build something! It's literally all you have dreamed about. Please Lewis, honey, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I let my carelessness be the reason for your missed opportunities..."

"But you—"

"Will be fine." Hazel finishes for him. "I will be fine. And if after this project you still are worried.. or, I don't know— maybe miss me. Then come back to me! I'll surely be missing you so much more, and I'll probably use the excuse of needing a garage built or something just to see you back in Tally again."

Lewis sighs. "You wouldn't need any silly excuse... I'd be back on the road to you in the very same breath."

A shared embrace consumes them. Both tearful, he kisses the top of her head through the strands of her hair. "I love you kiddo."

Her fragile arms tighten with strength, wanting their hug to last for hours. "I love you so much more."

——

The evening's sun fades into an ombré of orange and purple as darkness follows shortly after. Thunder rolls throughout the sky, giving warning to yet another Wyoming night-thunderstorm. Together, Hazel and Lewis groan as they push the insanely large vase she had to have from the antique shop to the corner of her downstairs study, and finally— their day comes to an end.

They step back and take it all in. All of the hard work they put into this home over the last few months was absolutely worth it. Tired from adding the finishing touches, they end the night with a side hug that seems a bit shy... Not because they aren't familiar with each other, but because perhaps they are too familiar with each other instead... They promised each other a simple goodbye so they wouldn't draw out the pain they both feel about leaving— and at this point, Lewis can't even look in Hazel's direction. Not if he is truly to walk out of this door tonight.

"Alright then..." She gulps— a pain so tight in her throat that it makes her already soft voice even more fragile, trembling as she reaches for her checkbook in her purse. "Well since we have finished up, let me sign this check and let you be on— on your way..."

"A waste of ink." Lewis' tone... so extremely burly and quiet, it can barely be heard. "Waste of a check too, especially since I'd never cash that thing."

"Don't be so polite, Lewis." Hazel fills out the blank check anyways. "I signed a contract and I am a paying customer like any of your other clients." Her pen crosses every 't' and dots every 'i'. She hands over a check worth thirty-thousand dollars, the agreed amount she signed for in the beginning when the house still had birds flying out of holes in its roof...

Sure it's the very last bit of her finances, but it's what she had expected! Maybe insanely broke now, but the peace of mind this home has given her and will continue to spoil her with— well, that's just simply priceless. As she hands over the check, it's instantly balled up in Lewis' fist... Quickly becoming more material to burn as he tosses it into her burning fireplace.

Hazel gasps— eyes quickly furrowing with annoyed rage. "I'll just write you another one."

"You must want your fire to burn all night then." He chuckles— his southern drawl is more handsome than a second before, "cause the next check will just go in there too."

"You promised we wouldn't make the goodbye hard."

"And I'm not." He insists. "To hell with the contract, Hazel. Half the stuff we DIY'd all on our own anyways. We hardly even put a dent in the price we agreed upon."

"Months of your time was taken—"

"And I'd do it again." He interrupts, "Hazel, you've given me something money can't buy. If lawyers can work pro-bono, then so can I... Yeah, this one's on me."

His fingers tap the hardwood of the study's arch-carved doorway... So proud of his work, the only reward he's willing to take is being able to have done this for her. Slowly walking backwards in his paint stained construction-boots, Lewis makes space between them as he prepares his last goodbye. "Plus—" He flashes the business card with the priest's phone number written down— his next project. "Looks like I'm heading to New York, right?"

"Right..."The response pains her, forcing Hazel to swallow the large knot of tears in her throat down to even be able to find a breath.

"Dinner!" She bursts, catching his attention once more. "It's the least I could do! To celebrate, to thank you, to feed you before you jump back on the road again!!! Lewis, please?"

"Dinner?" He questions.

"Fresh spaghetti and meat sauce! Garlic knots too?" Her tempting plea is enticing. Instantly, the growl in his belly becomes hungrier for a home cooked meal instead of the fast food slop he would've scarfed down somewhere along the highway on this drive up North... Hazel continues, "Oh come on, I even have your favorite beer in the kitchen! I've got my wine, if you don't drink the Budweisers, then who will!?"

He takes a moment to ponder... "they cold?"

Blushing with a smile all too sweet, Hazel nods an immediate yes— hoping to spend just a bit more time with her dearest friend.

. . .

Lewis' Carhartt jacket is taken from around his shoulders and hung up on the back of the nearest chair. "Saying no to dinner and a cold one would be a crime, now wouldn't it? I'm all in, doll. I guess I can spare a few hours for you."

A squeal— nearly ear splitting erupts from Hazel, soon being caught in Lewis' arms as she continues to jump with joy. "I promise you won't regret it!" She giggles with glee, as if Lewis would ever regret spending more time with his crush. "Just tell me one thing, are you the type to put sugar in your spaghetti sauce, or you like it without?!"

He chuckles, still holding her tightly as his hand wanders dangerously low against the arch of Hazel's back, "surprise me."

———

The storm comes right on time. Pouring down a mixture of rain and hail— it's as if the good Lord has a timer set for it every night at this very minute.

Sitting for hours around the dining room table, Hazel begins to clean up Lewis' empty beer bottles and multiple plates as if he hadn't eaten for days. Proud of her meal and being a comfort to him, tipsy laughter continues to pour out of them both as they reminisce on the fun times they've had together and even tonight. Hazel can't help but to tease him about how terrible his attempt at helping her with dinner was... A man so good with his hands, yet dangerous when it comes to the simple task of chopping garlic for their spaghetti sauce. Standing above the stove with Hazel, he was absolutely clueless, lost in the very kitchen he built himself!

"Fuck..." Half tired, Lewis groans. Still chuckling from a night of true enjoyment, he begins to yawn and wipe his exhausted eyes. "It's a mess out there, I didn't beat the storm tonight I guess."

They both listen to the rain drum down on the roof above them. "No you didn't." Hazel agrees, "and don't think that you're going out there now either... Especially since you're tired and have been drinking."

"Ahh, I'll be aite." He shrugs, "all open road out there anyways. I'll just take my time, keep me focused by putting on a little country music— the kind that you love so much."

Rolling her eyes, Hazel chuckles at his slight teasing— although deep down, she'd do anything to come up with another reason to get him to stay for the entire night.

"Can I just— can I ask you something?"

His words grab her full attention, turning Hazel around with a swig of wine taken from her glass. "Sure, anything."

"It's silly." Lewis laughs from his seat, eyes now glued nervously to the floor. "But, uh— it's something about that script you've been writing... The one you were talking about today. The romance about a girl who moves out to the country and she finds love... Where— Where'd the inspiration for that come from, might I ask?"

Another evening... Another night spent together and coming close to something that could be.

Stuck and a bit dumbfounded, Hazel could shrug her shoulders as if she had no idea where the plot came from, but that would only be a lie... With both of their systems filled with just enough liquid courage to bring to light what has been held back and avoided for so long, Hazel finds bravery at the bottom of her wine.

Her glass goes bottoms up... finishing her Chardonnay, she doesn't hesitate to speak her mind. "Lewis, you know exactly where the inspiration came from."

For a moment he grows silent... But, as Hazel eases into his lap— the quiet atmosphere is broken instantly with an escaped moan from Lewis' handsome lips. Nerves get the best of him as he gulps. "Y-You tipsy?"

"After a few glasses of wine?" She asks, arms suddenly wrapped around his neck as her curvy body begins to ride her polka dotted dress up thick brown thighs. "No, tipsy isn't the word for what I am..."

His prominent jawline ticks. He bites back the urge to turn her every which way but loose. "Then what's the word for it?"

It would be unladylike to refer to herself as horny as all goddamn hell... Instead, she grinds against his Levi jeans a bit deeper— hearing a shuttered groan bounce against his adam's apple and the rise of his manhood against her panties. "After all this time, all of this fun... why haven't we ever hooked up? Not even once?"

"It wouldn't be enough." His response spills instantly.

"No?" Hazel taunts.

"No." He insists. "I'd crave you... Need to breathe you in, wish to have you injected into my bloodstream."

The fever climbing her body nearly begins to boil, or perhaps she'll explode into a million pieces right in this freshly remodeled kitchen. Poor Lewis didn't even need to say it... not when she watches the gaze and desperation in his pair of perfectly blue eyes that do all the speaking for themselves.

"Don't leave." Softly she begs as her fingers seep through his sandy-brown waves. "Not tonight, stay."

Muscles drawing tight in his white T-shirt, becoming feral isn't even the word for the lack of restraint easing into him. "You sure you know what you're getting yourself into?"

A dimpling grip to her thighs makes Hazel's lips part with a soft exhale. "No. But fuck, it feels good."

Together, they share in a playful half-grin. Both letting go, finally breathing each other in with a tongue kiss that deepens with desperate need.

Eyes closed in a lip-lock that leaves them breathless, their moans are sounds of hunger— an appetite that hadn't been fed in far too long. Hazel's fingertips eases Lewis' shirt above his head, leaving her touch on a chiseled chest of hardworking muscles and tanned-tattooed skin. He stands from the chair, both hands gripping Hazel's thighs that weigh at each side of his hips. He places her on the just cleared table, lifting her dress as his hands grasp her panties and tug them down the length of her legs and bare feet. Hazel's back arches from the table, reddening with shame as her legs are pulled apart and Lewis' mouth connects to the heat of her mound. Pulling her closer to the edge of the table— she is his dessert. He devours every drop of her lust, mind-spinning as he tastes the salt and sweat of the day from her womanhood. Nose-deep as her thighs attempt to crash in on him, Lewis' groans and laps consistently at her core— here, she is unbelievably sweet. Not like a candy but, as a flavor meant for only his tongue. A taste that makes him weak, "guhh—god." Echoing complaints as cum leaks from the tip of his hard cock. "Fuck, I knew you'd taste just like this, that kind of sweet where resisting the urge to bite is almost impossible."

Unable to be sated until the working-muscle of his mouth aches with exhaustion and her pleads melt into nothing but sinful tears and breathy yips. Hazel's voice is an exasperated moan, pulling him in deeper, greedy yet deserving as she latches her grip onto his hair. "No, you can, yes—bite me."

He does, a toothy nibble— soft against her slick bulb making her quake into blinding pleasure. The stubble of his chin is soaked by her squirt and Lewis can't take it much more. He can't resist her or be taunted by the swell and gloss of her perfect cunt.

Grabbed from off of the table, he carries Hazel upstairs. The rain begins to beat down harder and the storm knocks out the power. The dull emergency lights of the home immediately light the night just perfectly... it's as if the house were lit by the softness of candles. He finds her bedroom with the nudge of his boot, placing her on the bed as they race like animals to strip each other out of every article of clothing.

His mouth finds the crook of Hazel's neck, leaving lovebites as he works his lips onto the fullness of her breasts, each being treated with the same spoiling treatment as his tongue swirls against her brown-peaks until they harden— skin riddled with goosebumps.

He slowly eases behind her, "grip that pillow." Far too heated and knowing the kind of power tool he is equipped with, the missionary he'd give her would only break her in half... instead, Lewis bends one of her knees to her chest, aiming from the back as his many inches power past her robustness and hammer right into her sweet spot... Hazel grips the pillow as told, even begins to bite it. "Mmph!! God! Lewis— fuck."

His thrusts activate further, hissing with tightened muscles as his sack slaps beneath her with each heavy plunge inside.

As if molded just for him, Lewis' mind becomes wrecked and dazed— trying his best to ignore the sinfully perfect snug fit of her cunt and the shapely ass that bounces against his soaked happy trail. "That's it. Hazel— shit you feel so good."

His freehand grabs a handful of her curls, pulling her against him as her arched spine is curved into a near 'C'. The position makes her mewl and beg for mercy, getting pummeled against her cervix as his thick veins tease and violate her g-spot. Her walls tighten against his cock, already full of the slip from his precum and her very own pleasure— wearing protection never crossed their minds not once... not two people who absolutely needed this flesh on flesh, two people needing to reach each other's souls as closely possible as they can.

Coming back from seeing stars after a second orgasm that absolutely takes her, Hazel becomes dumb with her words, half-lidded, and slutty as her every mumble is something diabolical and drawing Lewis closer to the edge. "Cum in me, you have to, Lewis—it's yours."

With the help of her pleads, his mind becomes nothing but mush as he continues to plow cock in a perfect little body that has been worked tirelessly tonight. He hushes her with a tongue-kiss, hoping it will silence her, but all it does is drive him even more insane. "Agh! Baby— sss'fuckkk." Doubling down on each stroke, they arrive roughly... gyrating her body with each punch, and landing balls deep in the swell of her pussy, engulfing his every thick-inch.

Seated in Hazel's core as if he were still outside planting flowers— Lewis does just as she asks, nutting in her deeply and laying a seed where he wishes life to bloom. The shared pleasure is far too powerful, both sweating and trembling in each other's embrace— no words can be said but shared glances from one eye to the next and joyful laughter as their tongues continue to tangle beneath the sounds of the thunderstorm.

The day has been extremely long, and as their bodies come to relax—sleep begins to instantly take them.

Hazel rolls over and lays against the racing heartbeat of his chest. Here, in Lewis' arms as the night air around them calms, ideas rummage throughout her mind... At first she had told herself that she wasn't looking for love and that Wyoming would be her retreat to find herself again... but, in this very moment, she couldn't imagine her life without Lewis in it.

She smiles at the idea of being able to travel places with him for each of his projects... Not only could she travel cross-country like she always has wanted to do once in her life, but with his trailer hitched to the back of his truck— they'd have a place to be together still, a place for her to write as they travel through mountains and hillsides, and even more inspiration and life experiences to help with curating new scripts. And when they are free from traveling, they'd always have this home... the one that they made together, right here, in the middle of absolutely nowhere, in their own little paradise.

Slumber nearly takes them both until hiccups bouncing out of Lewis' chest wakes them with laughter. "Shit, I'm sorry baby." He chuckles, "did I wake you?"

"No, wasn't asleep just yet." Hazel giggles sweetly, curls a mess of sweated out pleasure as she places a kiss to the side of his lips. "You okay? Got heartburn?"

"You got me there." Lewis sighs, rubbing his burning chest with the clinch of his knuckles. "Something about tomato sauce late at night... It always gets to me! Baby, would you reach into the cabinet and pass me a heartburn pill." Still half-sleepy, he continues asking for a favor, "behind the bandaids, the bottle with the blue cap."

Hazel chuckles, playfully hitting him with a pillow. "Yeah no kidding! I put them there." She blushes, it fills her with joy hearing Lewis know her house so well after being around for so long— almost as if they are a couple already. She kisses his cheek, excited to see what he may think about the future plans she had been thinking about. "Be right back, gonna get you a glass of water too."

Slipping into her satin robe, Hazel grins as she watches Lewis comfortably turn over in her lush bed full of comfy pillows, comfortable and enjoying her presence— he looks right at home. She follows the emergency lights down each hallway and staircase, reaching the kitchen as she pours her lover a glass of water and two antacids. Cutting through her living room on the way back, she nearly trips over Lewis' poorly placed toolbox. Hazel puts down the glass and medicine on the nearest coffee table, needing both hands to ease the heavy equipment against the wall to keep her from tripping over it again. She grins at the sight of his portfolio, deciding to pick up the folder for a quick recap of their time spent together on this house. Beginning to flip through the pages, she notices the blueprint of her home and the contract that was signed many months ago, she comes to another smile and laugh to herself as she reads the scratched out ideas they had for each room in the very beginning— filled with so much joy, she can't believe how far they truly have come from such a dump that this house was in the beginning.

However, Hazel's smile fades as she realizes that page after page— Lewis never once jotted down any of her ideas... She recalls how against the color pink he always has been, but that was fine... she trusted him and his expertise... But, what the issue is— none of her ideas ever were taken into thought... almost as if the house that he built, was built for himself.

Curious and slightly panicked, Hazel's page flipping quickens... every page, every room, they were always all of his ideas... Almost as if he had planned them long before meeting her. As precise as she knows Lewis to be, each page is mapped out, even up to today— the last page written on is dated today's date and their plans for the very last day of remodeling. Her fingers touch the seams of what seems to be an added page, or a hidden flap here... This added flap— it's labeled something in his handwriting. In Lewis' penmanship, he has sketched in pencil the words: 'THE FINAL PIECE'. The blood in her body runs cold immediately, as she lifts the hidden flap and notices what lies beneath it—what seems to be a sketch of, her.

Hazel's limbs freeze as the portfolio tumbles out of her hands. Frightened and slowly becoming ill, Hazel quickly bends to pick up the mess of paper... as her hands reach for the fallen pieces, they touch a pair of men's feet.

She gasps, standing to meet the eyes of Lewis who watches her all too calmly... "There you are, are you coming back to bed?"

Hazel begins to immediately back away from him. "Huh? Oh, yeah... I am."

"Are you alright?" He catches onto her suspicion, taking a step closer to her.

"I'm fine..." Lying through her teeth, Hazel gulps. "I just— uhh, I'm getting an early start on writing tomorrow... So I hate to send you out in the storm and all, but uhm, we should call it a night..." You really need to go.

Lewis chuckles. "What? Like, to leave? After you were the one who invited me to stay?"

"Yeah, exactly."

He notices her words coming out all too quickly... The rush to make him leave, and the sudden coldness she is giving him... "You been through that?" Noticing his portfolio spilled on the hardwood floors of the living room, his usual kind and gentle demeanor becomes the opposite as his baritone deepens into something dark and intense.

"Just was gonna help you pack, okay?"

"Mm." Lewis takes notice of the tremble in Hazel's voice— taking notice to the way she backs up each time he moves closer.

Back in his jeans, he zips up the denim and continues to leave the belt dangling, clearly having no plans of going anywhere tonight. "I sensed something was wrong when you took a while to come back... you were never supposed to see that, Haze."

Tears swell in her eyes...

"What happened to the hospitality, baby? Hm?" With a crooked tilt to his head, he taunts wickedly. "Say uhh— why don't you go get me another beer, huh?"

"Leave, Lewis... Please."Voice faint with tears, Hazel has never been so afraid in her entire life.

"So now you want me to leave, huh? Right when we were beginning to really have something... I mean, hell— surely you didn't want me to leave about half an hour ago while you were singing about how good I was making you feel—"

"Enough!" Hazel points to the door with fury as the storm outside rages just as loud. "Go!"

"I need to go..." Lewis repeats, taking another step closer. "Leave the house that I built with my bare hands? That you let me personalize and put in hours of blood, sweat, and tears to create us this home?"

"Lewis—"

"You didn't think I'd leave you, for real baby?" He interrupts as the tension rises. "You didn't think that I did all of this for free because the ass was just so damn good? Now, did you?"

"Excuse me?!"

"I mean— sure darlin, that was the icing on the cake!" He continues, now the image of a man she's never met. "But really, what we've put together here means soooo much more— it's something that can't put a price on."

Lewis' hand reaches out to the shapely pudge of her lower-belly, grinning as if what they did tonight— was start a family, as if where his hand is placed life will begin to grow. "Leave!" Her voice raises through a tearful shout, cracking halfway through the sentence as she swats away his touch.

"Leave my house?" He threatens, veins popping, with a voice far more powerful than hers. "Leave my sweet little wife?!"

Walking backwards once more leads Hazel to her back against the wall, trapped against him and the betraying walls of her very home...

Lewis caresses the swell of her face and the track of her tears. "No... No baby, I can't do that."

Disgusted with not only Lewis... Hazel becomes ashamed of herself. She can't believe all of the red flags she had missed and the access she gave this man to  her body...

All of this fear he had for her being alone here in Tally, just a ploy to convince her that she'd always be safe with him... preyed upon like an animal! Suddenly, the split in her wooden-telephone pole seems to be more of a man made 'chop' rather than an incident that happened from the recent storm, and as for the unexplainable oil leak in her pickup truck that never had any problems until recently— it's starting to be much more easy to explain.

Her knees become weak in her stance... "No one's coming, are they? The state maintenance— coming for my truck and my telephone pole, you never talked to them... did you?"

Lewis tucks a curl behind her ear. "Now tell me sumthin doll, why would I ask for a repair for what I purposely broke?"

Her sobs echo throughout the house... Stranded with a maniac, no vehicle, and no contact with the outside world.

"Shhh, hush now."Lewis forces her head against his chest, proving his overbearing strength and forcing his love onto the woman he's preyed on for months now...

If only she knew that meeting Lewis in the hardware store wasn't the happy accident she remembers it to have been... If only she knew that as he ended his project at the church in town, he spent his every lunch break at the town-hall, reading public records about the beautiful young woman who had just brought herself a home in the ghost-town of Tally, Wyoming... If only she knew that he stalked her everyday— waited and planned that sweet serendipitous moment of meeting each other and offering his services in the hardware store...

Well, if Hazel knew all of that... surely she'd pass away from the absolute shock of it all. "Your man's here now, and gon' take real good care of you, just how you were wanting before you found out. So, close your eyes... Forget what you saw, I'm still that same man who loves you— who thinks the absolute world of you."

Continuing to sob against this man, she knows the hell that is to come as she will work tirelessly day and night to get away from him... No, she won't just forget everything that has happened tonight, better yet, she'll never think of him the same ever again.

Suddenly, Hazel knows just how her newest script will end. Her country romance will take a quick turn, from an inspiring romcom— to an absolute horror.

"But your work?" So tightly wrapped in Lewis' arms, she can hardly breathe.

"I've decided to take an early retirement ." He replies.

Her freedom continues to slip away from her with each second... "But my work!"

"Well— You've decided to retire early, too."

On Dunk's journey towards the Ashford Tourney, a brief pause is taken as his mentor, whom he has spent his entire life squiring for— drops dead from his horse.

Ser Arlan of Pennytree was a mean old bastard who enjoyed whoring, drinking, and tended to slap Dunk around during their time spent together— But, he was the closest thing to a father the young man had ever known. Only a penniless hedge knight who granted knighthood to Dunk before his untimely death— they had planned to take on the Ashford Tourney together where they would joust, earn prize money, and secure long-term positions with an important line of royalty like the Targaryens. However, now left alone with their three horses— Dunk must carry on without his mentor and begin his own adventure as a Ser, a hedge knight of his own.

Leaving his mentor in a shallow grave is more than heartbreaking, but it is what the Gods intended and with that— the young hedge knight cannot argue with what was meant to be.

———

With miles traveled alone on his way to Ashford Meadows, the knight begins to think that it's possible his boot has stepped in a heaping load of horse shit from the amount of flies and stench following him and his trusty geldings...

But, with a whiff and lift of his arms— he quickly realizes that after all, the stench is very much coming from his strong body odor instead. "Heavens me!"

Not being able to live with his own smell, the young man who is well trained in traveling and spotting beds of water, easily finds a place of rest beneath an elm tree. Tying the reins of his horses to the tree, the animals drink from fresh pond water before their caretaker ruins the refreshing drink with a scrubbing-bathe that could wash away the worst of one's sins.

After a rejuvenating cleanse and swim, the knight finds himself dusting each article of clothing assuring they get fresh air before he places them once more on his squeaky clean body.

"You there!" A disruptive shout— songbird like from the sweet tone of a woman, however full of laughter as she watches from nearby. "Don't you know that's my pond you big dunce! Out of there will ya!"

Spotting the lass whose voice has startled him, Dunk quickly hides his nakedness behind the closest and biggest horse he owns... His white steed, known as Sweetfoot— a horse he wishes would keep still and protect whatever is left of his dignity.

"Nonsense!" Dunk argues in return. "One can't simply own a pond. It's purely nature! Belonging to the Gods!"

"Yeah?" The young woman standing only feet away continues to smirk with a taunting chuckle... "Well, let it be known now that this one belongs to me! Luckily, I don't suppose I mind the sight of you..."

Dunk pauses his dusting... His bright blue eyes widen double their usual size, unsure if he's being teased or perhaps flirted with. "Excuse me! But how long have you been watching!?"

"Long enough." With a woven basket of clean linen in her arms, the young woman shrugs. "And my— look at the size of ya! Like one of those tales about men, half-man and half-giant."

The knight rolls his eyes. Having been an inch shy of seven-feet-tall since hitting puberty as a young lad, he will hear about his size wherever he travels all of his life.

He watches the girl with an ogling gaze— noticing the ridiculous swell of her voluptuous frame, she's not exactly one who has been a victim of famine. "Yes I quite get it, dearest maiden... I am large! But, I wouldn't exactly go as far as calling you petite either!"

Dunk flinches slightly as the vibrantly ill-mannered girl bursts into a fit of laughter, belittling him and his comment as if his insult hadn't any effect on her.

A body fit for manhandling, never once has the beauty heard a complaint— brightly confident and knowingly stacked with flesh that is more cushion for the pushing.

"Thank you my darling! No shame here! You see— most womenfolk thicken for fear of famine, a harsh winter, or childbirth." With a bright, beautiful, and quite annoying smile, the curvaceous flirt continues. "But, have you no worries— my temple stays this robust year round."

... The nude knight gulps, unaware that the stranger's confident charm is— doing something for him.

"Say that I was petite..." She adjusts the heavily-loaded basket on her hip, accidentally lowering the strap of her dress further down her shoulder and revealing the buxom bloat of mouthwatering breasts. "I don't think you'd care much for that kind of dainty-delicacy... Not the way you've been ogling my full bosom since I appeared here."

"I beg your finest pardon?!" He scoffs at the nerve of her bad-mouthing tongue. "You listen here now, I have done no such thing—"

"Oh please!" Her interruption comes as quick as her dazzling wit, "you've been gawking at them like a babe hungry for suckling."

Slamming his clothes to the ground, Dunk becomes well aggravated— unable to keep up with the woman's banter. "Then perhaps a lady with such curvature should be wearing her cloak in the day-hour! Where is your husband anyway?!"

"Wouldn't you like to know... Perhaps you wish you were him? Ah, of course you do— just imagine the stature of our sons. They'd be gods, unstoppable!" Continuing with her provocative ridicule, it's as if she hasn't nary a filter for the words that leave her plumped lips.

"Sons!?" He shouts, "young lady, do you know what you're insinuating?"

"What?" She questions, "that to have children— you'd have to fuck me? Hmm, who would've thought!"

... With a hanging pause in the air, Dunk isn't sure if he may have missed a night's worth of sleep— possibly daydreaming such a befuddling conversation with an unknown lass. "Have you no shame! A woman speaking to a man like that?!"

"Have you any shame yourself, sir?" The question is flung back at him. "A gentleman who grows at the sight of a woman speaking like so?"

"What could you possibly mean grow—" So distracted by the exchange of words, Dunk has yet to notice his horse who has walked away and left him uncovered. Bare to the woman's eye as his manhood lifts upwards against the flesh of his taut abdomen, the heated discussion with an attractive girl has him insanely stirred. "oh, OH! Heavens!" Snatching his clothes from the ground, the knight covers himself as he blushes a bright embarrassed-scarlet across his entirely pale body.

Her laughter becomes even stronger— the sound of her joyous energy, even sweeter. "Tell me— you've got a name, man?"

"That'll be Ser Dunk to you!" He frowns, "I am a knight!"

The woman's eyebrows furrow, unsure of the knighthood he claims being that he hasn't any armor— only rags.

"Don't you look at me like that, before I come over there and give your ear a clout!" Dunk threatens her with a punishment sounding vaguely similar to an old-maiden's. "I just recently became knighted by my mentor, Gods rest his soul... Only a hedge knight— but that all will change! Give me time to get my bearings and surely my status will be clear to the eyes' view with notable-armor and earned-victories!"

She blushes, all too enjoying torturing such an amusing man. Hearing Dunk's panic and rambling— it's easy to tell that the gentle giant is harmless.

Little does the knight realize, the young woman had watched his swim long before he noticed.

Only having his animals and nature around him to talk to, he spoke openly with such kindness. His innocence was unreal— the largest man she had ever laid eyes on, yet he reminded her of a certain baby-doe that visits the pond every now and again. Calm, sweet, and trustworthy.

With the men of these days seeming to shrink in their family-line, generation after generation— seeing a male standing taller than five-feet was absolutely refreshing. Sure, Dunk was noticeably a ditsy klutz as his large feet slipped on each overly-smoothed rock lining the pond— but to her, the man was absolutely stunning. A gentleman worthwhile, one who she felt needed testing with a bit of her flirtatious trifling. "I'm sure you'll look just swell in your new armor, Ser Dunk." Finally, she responds with a swoon-worthy smile. "You'll be an absolutely fine hedge knight— just as was your mentor. Ser Dunk— I'm guessing Ser Duncan for short?"

Too dull to have even thought of where his nickname may have ever came from, he has lived a life believing that his name was simply one word, one syllable— Dunk.

He nods with pride, standing even taller in his proud stance. "Perhaps!—Why, yes! Ser Duncan The Tall, that is."

"Aye." She agrees, "and your little friend?"

Dunk quietly shrieks... He shrinks in stature, wondering if he heard her correctly... Wondering if the woman before him truly just asked for the given name of his cock! "Firstly— not little! A—And what's wrong with you girl?!" He scoffs in utter disbelief. "A man's sword of flesh hasn't any name!"

The fairest maiden continues to laugh. "Well— I guess it's good that I was only asking about the name of the horse you hid behind... Not your— how did you say, sword of flesh? Aye?"

...

"Oh... right, forgive me." The knight reddens with further embarrassment, feeling foolish over what he thought she had meant.

"But—"Interrupting the moment of proper humiliation, her sinful wooing continues to harden the young man beneath the rags that hide his dignity. Bending slightly to her ankle— the lass begins with a clutch to the bottom-hem of her skirt... pulling up the fabric, she reveals a bare leg. An indecent pull of her dress to the very top of her hip, flashing a thigh all too riveting as Ser Duncan nearly croaks over from the peak of a feminine-bush sheltering her cunny in slick black hair. "Perhaps, now that you know where I stay, you'll introduce him to me as well, aye? Ser Duncan The Tall, and handsome."

So vulgar... So invigorating... Alarmingly provocative as her skirt is dropped back into its place...

The knight holds his breath— believing to have been invited into a lady's bed this evening, the day takes a turn from mourning his mentor to salivating at the sight of a scandalous member of the fairer sex... Dunk's eyes widen again in shock of their entire interaction... He suddenly loses a bead of sticky pre-pleasure down the length of him— now needing to free himself from her sight to finish what she has started. "G-uhh." His moan is pathetically lewd. "Good day then!"

"Mmm'yes!" Cutting a dangerous gaze at the young man— it is true that seduction comes naturally in this woman's disposition. "Yes, I do believe it will be a good day after all!"

———

Hardly a breeze-length from the pond, Ser Dunk finds an inn through the trees as night begins to fall. Unsure if he can afford to spend the evening in one of the rooms, he is at least grateful for the tavern still opened late and run by an older-maiden whom accepts him inside for hot supper and unlimited ale.

Able to spare a shilling or two, the knight leaves his horses with a stable boy— being another mouthy subject around these parts, the hairless stable boy wishes to become his squire...

But, unwilling to endure the annoyance of caring for a child while he travels, Ser Duncan declines the boy's offer— being left with the adolescent's cruel words as the child rolls his eyes whilst leaving to care for Dunk's horses... Dunk can't help but to wonder if perhaps in this area of land, there are sticks up everyone's arses— or perhaps it is something in the water that makes them all so very rude!

"Come on in." At least the maiden innkeeper is kind to him. "Sit where ya like."

"Thank you my Lady." With a kind grin, the massive man hits his head on the entryway— knocking loose the last bit of brain cells that the big simpleton has to spare.

"There's good lamb, roasted with a crust of herbs, and some ducks my son shot down." The woman continues. "Which will you have?"

It doesn't take long for the insanely sizable man, with just as large of an appetite to respond. "Both."

The graying-woman laughs hardily, "aye, well— you're big enough for it."

She brings him ale. Frothy, thick, and brown just as he likes it— indulging in short conversation together about the coming up tournament in Ashford. The dining room is dimly lit— warm from the kitchen and the fire of the burning kindling. Thankfully, there aren't many customers inside— meaning that the starved knight is one of the first to be served.

A drunkard attempts to start issues with Dunk... The man slurs his words, even beginning to antagonize with the point of a knife.

But to keep things sane— the knight ignores him, refusing to give him the trouble the fool wishes to begin.

"Ahh, never you mind that one, ser." The innkeeper pours Ser Dunk more ale, noticing how easily he can guzzle a mug back— she leaves the entire pitcher with him. "All he does is drink and talk about his dreams." She insists, "but oh! Perhaps you'll enjoy some music." Standing in a darkened corner, the sound of breath throughout the holes of a flute and the beginning of string on a fiddle begins to liven up the quiet tavern. "A band from King's Landing, surely on their way to the Ashford Tourney as well— I'm sure they are hoping to find a decent pay for their talent and pleasantries."

"Aye." With a nod, Dunk begins to enjoy the soft playing of one of his favorite tunes as he eats cooked-meat off of each bone of lamb shank and duck breastplate.

While finishing his meal, he is interrupted by the sight of a woman he hadn't seen since daylight.. The beautiful angel from the pond— the woman who fired his loins and struck surprise within his heart enters inside this very tavern...

Dumbstruck to see such a goddess of mahogany-gold again, he watches her entrance as she delivers freshly folded linen to the tavern's counter— the very same laundry she had carted on her shapely-hip earlier in the day.

"Close your mouth lad..." The innkeeper chuckles, "you'll catch flies with such a loose jaw."

He hadn't even realized that the sight of the young woman had dropped his mouth open agape. Dunk gulps, trying his best to regain a clear thought. "Miss? The girl there." His infatuation is more than clear as his heavy and masculine tone trembles within the details of her image. "Yes, the lass there— tawny and thick within her wear. Who might she be?"

"Oh, her, Ser?" The innkeeper teases, knowing good and well not nary a customer fits the description of the woman he so craves and describes. "The lass answers to Jerica Radwell. Gentle on the man's eye?"

"Aye." He agrees, "but— Radwell? I cannot say I'm quite familiar with her family's name."

"No one is." The older maiden shrugs, clearing the table and his empty plate from before him. "Just a common girl I suppose. Does damned good laundry for the inn and tavern— for cheap pay at that. Real sweet lass though... However, where she calls home must be mighty far some ways. Poor thing wasn't as lively back then... Came this way beaten and near death only a few summers ago— a dreary sight, but thankfully she brightened as she got familiar with the lay of the land."

Beaten and near death?

The knight's heart aches from such informing tales of her. How can one who has seen such darkness, be so full of light? Not only beautiful and sharp-witted, but the girl is just as strong and resilient.

Ser Duncan gulps, "I see, thank you much."

As the innkeeper leaves his table, she graces Jerica's shoulder with a thankful pat whilst receiving the fresh laundry and trading the girl her pay of three coins.

Thankful for her weekly salary that most likely will be spent back at this very tavern, Jerica's joy causes a sudden rhythmic prancing to her feet...

Graceful as a swan, she enjoys the tune of the band before her as if no one were watching— and if there were an audience, the confident girl wouldn't have nary a care. Her dancing brings smiles to all— soon beginning an encouraging clap that aides in her rhythm.

As light as a maiden who dances professionally, the sight of her draws out an infectious joy from the large hedge knight— ushering Ser Dunk out of his chair with an attempt at a sudden jig himself...

Yet, noticeably lacking the coordination it takes a body as large as his to dance, he soon grows exhausted and finds his seat once more— happily settling on the decision to watch the show of Jerica's beauty instead.

As annoying and shit-stirring as the drunkard was once before— he suddenly stands with a look that is more than dishonorable. Slurred in his words and steps, the man eases towards Jerica with an inappropriate touch... A grope across her chest as the other reaches for the swell of her behind.

Needing to protect her honor, Ser Duncan's jaw ticks with rage. The knight's sleeves are rolled beyond his arms as he stands— prepared to take care of the overly-served savage once and for all.

But before he is able to make another move, the man who dared to molest the girl is laid out with one punch... More than capable of caring for herself, she impresses the entire tavern with a hook that flattens the man right on his arse.

The music comes to an untimely halt...

"Alright! I've had enough." The innkeeper shouts, "if you're not paying for more food, kindling, or ale— off to your rooms or back to your homes! Come along now, off to bed for rest, you'll all need it come 'morrow."

What was turning into a party, quickly ends in tragedy. Sighs and drunken groveling can be heard from the band as the fiddler lifts the sloshed trouble-maker from the floor—tossing his unconscious body over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes as they all take their leave and exit the closed tavern.

Soon left to just themselves— Luckily for Ser Dunk, he still has a full pitcher of ale to finish. "Quite the fist you've got there lass..."

Speaking for the first time since daylight, Jerica recognizes the friendly giant from the pond. "Aye, and now it'll be wickedly sore."

"Come, drink with me." He pleads, "at least to rest your hand for a bit." ... Unable to resist a pitcher of fresh ale, Jerica calms enough to accept his invitation. "Kind of you Ser, I'd like that very much."

With a chivalrous pull to the chair beside him, Dunk aids the woman into her seat— pouring her the first drink with their shared mug. "Say we make this a bit more interesting..." Desperate to learn more about her, the knight proposes a drinking-game. "Together— we finish the pitcher. Each finishing the mug poured before us, whilst answering three queries about each other."

"I don't get it..." She squints in suspicion, "what is there to be won?"

Dunk shrugs, "a good buzz is always a win, aye?"

Jerica agrees with a friendly giggle, "aye!" Thirsty from dancing, the girl drinks down the ale in a swift gulp.

"Where are you from?" Dunk inquiries with a first question in their game.

Her sultry eyes cut sharply at him, "nowhere of importance... although, it was a place far from here— a place that you have never heard of, and that I wish to never see again."

Seeing the despair hidden in that memory of home, the knight continues with his next question. "Who did you leave behind there?"

"Plenty..." Jerica craves more of the sweet-ale with a lick to her fetching lips. "Parents, siblings, broken hearts I suppose... I left behind a life of poverty and pain, to say the least."

"Why are you here, Jerica?" His third question slightly startles her— surprised that the knight is aware of her name.

"Who told you my name? Was it the innkeeper?"

He smiles— gentle laughter pouring through handsome teeth and grin. "It's still my turn, sweet girl."

She sighs, "fine... I'm here because it's where the Gods led me as I slept nearly unconscious on the back of a mule stolen from my village. When I awoke, I was here— the land nearest to Ashford... I have stayed because, even though I still have nothing, here— by my pond, I am absolutely free."

"Now hurry up before I drink again!" She slides the mug back into his direction.

Dunk takes it back. He pours a large drink and swallows it down as if his throat were the depth of a well— easily impressing the girl with his unmistakable masculinity. "Alright dove, your go."

She clears her throat, "Alright— where are you from?"

"Although I belong to nowhere—" Dunk begins, "I am an orphan from Flea Bottom. Next?"

"Who did you leave behind?" Her second question is just the same as his— although she only asks of this being that she is curious of the status of his relationships with women more than anything.

"I leave behind no one at all." He admits, "on my journey here, I lost the only friend I have ever known— Ser Arlan of Pennytree... a hedge knight who took me under his wing as his squire when I was only a lad."

"My condolences..." Jerica's soft demeanor is more than genuine, "may the honorable knight, rest peacefully wherever it is you have laid him."

"Aye."

She continues with a final question. "Lastly, Ser Duncan The Tall, where are you headed?"

"I'll be on my way come 'morrow to make a name for myself, now that I've been knighted and all." His future seems to be bright— however, he is clearly taking a true gamble with his life and possessions being that he's absolutely penniless. "I wish to enter the Ashford Tourney with the other knights. I'm strong— and a damned good fighter who has always had a great deal of determination... I'll win each joust, and I will make history— known as the hedge knight who came from nothing, and soon gained the respect of all of the seven kingdoms."

With her second mug of ale, her head begins a tipsy-buzz. "Aye, then here's to all of your future victories!" Jerica cheers whilst lifting the weight of the heavy cup. "Go on then!" She insists, "your turn!"

Dunk chuckles. "How old are you, dear girl?"

"Age twenty-six come spring." She gives an appropriate answer... An age old enough to make the knight comfortable in the way that he has begun to burn for her.

"Your blunt and utter ruthlessness..." He persists heavily with this question— needing desperately for an answer about why she is the way that she is. "Where in seven-hells do you find the nerve to be so fiercely candid as a woman?"

This inquiry makes her laugh, amused with his bewilderment of her extremely frank nature. "I am ruthless because you live only once, my Lord! At the end of the day, my mouth may get me killed, but surely there will be peace in the afterlife— and how could a future so beautiful strike fear in one's heart?"

Although her response does make sense, it still seems to furrow his thick brow with worry... The girl's answer sounds more of a cry for help— an answer in which she states that she'll continue to live bluntly, hoping that it may end her life if she comes across the wrong person. "What is next for you in life? Jerica The Beautiful."

"What's next for me?" She blushes— lightly charmed with the knight's modest complimenting... "Preferably, more ale!"

Amused with her answer, Dunk chuckles— his round black pupils that gaze at her quickly forming into the shape of hearts.

"Alright my go then!" Jerica hiccups, a reaction cute and sweet from a full belly of ale and lack of sobriety. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. "How old are you, Ser Duncan?"

"Two years shy of thirty."

She nods, "—and born in what season?"

"The winter." He admits, "—left wrapped in rags on the stone of the cold street while I was just a babe... My mentor always said it is the reason I never take well to frosty conditions, even to this day, as a man fully grown..."

Feeling pity for his rough upbringing... It's also nice for Jerica to feel less alone with the thought of having a shaky past. She has always felt an immediate respect to all who have suffered— gone through Hell and back, yet they continue to push forward each day. The girl smiles sweetly. "I never cared much for the cold of winter myself."

...Now having formed a crush on the gentleman who has shared his ale with her, Jerica grows even more curious of why someone so kind hasn't a woman on his arm yet. "No family, no friends, no squire— a lady, perhaps?"

Dunk refuses, "A lady? Oh— none." Wishing to hear more, Jerica persists with an extra question in their game. "But, why? How come you have yet to choose a wife for yourself?"

A smirk that pulls handsomely on the right of his lips makes the young woman's knees go weak, "I'm working on it." And quite frankly, he is in this very moment.

Heat rises through her flesh, causing a stunning shade of scarlet to blush through the depth of her dark brown skin.

"You have cheated, dear girl, that was four questions, not three..."

Jerica playfully rolls her eyes, "fine, go on then... I owe you one extra."

. . .

With a deep breath, the usually timid hedge knight suddenly finds strength in the consumption of all of this liquid courage. "Say that I wish to caress you in the way that drunkard did... Would it result in the same punishment?"

"Hmm." Taken aback by his advances, Jerica's eyes lower dangerously. "Perhaps, you would have to try it, to find out."

... Skipping past the mug, Dunk swallows back the last of the ale right from the pitcher. He prepares himself for a punch to his jaw, willing to take it being that he's been whacked many times before for reasons far less pleasurable than getting a handful of an enticing young lass.

He smacks the side of his cheek— doing it once more to prepare and tenderize the flesh of where her punch will land. Soon snatching the girl by her wrist, Dunk pulls her into his lap... She gasps from the sudden yank that lands her seated on the trousers of a man aroused by the sight of her. Ser Duncan's arm cuffs around the cinch of her waist— pulling her against him as the other hand keeps the promise of taking a grope at her full buxom breasts...

Lewdly fondling all that one handful can take, his fingertips are against her flesh— making sure to get a real decent feel of this supple skin of Jerica's. A grappling so demeaning— her voluptuous amount seems to spill between each of his busy digits.

If Ser Duncan is soon to be knocked up-side his skull... He at least knows that he made sure it would be well worth it.

Instead of a scolding and an angry attack, the girl's lips part gently— releasing the sound of a softly pleasured moan as a heated kiss is pressed against Ser Duncan's mouth.

Blown by the taste of her lips, his grasp on her waist tightens Jerica closer against him— aiding in the movement of her grinding hips that presses her cunny against the absolute swell of him.

"Aye! Not on my tables you two!" The innkeeper shouts from a stone lookout-window in her kitchen, "this isn't a brothel! Pay for a room, or out me tavern!"

With only enough to pay for his dinner and the pitcher of ale, Ser Dunk and Jerica together may as well be penniless... Unable to pay for a room, he leaves his pay for the innkeeper, tipping the old woman an extra coin for her hospitality.

He drops the extra shilling so very quickly that it continues to spin on the rough tabletop by time he and Jerica take to the front door.

Together they head out into the night for Jerica's home near the pond. Hand in hand, the young lovers laugh with a playful glee— leaving behind a trail of clothes on the forest floor.

Nearest to where they had met earlier in the day, Dunk spots the girl's tent... Hardly a home fit to live in, the young woman lives her life like a gypsy or a wanderer— only owning a roof made of fabric, held together with sticks, and a few belongings to her name. But, the humble hedge knight hasn't the slightest care... Only needing her and the stars above them to light the night-sky as he shreds free all garment from the bounce of her perfect body.

So terribly inflamed, they find it impossible to take another step before digging into each other like dessert. A foot away from the tent, they take to the long grain of grass beneath them for comfort instead.

Pinned beneath him, Jerica's bare skin soaks in the moonlight and the glow of the burning-firepit that warms their flesh near to them. Dunk cannot help but to watch and admire her appeal— scorching the memory of such docile beauty in his brain forever. He moves her arms from shelling away her body from him— trying to hide the flawless droop of her teardrop shaped breasts and hardened nipples. "Don't shy away now." He taunts, "not when you were so eager to tease me with the sight of you at the pond today."

He leans into a shared tongue kiss, swallowing the melodies that float from her precious voice. Dunk positions himself between her legs, needy for missionary sex— he wishes to bury himself inside her as deep as he can possibly get. Jerica's legs soon ache as they stretch around the width of his brawny waist. Big and wide— the man's body feels to be made of stone as he squashes himself against a pillow-soft girl and the ground beneath her.

Frantically aiming his cock between the thighs that have spread on each side of him, he slips through her dripping heat, finding the silk-velvet of her opening as he inches inside her core with a dip that stretches her around the wrecking girth of him.

Devastatingly tight, her walls clench around his monstrous cock. "Sss-ah!" A hiss full of complaint brings a stinging tear to her eye. Splitting the woman beneath him, his voice becomes a soft croon as he coaxes all of her reluctance away... "Shhh." He hushes, "You must bloom open for me, Jerica, and I'll do the rest." Easing her discomfort with his gentle-romance, if Dunk is to pummel this pussy the way that he wishes tonight— she must unwind enough to be able to take it. "Let me take care of you— watch."

His thumb dips below her fantastically plush belly. He circles her pulsing clit as her hips buck upwards from the ground. "M'uhh! Gods, what are you doing to me!?"

The knight adds more pressure— knowing just how to please a woman, he watches Jerica squirm beneath him, pussy practically chasing after the addictive toying as he pushes her back down— forcing her to take it.

Finally eased by the sensation of his lewd thumbing, Dunk's hungry cock begins to glide through the pouring rain of her pleasure, just as he had wished. Her hot hole continues to soak perfectly around him—a cunt on its best behavior, it accepts his every inch like it was made to do so.

"That's it sweet girl..." Jerica becomes just the treat for him as his thrusts begin to piston through her body like chisel to stone. "Oh, the things a gentle touch and caring hand can do, aye?"

Biting her full bottom lip, she nods. Eyebrows furrowed and submissive as the knight's prey— she prepares for the speed of his rough pounding as Dunk comfortably quickens.

Jerica's supple flesh bounces against Dunk's taut body, making wet sounds of music like a band of their own. He wears into her fragility as she takes every decibel of his brute strength— holding firmly onto her more than ample-childbearing hips as handles, his fingers tighten into a bruising grip. "Gods— you take me just fine, don't you dear?"

Tears bubble at her lash line as the nature of a woman gone feral with lust widens her thighs for more of an invitation for Dunk to thrust harder. Beginning to feel so overwhelmingly divine, Jerica arches her back from off of the ground, changing the angle just slightly enough to feel his jabs probe quickly against her sweet-spot— darkening her vision as she curses the orgasm that consumes her. "Ah! Duncan—" She weeps, overstimulated by the spark of unhinged nerves as she feels cock in her bellybutton. "You're just— just so deep!"

"Aren't I?" He taunts. "Can you feel me there? How does it feel, sweet deity?"

"Heavens— fantastic." Jerica coos, floating on the high of her finishing climax. "S'good— just, so good my love."

Huffing and growling with the darkness of his masculine baritone, Dunk continues his fight in this losing battle— becoming far too infatuated with the sight of Jerica's glee. "I know it, just look at you. Damned to Hell you're tight... Squeeze me again dear, and my seed will plant, I swear of it."

With nails dug into the skin of his back, the threatening promise makes the girl squeal. Loose ankles bounce her bare feet like a ragdoll at the sides of his waist and Ser Duncan takes complete ownership of her body— trapped beneath his fierce blows and tightened muscles as each stroke lands balls deep against her precipice.

"Mercy!" Shouting to the Gods, another orgasm obliterates the girl as her skin fills with fire-like prickling goosebumps, absolutely fucked mindlessly. Her insides quake into another clench that squeezes Dunk all too perfectly... With a rhythm that becomes sloppily sporadic— he isn't able to continue in the spoiling treatment of Jerica's sweet loving. His manpower gives way with a pathetic tremble in his groan. Dunk loads the girl with every ounce of his pleasure— along with his soul.

Within a final strike that ceases all strength, he paints her insides with his impatient milky spew... shouting together as the lava-like-heat gushes through her innards. Full to the brim with all that he can empty, they share in the intimacy of more tongue kissing— making Jerica lose her breath during this double-filling of both Dunk's tongue and his bursting cum.

"Gods, you are perfect— incredible." His words are whispered against sweet lips. Finishing with his last jolt of semen, the tired hedge knight falls onto his back... facing the stars with his black pupils fully blown. "My dear lady, you are absolutely divine."

His hands reach for her in the tall grass— aiding the cocoa-colored minx onto his chest, wishing to lay and bask in each other's sweet aftercare forever.

"You as well, my Lord." Jerica's sweet caress is light and feathery against his faint chest hair. "An evening I surely will never forget."

. . .

"And you never should have to..." Requiring more time with her, he can't bear to leave her so soon... Only living in a tent by some pond— an idea to have her belongings packed and loaded on the back of his horses eats away at him. "Jerica? Will you— will you come with me?"

"Come with you?" Leaning up from his chest, the girl watches Dunk with a confused concern. Her beauty hypnotizes him, having a chuckle leave his lips as he picks straw and grass from her jet-black curls. "But, why?" She asks.

"Aye, for more unforgettable evenings that is..." Dunk's long fingers and wide palm strokes the soft princess-like features of Jerica's face. "What is a knight without a damsel to protect? A knight needs a good woman just as much as he needs a squire— and, if I'm honest, I think the wee bald lad caring for my horses in the stable truly would like to squire for me... I denied him once, but he's an orphan— just as I was at his age..."

Without any money and already having a hard enough time feeding himself and his horses, adding two more human bodies on this journey isn't exactly the smartest idea...

When he was only a boy, wishing for a friend to have alongside him on their long journeys, Sir Arlan whom Dunk squired for would constantly tell him no— reminding him with the saying: 'two's company, three's a crowd.'

... But now that Dunk's life of being just a knight's squire is long gone, he is the man in charge now. Making his own decisions here on out, Ser Dunk believes that if there is a will— then there has to be a way.

"Something deep inside tells me that the boy, Egg is his name— he needs me. He needs guidance, and I should allow him to squire for me... The three of us. Him, my squire. And you, my lady."

"Your lady? Aye?" Jerica scoffs in disbelief of the tale he lays here and tells. "You'd put such a claim on me? A woman unwed, living alone nearest to an ale-tavern... I'm sure one would presume that I'm just a whor—"

"You're not a whore." Dunk refuses her personal belittlement, ending it with a stern interruption. "Trust dearest, I am a man from the area of Flea Bottom, I've seen many whores. If you were to be one, you wouldn't be very good at it... Not the way you squeal and yip— trying to run from a good cocking."

They break into playful laughter. "Quiet!" She nudges him, "I'd say that I did quite the fine job at taking you my Lord, thank you very much!"

"And I'd have to agree, beloved." Dunk chuckles, still overly spent from good sex, he takes in a deeply exhausted breath.

. . .

The night quiets around them as suddenly the pain of the hurt before him is prevalent in Jerica's round brown irises... Her fingertips rub over a scar that is nearest to her neck— a scar clearly from one's blade. A forever reminder of something that brings back some sort of horrific memory...

Abuse from a man who once mistreated her, whether it happened in her home, or a place she was forced to find work in the impoverished village she escaped from... Dunk watches the very moment her mood shifts, causing him to ache at the sight of the usually joyous and spunky lass, now in such a woe. If only he could have a moment alone with whomever scarred the perfect and supple flesh of a woman all so divine... He'd make it right, he'd give them just what they deserve.

"If I were to accompany you— would you be good to me?"

Her fearful worry breaks his heart. "Are you afraid that I'd hurt you?"

... Lying next to him— looking like a dream, the woman's wide doe eyes glass-over with tears.

"I'd never harm an inch of you." The gentle giant assures Jerica that with him, she'd never need to fear a hair on her pretty head ever again. "You would know nothing but love and kindness at my side, Jerica— I swear of it."

The girl nods. Her shapely body glistens beneath the night's warm moonlight.

She peels open her rich thighs— causing Ser Duncan's mouth to fall agape, shuddering at the sight of the mess he had made of her this eve... His cream still continues to drip from her worn mound, the sticky passion webbing lewdly against her flesh— looking like an invitation for another go at her.

He gulps... His adam's-apple bounces against his thick throat as her image makes his mind turn into complete mush. "No, sweet girl." He trembles, "I promise not to beat you."

At least not in that way— The man hungry and once again stiffened throughout his weighty cock becomes far too tempted and teased.

He climbs over her, hearing the sweet giggly-laughter muffle against him. "That is— Except when you deserve it."

Only willing to beat her perfect cunt each time he craves her, the large man finds himself once again lip-locking with his lover— prepared to stuff her pretty little hole with more of his seed.

Both joyous and kissing within their charming grins, Dunk finds the strength to momentarily interrupt... "But, firstly— I need your answer. What do you say, dear girl? Will you come with me?"

. . .

"I'd say—"

Taking far too long, Jerica ponders with a hum over the question— teasing the man who now adores her as he awaits her final answer... "I'd say that if you are to make love to me again, Ser Duncan— then you'd better do it quickly. We'll need all the rest we can get for our journey come sunrise."

A smirk stretches across Dunk's handsomely pink lips.

He has heard exactly what he was hoping to hear as his newest lover finally accepts the offer— now easing open for his taking once again.

———

With hardly any sweat off of his back— in his first day as a hedge knight, Ser Duncan The Tall has found delicious ale, a cleansing bath, splendid supper, a loyal squire, and a woman whose presence stirs his entire being and soul...

Another morning, another day without sleep.

The entire weekend had passed, yet Bill's dream girl never left his mind once. For the past month, twenty-two year old Bill Skarsgard has worked as a temporary assistant for a powerhouse of a fashion-model in NYC. Needing money to fund his gaming and Twinkies addiction, it was either signing up for the as-needed temp agency, or continuing peewee-basketball coaching where the kids spent most of the days making fun of his too-tiny gym shorts and kicking his ass like he was just another fifth grader.

The agency made the interviews pretty easy... Background checks, a few training sessions, and then came the day of tryouts. If you knew how to keep your mouth shut, do everything you were told to do, and had the ability to multitask during multiple calls and emails; you couldn't have been more perfect for the position of becoming a celebrity's personal slave. Nervous about it all, after being hired, Bill chose a temporary position— a personal assistant position for a model named Precious Lee.

A model who seemed to have an opening around every month... Realizing that no one stayed permanently with her, he figured that the star must be difficult to work with. However, still eager to jump into this job headfirst— he figured that starting with the most difficult client and for only one short month, it would help him excel into an even better personal assistant by the end of their time spent together.

He began working for her, and he did his job well— shy, yet focused, just as he always had been in life. With paying close attention to her every detail, he quickly learned how much effort is put into the fashion-world. Once thinking that modeling was all things glitz and glam, he soon realized after days of following behind Precious that modeling is carrying an armload of studying materials, fierce workouts to grow stamina for long runway walks, never ending media-training, and having to keep a smile on your face for artists and designers who completely shit on everything you have worked so hard for..

After week one, Bill knew that it wasn't Precious who was difficult, it was the world of fashion who constantly tries to damper the light of a stunningly plus-size model.

Each day spent together Bill began to form an even deeper crush on his boss-lady. Determined, beautiful, kind, and caring— Precious Lee is sure to change the world's beauty standard with all that she has to offer. Friendship bloomed instantly and God knows he wished for more... But, if the closest he'd ever get to being with her was secretly worshiping the ground she walked on, being up at six-am every morning to bring Precious her morning bagel and latte, or taking notes for whatever she needed completed in the day— it was a deal he was willing to make in order to just breathe in the same air as her.

As the memorable month shared together came to an end, new positions have begun to blow up his phone... Another star? Someone other than Precious? Bill can't have that, he simply doesn't want any other position— even if it were running errands for the Pope.

This morning, his mind is racked with the havoc of his constant OCD filled thoughts. What if Precious' new assistant doesn't know that she likes to reapply her lipgloss after every snack? Only using the cherry flavored gloss from the beauty supply on Lennox Ave.

What if they don't know that she has flowers sent to her mother's home every Friday and that she prefers them to be lillies or marigolds? Any other flower scent gives the elderly woman migraines!

And, what if they order Precious a lunch and it contains an allergen of hers like shellfish!?! Making her have to take a photoshoot with an allergic reaction of her skin full of hives!

Panic sets in. As he makes up his mind this first Monday morning of the new month— Bill completes his morning hygiene mindlessly. Showering, brushing his teeth, packing his favorite breakfast of Twinkies, and jumping on the city bus with that damned to hell red-zip-up and thoughtless look in his large blue eyes.

Without anymore questioning, he's determined— Precious Lee needs him.She needs him just as much as he needs her.

———

Entering the building of her modeling agency this early AM, Precious sighs— having to put on a sweet smile for any paparazzi that could be lurking outside of the place. As she walks through the lobby, she's able to breathe again and continue her annoyed grimacing— prepared for another month's Monday where she is exhausted and tired of having to retrain another temp to be the perfect personal assistant for her.

As Precious reaches her floor and leaves the elevator after its ding, the glass windows of her agency's waiting room easily reveals her patiently waiting ex-assistant from last month.

She'd recognize that hideous bowl cut and red jacket anywhere.

He sits in a poorly built IKEA chair, lanky and slumped over with shyness still haven't yet to set eyes on the woman he waits for as Precious quickly slips past him.

"Hey, good morning Joanne, is that—"

"Your last temp?" The heavy Brooklyn-accented and rasp of the cigarette smoking secretary finishes Precious' sentence for her, "yup!"

"Right..." Precious squints in utter confusion. "Okay, well— was he not paid on time or something? Why is he here?"

"Paid?" Joanne laughs, "his check keeps getting returned to us... And you know that the CEO is the type to dodge any and all lawsuits, so when they requested more information about his reasoning for it— he claimed that he prefers working volunteer."

Beginning to reminisce on all of the tireless running and hard work she had Bill doing, Precious can't seem to understand the reason behind his persistence to volunteer for her, to the point of even wanting to come back! "Joanne... give it to me straight. Why is he back? Am I about to get served papers or something? Like— what am I missing here!?"

"Ahh, he's harmless." The woman behind the desk continues to chuckle, "Pretty funny guy actually. He overheard your new temp assistant come in today asking for directions to your office this morning... The kid nearly spazzed when he saw the guy come in with a wheat bagel and raspberry jam for your breakfast instead of your regular everything bagel and cream cheese. It got ugly, had to call security up to separate them."

"Security? Well— is he alright?!"

...

With a career changing opportunity to shoot with Balenciaga this evening, you'd think that Precious would be more worried about having no assistant today than panicking for the wellbeing of her timid and sweet ex-employee.

The matured secretary smiles gently. After thirty or more years of working behind this desk for an agency she once wished she could have modeled for in her youth, Joanne can tell many-a-tale about seeing the look of love coming through these doors. From models, executives, designers, and even assistants— she knew with Bill's hysteric determination this morning and getting here long before the building opened, that something was there. She knew not to kick out the young man who clearly cares for this model more than he cares for himself... Allowing him to sit and wait for Precious, the stunning curve model that he clearly yearns for. "They didn't rough him up too bad. Go ahead, ask him yourself!"

Precious nods, the warmth of her shea butter scented skin and smile being able to brighten up anyone's day. "Thanks Joanne, I appreciate it."

Soon a French-manicured tap on the waiting room's glass takes Bill out of his impatient stirring.

He notices Precious, and his eyes triple in size. Jumping out of the seat quickly, a light fixture catches him right in the temple, "ouch."

Playfully rolling her eyes, the beautiful tawny star is at a loss for what to do with such an obsessive assistant— a gentleman who feels much like an adopted stray puppy than anything else. "You, come with me."

———

Seated in Precious' office, the two examine each other from each side of the desk. Bill presses bagged-ice to his sore temple— his gaze stuttering at times as he becomes far too stirred by Precious' seductive brown gaze and interrogation. "Could you just— just stop looking at me like that."

"Bill, what is this?" Standing across her desk full of design sketches and headshots, Precious' hands are placed on her perfectly cinched waist.

Wearing her hair up in a messy bun and a top all too low— She couldn't be more hypnotizing. "Are you working for TMZ? One of those gossip blogs or something? Why aren't you collecting your pay and why do you keep coming back!?"

"I'd never take money from you. I don't want it." He tosses the bagged-ice, catching a slick attitude as if he were to begin a tantrum. "Look Precious, I know you prefer new faces each month, but I—I have your calendar memorized! I know you have a shit ton of work to do and you didn't need some idiot who brings in a wheat bagel and jam for your breakfast to mess anything else up! I just want to be useful."

She takes a deep breath in... Precious doesn't actually prefer new faces, she just had always figured that it would be easiest to switch out new assistants monthly being that never once had any of them believed in her career. Why get used to an assistant when in a world of Ozempic and GLP-1's everyone expects the plus-size model to fail? Meaning if she were to fail, they'd be nothing but out of a job soon... Getting too comfortable with one personal assistant, seemed like a big waste of time.

"I thought we clicked— I thought that we had it down!" He exclaims, neurodivergent and a bit geeky—when something is on his mind, it's hard not to say it... Better yet, hard not to explode. As he stands he reveals his towering height— shrimping the five-eleven model as he stands over her at six-four, deciding to join her on her side of the desk as he convinces her to let him stay. "We shared the same brain... We shared laughs, nights together, and smiles... Your assistant, sure—maybe, but I thought we at least became friends too."

He aches as Precious' eyebrows cutely furrow into thought... He'd do anything to go back to that night spent in Milan together. Exhausted from her runway show, it was Bill that took care of her... Unbraided her mane of hair, took the heels from her feet, silenced her phone, and became her big spoon as they slept the night away in each other's embrace— waking up early in time for her next flight to Paris. An insane beauty even without the runway hair and makeup— an image forever burned in his temporal lobe.

She begins to reminisce on their time spent together... He's right— not only did he understand her as if they shared a brain, but he was interested in everything that she had to say. He listened to her constant spiels about body inclusivity in the industry, and he even enjoyed her silly hobbies like feeding the pigeons and squirrels on walks through Central Park.

Precious can even recall the day he took a right-handed-hook for her... It was outside of a charity event in Times Square. One of the paparazzi reporters decided to try and get a rise out of the upcoming star... As the man stood far too close with a blinding flash of his camera in her eyes— he called Precious out of her name, made fun of her size, and tried his hardest to make a story out of her until she was nearly in tears... Another attempt at society trying to masculinize a beautiful black woman, hoping to attach her name to the angry, big, and black stereotype that they love to throw on melanated queens. In that moment shared between the paparazzi and Precious, Bill went from a shy assistant to an attempt at a dominant security guard. The altercation ended with a broken camera and a bloody nose from Bill's punch, yet sadly, being a full time gamer instead of spending time in the gym, his soft calluses and baby-smooth hands only upset the rowdy reporter— soon returning the right hook and giving Bill a bruise that lasted for days... a bruise and slight concussion that he could've complained about, but never once did.

Staring up at the gentle giant, butterflies flood her stomach— the reminiscing gives her the clear indication that perhaps she was blind to see what was in front of her all along, more reason to why the young man was so attentive to her. Precious' hand meets the chisel of his jaw, caressing his face as his tall frame melts against her body. "You healed up well— from what happened and all."

"It was worth it." He trembles like a lapdog as he is eased against her desk by her curves, leaning at a level where his face is comfortably placed against her bosom as his long arms wrap around her waist. "I— I missed you."

She chuckles, "we spent only one weekend apart." Softly stroking her fingers through his brunette strands, Precious places a kiss on the fresh injury against his temple— listening to him softly hiss. "Poor baby, always getting hurt."Feeling protective over someone so sweet, she again sighs— unsure of what to do with a man five years younger than her, and a man that she wishes to baby just as much as she'd like to fuck. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Make me permanent!" He lifts his head from her chest in excitement— already regretting moving and missing the warmth of her.

"Like, my permanent assistant?" She questions, "for what? So you can waste more checks that we send you?! Listen— I'll hire you permanently, but only if paid—"

"No." His interruption is shockingly stern with her.

"This is New York City!" She scoffs. "Life isn't cheap here!" Taking a step back in her leg-elongating heels and pencil skirt, Bill grabs at her buxom hips, pulling her back closer to him as if the sudden inching away gave him immediate separation anxiety.

"You're sweet... really." She pines, "I guess chilvary isn't dead after all, but honey, rent is already too damn high in Brooklyn, and tell me this— you're still riding that city bus, aren't you?"

... he pauses, not wanting to answer the question although he couldn't lie to her if he wanted to.

"I have a bike too."

"Bill!" She bursts at his timidly paused response. Annoyed, yet all she truly wants is for him to be able to make a comfortable living for himself instead of being stubborn. If anyone deserves good pay, it would be him. "The pleasure is all mine, really." He insists. "Being in your presence alone is my pay. Financially, I'll make something work, I mean— I always do! ... But there has to be something more to life than to just be about money, right?"

"Sure, then be honest with me... Where does my presence come into all of this?" She yearns for the admission of a feeling that she hopes they both share. "Why do you work for me? Why wish to have my time instead of my money?"

Biting the inside of his cheek, he becomes muted.

Only sometimes is he able to mindlessly blurt out his feelings, but in the very moment— he worries that speaking his truth would only get him banned from ever seeing Precious again... Afraid that if he says too much, the only relationship between him and the absolute love of his life would become a restraining order.

"I can be difficult, I'm very busy, and you already know that this job doesn't come easy. So please, just tell me, why are you here?" Demanding an answer, Precious steps backwards once more— parting away from Bill even further as he nears a panic. Goosebumps fill his pale skin as he blushes all the way down to his neck. A foot away from him, Precious bites down on her plump-bottom lip, needing him to admit what he feels.

"Can you just— can you come back over here."His voice is a near whine, wanting to shape himself into the curve her soft body once again. "Y—You know why I'm here! I want the job, how many times should I say it! I'm here to clock in today."

He avoids the truth with his vague responses, and Precious refuses it, emphasizing this time exactly what she means. "No, why are you right here, right now, with me?"

...

Slow to a response... the tired girl begins to give up on him.

Precious wonders who she even is kidding. Cute, yet a sheepish man stands before her. A man that most would wonder if he is even old enough to buy a drink with, a man who she hasn't the time of day to watch him play with her emotions during the most busiest moments of her career. What could she possibly be thinking? "You know what I hate?" Her voice becomes shallow and thin... A tone and rasp that pains Bill, along with the swelling of tears in her sweet eyes.

"I hate how the whole entire world loves to constantly give me their unsolicited truths, until I actually ask for it."

The office becomes painfully quiet as she wraps the morning up with another heartbreaking sigh. "Maybe you're right... Maybe I do rather different faces. A permanent position can't be discussed as of right now." Feeling silly about thinking she had found a genuine connection, she remembers just why she had been staying away from dating ever since she realized each date only saw her as the 'thick girl from Drake's music video'.Although Bill isn't one of those dates, and probably hasn't listened to a single Drake song in his life— he has suddenly become another example of just how much men love to waste her time.

Taking a ballsy first move before daring to see his favorite woman shed a tear, Bill rushes her with a tight grip around her bicep. Proving himself to be more man than mouse as the firm grasp wraps around her plush-arm with authority. "I'm here with you because if I wasn't, I would only be somewhere else thinking of you." His answer finally comes in a way that is far from disappointing. "I wish to be your permanent assistant not only to be at your side every second of the day, but because if I can't be the one to wait on you hand and foot— I would die knowing that another man is."

Standing much taller, the young man is less of the piss-ant he had made himself out to be, making the girl before him dazed with lust. Reaching for his lips— they're just as soft as she had expected. The kiss forced upon him gives Bill a head-buzzed whirl— chasing after it again as Precious pulls back to check and see if she had made the wrong move. But far from making the wrong move, she only wishes she had made it sooner as Bill proceeds with the kiss using force that backs her against the wall. A force needy and unhinged as the prodding poke of his jeans thrusts against her pencil skirt.

Growing more lustful with each passing lip-lock, Precious' lips part with a wanton cinch in between her brows as Bill's perfect pout makes way across her neck and breasts. Needy and rushed with excitement, his breathing is trembled along with pathetic whimpers. "Can I taste you?"

As if he needed to even ask. Her slight nod is enough to set Bill ablaze. His arms— usually noodle like in his extremely long and frail extremities suddenly grow in heightened strength... He lifts Precious within every ounce of her glory— carrying her weightless to the tabletop of her office's desk. Her hands frantically clear the mess of headshots and written notes. All of her hard work becoming a confettied mess as the papers float towards the marble tiling of the floor. Her pencil skirt is bunched far above her hips, exaggerating the utter junoesque beauty of her body as her thighs spread in their circumference. Her panties are hurried down the length of her mile-long legs dangling effortlessly on the heel of her left red-bottom shoe.

Lifting her plush thighs into a spread is better than opening gifts on Christmas morning... Bill's knees weaken at the sight of her womanhood— a fresh wax and just as honey-brown as his wet dreams always imagined her pussy to be. With fingers stretched wide, his large palm presses against the warmth of her soft belly— laying her back against the desktop as Precious watches his mouth drool against her mound through the sight of her globe-like breasts and the pudge of her fupa. Heated muffles make her back arch as Bill sends praises through tongue kisses against her cunt, "so fucking sweet." Skilled in ways unknown, the young man only does what he feels is right— he does just what he had wanted to do the first work-day spent with her, the first day he sat behind the scenes of a photoshoot and watched the prettiest woman he ever laid eyes on pose through fake fog and wind like and angel fallen from Heaven.

Peeling her folds open with the strength of his thumbs, he watches her mewl and quake with his suckling of her clit—tonguing each hole that pulses for his affection, and soaking Precious down to the crack of her ass as she lays spread like a buffet for this virgin starved.

Sent to the moon with dam-bursts of orgasms that tighten her knees against his head, she's determined if she is to climax for him again, it won't be from her clitorial nerves— Precious aches for her marbles to be fucked loose... Needing to see this same determination in his deep-strokes as Bill has had in his feasting and brilliant tongue performance. "Fuck me."

The words come sharply, widening his eyes, unsure if he could be dreaming. Bill swallows back the rest of Precious' essence that has continued to drip down his chin... Never expecting to get this far, Bill trembles as he reaches for his wallet. His fingers search frantically for a rubber that has collected dust for years now. After passing through coupons for Dairy Queen, his library and metro card, he finally finds the gold wrapper of his stored away magnum.

But with the pull of his waistband— the supermodel has other ideas... Earnest to feel every inch and vein of him, Precious pulls free his manhood. Jumping and sticky with excitement, she watches the man above her jaw loosely drop as she directs his thick salmon-colored cockhead into the tight-band-like vice of her opening. Her grasp finds each side of his sculpted pelvis, ushering his first stroke as deeply as possible as she lays flush against his tickling happy trail— needing to feel this cock skin to skin— wanting this innocent flesh of his as if he had become her drug of choice. "Oh!— oh, fuck." His Adam's apple bounces with a sharp gulp in his throat, hips now recharging with a slick withdrawal and soon another forced entry— beginning to pummel this perfect pussy before him as he fucks the hinges from off of the desk.

Biting her lip, Precious conceals a slutty grin as her eyes shut in immense pleasure— spoiled rotten, getting all she wanted. Wicked relief takes over her. Far past the need for a decent lay with a man worthwhile, she relaxes and opens wider for Bill... wanting him to enjoy her body as he pleases, lose himself in her with free use as she pushes him further, "more baby, harder—please."

Soon her breathy whispers make the strength of each of his blows aim to break her spine... With a mess of curls bounced out of her updo and the lewdest moans known to man, he's never seen her so beautiful. Her top can't hold back the bouncing of her massive tits—breasts reddening and bruised as Bill's fondle becomes more of a dangerous claim than a sweet caress—mouth finding each chocolate nipple as he hardens each bud with suckling lovebites.

"Shit!— you're so deep." Having maybe bitten off more than she can chew, Precious squeals as the heat and tightened spring of her stomach begins to snap.

Feeling her walls clench and tighten around each of his jabs absolutely blinds Bill. His strong grip finds the length of Precious' throat, tightening around her windpipe as she is slammed against the desk with the brutal force of a balls-deep pounding.

Built for speed, he splits her tender pussy, shaping her to the girth of his fit— huffing from the defeat of a cunt so warm and honey-bun sweet. The spasm of her climax makes Bill hiss. His heavy-hitting thrust become sloppy as does his incoherent crooning against Precious's lips. "Precious... Baby— I need you to— ugh, fuck I'm going to cum."

"Please." Her ankles become hooked around his waist, feeling his cockhead kiss against her cervix— wanting to be filled and needy for his creampie. "I want all of it."

Aiming to please in both their work and personal life, he is truly her servant. Whatever Precious Lee could ever want, Bill would go to the ends of the Earth for her to have it— today she yearns to be stuffed full with his milky spend, a load he has more than enough to share with her. With tightened muscles and a brain full of mush, he explodes. Tasting Heaven on the tip of his tongue he watches Precious' eyes fall half-lidded with a puckered pout that opens for him. Receiving his thumb on the bed of her tongue—Bill presses forward with precise strokes that slow time before their eyes.

"Sss'ah! Precious... just like that— please, princess. Oh, fuck that's perfect." His semen webs out of her core, pouring around the stretch of him as he attempts to push more into her womb— far too horny, far too careless, far too busy to worry and distract themselves from this moment of shared ecstasy.

Falling flaccid, their shared tongue kiss quickly fixes that... Moaning and tangling tongues, a French kiss damn near perfect is better than sex.

Still pieced inside of her beaten mound, Precious' eyes widen as her newest young lover's libido surprises her with the retightening of a hardened thick cock— turned on, and just like that— he's ready again. "You feel that?" His confidence peaks into a man reborn. "What you do to me? I'm needing you all over again."

Melodies already begin to flood from her lips... willing to give the man obsessed with her as much as he could possibly want.

"A few more rounds..." Bill checks the watch on his wrist, "We need to get you to your Balenciaga fitting on time— hopefully not too worn out." Precious chuckles... a smile so sweet that Bill chases it with a kiss to her teeth. Drunk on cock, not once had she remembered the details of her busy schedule— but, proven to be her biggest supporter and the better half of her brain, Bill's determination— OCD driven or not, would never let her career fail.

Pushed backwards into the rolling chair, Precious finds his lap—lowering herself back onto his rod as the luscious bounce of her flesh begins riding and bucking. Hips so fiercely thick that it gives him brain rot, "would telling you that I'm falling in love with you, make you run?"

Focused on her lips, he watches them as if he could see the very moans leaving her soft pout.

He groans, already so far past being in love with her, she'd must be crazy to think something so divine could make him run. "Run? No. Make me cum again— yes."

She takes his response with a chuckle, warmed by his genuine adoration for her, returning to their second of many, many rounds, and breathless kissing.

Without any friends, a dime in his pocket, a decent haircut, or a balanced diet— what Bill has, and had been wanting, has finally become his. Precious Lee— a girl he'd light a candle for everyday, and pray to the Gods above that she would feel for him just the same. He had wished for her, and with this— it consumed his every thought. Content in his very little wealth, he will still at the end of the day be without many things— but to him, he has just become the richest man in the entire world.

———

Tonight, she has seen it all...

Eyes widened and glued to the screen as she watches the man that she has been dating for the last three months pin another man down, kiss his lips a he does hers, and even make love to him! Sure— it's only acting, but the innocent woman who spends most of her time collecting vinyl R&B records, spinning pottery, and crocheting sweaters has seen enough rough sex, leather, collars, and butt plugs than she ever expected to see in her entire life!

Her heart races out of her chest the longer she watches. Now only thirty-minutes left in the film, she can't bear to watch another second more. She can't stand the confusingly painful pit in her stomach... An ache of concern, disgust, heartache, and maybe even a bit of arousal... Especially unable to tolerate Alex's blue eyed stare turning towards her during every erotic scene, as if he is attempting to read through her thoughts for her.

"I can't." The words leave her glossed-quivering lips in one stolen breath. Needing air terribly, Evie drops her popcorn as she takes the emergency exit out of the dark theater.

"Evie! Psss'd! Evie— goddamnit." Calling for her in a tight whisper does Alex no good, he also must get up and excuse himself from stepping on the toes of audience members as he chases after his date and misses the ending half of his latest film.

The darkened night surrounds them, only the alleyway's streetlamp lights the couple as he finally catches up with his distraught girlfriend... just enough light to make the swelling tears in her soft brown eyes glimmer beneath its glow. "Hey, hey, baby? Wh—What's going on?" A gentle catch around her wrist stops Evie in her path as she is turned to face his worry.

She watches up at nearly six-feet-five-inches of height and aged blue eyes that once captured her that day at a little farmer's market hidden from most of LA. That day, only a few months ago now where they had met, Alex was so charming and he had been ever since. He carried Evie's heavy potted plants that she had been gawking at for hours to her car— after he of course had purchased the expensive exotic flowers for her out of the pure kindness of his heart. From there came too many coffee dates to count, walks in the park, and handholding... Romantic and warm, yet never more than maybe a lewd tongue kiss or caress every so often... The man she thought she knew never cared to rush things and enjoyed simply getting to know her, but the man she watched tonight on the screen was brutal... it overwhelmed her to see such a sexually deviant person who if was acting— had done the role far too well.

"What was that in there?" Finally able to speak, her head continues to shake in disbelief and denial. "You— You filmed something like that?! I didn't even recognize that man!"

"Well, that's a good thing, baby!" Caressing her bare arms that have grown goosebumps in LA's chilly night, Alex attempts to calm her with a gentle chuckle. "I'm an actor, I was in a role, you weren't supposed to recognize me!"

But his words just aren't good enough... Trying her hardest to put herself in his shoes, she's determined that no one could actually act like that unless deep down it came to them naturally. "When you told me you were an actor, I was thinking— I don't know, like Terminator, Titanic, uhm— Back To The Future!!!" Evie frantically names ancient-old movies, practically the only movies that she's ever seen in her twenty-seven years of life. "Not whatever that was?"

He sighs, unsure how to break it to her that half of his career he has spent being naked and having sex on camera... "Evie, my little dove— none of it is real. We have intimacy coordinators on set, we wear prosthetics, and half the time it's our doubles doing most of the work. Come on baby, let's just go back inside. We finish the movie, take a few pictures for the press, and we can go home."

"No thanks, I'll Uber!" Her heels begin to pick up in speed again as she is once again grasped by the wrist, this time pulled against the building's bricks and caged between it and Alex's thick body. "Move!" She shouts.

"I won't." ... Tension begins to calm with his stern refusal. Alex's wide palm cups her heated cheek, his longer fingers wipe away fallen tears that make him ache at the sight.

"Okay sure, some parts can be faked..." Her voice trembles with tears, "but kissing your costar like that, cannot be."

"Ahww." He teases with fake-pout, "are these tears from seeing these lips kissing someone's other than yours?"

Evie shoves his chest, hardly making the overly-large man move as he chuckles. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry." He laughs, "Evie, baby, if only you could count how many times I've had to kiss a costar, I think you'd hate me for good... But, listen, when I kiss on screen, it is simply— a skit. A coordinated, STD tested, flesh on flesh scene until we hear the director yell 'cut'. But, when I kiss you? These perfect fucking sweet lips of yours... I think I lose years off of my life the way my heart begins to ache. There is no 'action' or 'cut' that could ever make me stop or resist the urge for more of you."

Puckered softly against Evie's mouth, their lips smack against each other in one tender kiss. Wanting for more— her pride isn't willing to allow it, not after all that her eyes have witnessed. "So, are you gay?"

The question widens his eyes.

"Bi?" She continues, "you can tell me these things. I don't want anymore secrets between us."

"Secrets!?" Suddenly with a toweringly-raised voice, his strength strikes fear in her heart. "I never once kept anything from you! I told you that I was an actor. You live in LA, for Christ sake, you acted like you didn't give a shit about my job! Look—It's not my fault that you never cared to google me or that the last movie you saw was still on fucking VCR!"

"Wow, fuck you!" Another abrasive shove to his chest does nothing but make him fume more. "No, fuck you! You're being a child." Pulled back against the wall with a firmer tug frightens Evie even more. Her back against the brick this time, feeling like knives pressing against her soft skin. "Alex! You're scaring me!"

He finds it all too comical. Nearing fifty, he's slept with more women than he can count on one hand long before Evie was out of diapers. "Am I gay, huh?" He repeats her question, "because of the movie? Why? Because I dominated a submissive man?" "Don't you get it, Evie?" Alex begins to chuckle, "I dominate the whole fucking world." With dilated pupils, suddenly he has snapped into an arrogant asshole. "But since you can't get it through your head that I am an ACTOR, who has to portray different and unique roles!— Let me remind you of just what I'm attracted to. You." He presses even more forward. With zero space between them and this wall, the step pushes the air from Evie's lungs. "Want—Needing, you. Spending three months on Miss Good Girl because you sicken me with your innocence, your soft voice, and your fat fucking ass and titties. I want only you."

She scoffs. "You're sick!" Evie's fight is even less promising as the squash against him encloses far too tighter. "Move Alexander! You, this fucked up movie, all of it! You weren't acting, this role probably came easiest to you!"

"You know what's sick?" . . .

Evie can feel the heat of his breath as his mouth is pressed to the shell of her ear. "—watching the way you squirmed in that seat every time I pinned my costar to the ground, when I pretended to fuck him as if I were to split him in half... The way you tightened your knees when you watched what you thought was me cumming into his mouth. You wished it were you, huh? It's only jealousy having you behave like this, isn't it?"

Unable to shove again, a tight bruising grip to both of Evie's wrists has her arms pinned above her head. "You're insane, you know that I'm disgusted!"

"Which is why when I dig beneath your dress right now, I won't have my hand on wet pussy, right?"

"Alex don't!"

Unwilling to listen, a grope inserted between her thick thighs makes her mewl sinfully— hips bucking forward as her body chases after the bed of his fingertips for another feel. Raised to the light of the streetlamp, Alex's two most-middle fingers come back with the shine of Evie's drenched arousal.

His groan is shuttered as his digits seep onto his tongue's tastebuds, being exactly the deranged satyriasis that he portrays in all of his films. "You know what's funny about these movies? You're absolutely right, Evie— I enjoy being as lewd and vulgar as I possibly can on screen. By the end of my career I want to be known as the most over-sexed actor Hollywood has ever seen. Why? Because it's fun. Because I want to make James Spader and Michael fucking Douglas' most erotic films look fucking PG-13! And yet, regardless of what movie I'm in, what thing I'm pretending to fuck— a woman, a man, a fucking creature for all I care, I never once get hard... Never once stiffen up the way I do to the sound of your pathetic little tears and your attempt at disgust when you're just as goddamn filthy as I am."

... And with this threatening confession, Evie's lace underwear is torn from her body with a violent snatch— now becoming one with the trash and needles of LA's street-litter.

Confusion bewilders her as a violent craving for his cock makes her legs tremble yet the tears streaming down Evie's face is from complete brokenness. So naive to what she thought she had with Alex, now she can see through it all clear as day. Pillion, the movie only being a peephole view into Alex's life of kink, when in reality all along she was the full picture. The way this older gentleman had spoiled her in every way, charmed her with gentle affection, drawing her nearest to him, and how much he loved her lack of interest in his fame... All a ploy to find himself a true submissive. One that hasn't a care to use him for stardom, a woman who will have already fallen far too deeply in love with him to be deterred by his kink and immorality... instead— molded to crave it... And tonight, through the buzz of car horns and passing feet of strangers who could catch them in such scandal— Evie longs for this obscene dominance as an addict longs for an ounce.

Sandwiched between a brick building and brick of a man, the sound of Alex's zipper makes Evie's thighs open freely as her dress bunches passed her ass. His hands no longer need to hold back the tiny feminine fists that were once being thrown at him, now he grips a dimpling hold beneath her thighs as Evie's hands rush to assist him in positioning his erection. Further than they've ever gone before, her fingers wrap around the utter hot-girth of Alex's hard cock. The ooze of precum down his shaft is sticky, clearly having been making a mess all evening long— watching her, as she watched him.

Lined at her opening, Evie would be foolish to think that a man so cruel and demanding would begin slowly. A power-drive of a first thrust causes him to bottom out inside of her, pressed against the hilt of her cunt. The sting mutes her soundless opened scream, soon to be filled with his tongue as each blow continues one after the other.

Embarrassed and blushing an angry red down her chocolate skin as she is manhandled, her shoes are fucked off of her dangling feet as each stiletto hits the ground. No kindness, no respect for her body, Evie is fucked like a slut in an alleyway, making her delirious with a shameful lust.

She had hoped that the prosthetics that he wore in the movie were only an exaggeration of his actual size, but as she is impaled, dug-out, and molded around his angry cock— she realizes he's so much bigger.

Her arms find his neck as she wishes to have control on at least something, at least a place where she is able to bear down upon, but Alex's warm huffing against her face, and twisted praises takes the comfort away from that too. "Can't you hear it? How that pussy talks when it gets a little attention?"

Evie winces, tightening her long, wet, jet-black lashes closed as she tries to ignore the sound of her body's rain and the clapping of his weighty balls beneath against her flesh.

Her whimpering is only motivation to abuse further. Alex pistons upwards, thrashing against her sweet spot until her bitten-lip that was hiding her melodies unleashes her squeaky inaudibles. Her pussy becomes a vice against him, weakening his stamina as he forces out Evie's orgasm. "Fuck, bunny, my good little toy. Cream on it." Her body spasms, gushing her release against him and staining his pants before the press could even take his picture tonight.

Mid-stroke, one of the theaters lets out as credits begin to roll. Alex's hand tightens around Evie's every gasp and moan, moving out of the light and shielded by the darkness of a dumpster as his rhythm never misses a beat. Her eyes widen as people pass by them far too close for comfort, yet Alex quietly takes the moment to revisit his plans with her. "Waited for you." His whispers are cooed and pathetic whimpers as he pushes his limits to hold out. "Daddy's getting old and I waited so long for you to come in my life. Gonna take my time with you, love you, keep you, spoil you, breed this perfect—" he struggles to breathe as her band-like grip nearly makes him falter, "perfect goddamn pussy." The words are gritted tightly through his teeth, "you want that, don't you?"

Being split open as her mound swells feverishly hot, Evie's hearing is muffled as her mind travels into a different universe. "Answer." His demand is met with an animalistic tearing-shred to the front of Evie's dress, spilling her tits against him. "Yes!" She comes from her daze admirably submissive. A compliant little lamb now overflowing from out of her once bratty-attitude. "Whatever you want."

"Mmm'I can't resist you." For a moment, Alex almost sounds genuinely sweet, "I love you." Splayed around his waist, his thrusts become sloppy as the numb cunt for his taking is getting nothing but wetter and sweeter each second. His glutes tighten with every rough pummel, banging against her cervix and assuring his love is felt even in Evie's spine.

"Oh fuck you feel good, look at me baby." Evie's eyes meet his. Bambi-brown, achingly-round, tear stained, with a pouted beauty that drives his sadistic tendencies insane. Wanting to see her cry, tortured, and berated— but only like this. Just like this. Only when he can pull a shared climax out of them both. "One more time for me, can't you? If I slow it down like this?"

His cock is pulled back slowly, and pushed back in even more tormentingly slower.

"Mmph!—Alex!" This unhurried speed spins Evie's world on its axis. He notices her pleasure, ushering her body higher to catch the sensitive buds of her full breasts in his mouth. His abdomen tightens as hers does the same, both at their peaks of ecstasy— the torture of not falling over the edge is an unforgiving pain, aching their souls as they pant and curse against each other's overstimulated bodies.

The pressure of his calculated last stroke causes Evie to slowly bite down onto his shoulder— body hanging lifelessly like some sort of sexdoll in his arms. The pain of the marks from her teeth mixes with Alex's pleasure like a perfectly stirred cocktail, making his jaw unclench as it falls slack— releasing into Evie with pure ownership, jolting and bucking as his stream of cum begin to trickle down the curve of his emptied sack.

"Ughh—fuck." Half-lidded, the arrogance in him is still very strong. Knowingly defeated by Evie's sex, it is he who still needs the last word. "Feel that?" He gulps, just as spent and obsessed with her. "Me pumping that seed into you? Making you a little housewife?"

Shame makes it hard to even look at him, yet she still nods... If degrading her by plugging her pussy with softening cock is the way she gets to feel this light and satisfied... then let her stay bred, let her stay submissive, and let her stay forever this dumb and cockdrunk.

Evie winces from the webbed-plop of his exit. Feeling far too empty now— she nearly whines for more. Alex catches the oozing inner-decorating he performed on her with his thumb, not wasting a drop of his batter, he can't wait for it to sprout in her fertile womb— watching her plump, housebound, and carrying his offspring after years of searching for the perfect one. "Good girl. Don't spill any of it..." He quickly begins a threat that tightens an aroused spring in her belly, "and if you push it out, I'll just fill you until you're bloated with my cum. You won't sleep, you won't eat. You'll be doing what? Evie?"

"T—Taking your cum." The rasp and stutter of her exhausted voice brings a chill down his spine. Finally, finally he has broken her.

Janet Terrance's last memory was flickering lights in her apartment and a Demogorgan crashing through a ceiling portal and snatching her out of bed... The only thing left in unit 4B of 'Hawkins Hills Apartments & Townhouses' is all of the young woman's belongings, her two kittens, and a twelve-foot crease of a sealed-over gateway above her mattress.

She awakens, gasping in fear and lying against hardwood flooring— waxed and polished, as is the rest of the stunning, and warmly furnished home.

"Shh shh, I'm here." A familiar voice comforts her while the man that it comes from kneels towards her on the floor.

She recognizes him, "Henry?" Within seconds, Janet latches onto his familiarity.

Over the past two weeks, the two have grown a budding relationship full of flirtatious jesters and kind conversation. He began showing up to the window of the diner she waitresses at daily, never missing a shift.

'Henry Creel' soon introduced himself; coming inside for one cup of coffee that he never once drank, as if he were there for Janet's company alone... Her boss and coworkers seemed to be annoyed with his daily visits—although they never actually spoke about seeing him... they only joked crudely that Janet needed a mental evaluation for pouring a cup of Joe each morning for her imaginary friend... "She's worse than my baby-sister talking to some invisible person she calls Mr. WhatsIt!" One of the other waitresses laughed. But Henry wasn't imaginary, nor was Janet crazy.

Now feeling immediate comfort in her dear friend's embrace after the horror that she has endured, Janet spills it all. "... Its face, it spread open into thousands of teeth! Grabbed me by my ankles and snatched me right from beneath the blankets!" She continues with her story, panicked with streams of tears streaming down her soft doll-like features.

"Horrible... you absolutely poor thing, come here." Another hug against his chest brings her closer, although Henry knows that the exact monster who frightened her is only one of his own.

A secret hides within him... One that he wishes the now powerful "Will The Wise" will never come to realize as he hacks his way into the mind-hive. Although it is well-known to Will and his friends that Vecna is syphoning energy from twelve children from a place called 'The Abyss', what they fail to realize is that deeper into the cave where they are held and connected to his tentacles, there is a victim that doesn't quite match the group of hostage-adolescents. A young lady is kept closest to Vecna's body... The very Janet Terrance, the woman that has become the bane of Henry Creel's existence, the key to his future of love life, happiness, and an unbreakable bond to share as he makes her his queen in a world he is soon to create.

The children: vessels to manipulate and amplify his powers as he merges the Upside Down, the Abyss, and the human world into one utopia he can rule... Janet: a reason to do it... a partner worth creating a whole new world for.

Through the weeks of socializing with her, he has seen it in her eyes... The hungry attraction and vigor that they both share, love beneath fear, primal need for one another's affection— and long awaited, as the bridge between Hawkins and the Abyss continues to collapse, it is far past time to claim his bride. With two realms combining, Henry Creel plans to be the ruler of this new world— and he'll be damned if he did it alone.

"I even felt a scratch on my ankle! See, look here—" As Janet continues to explain, lo and behold— there is no injury to her ankle, no fuzzy socks, or her favorite pajamas she was wearing in bed either... Suddenly the dream-state that she has been forced into confuses her, even taking a bit of trust away from her dearest friend Henry. "Where did this dress come from? And-and these shoes? They aren't mine... Henry, where am I?"

A floral-striped dress and a strappy pair of pumps reminds her of the image of a housewife... Perhaps one that would live in a home just like this.

"You're safe. I'm here to protect you from the monsters that have you in such tears. Do you really think I could let anything harm you, Janet?" Smarter than the naive children, she begins to place things in order. Clearly in some type of hypnosis, she knows that this very moment can't be real.

Dapper in his brown suit, hat, and gentle smile on his handsomely full lips, Henry continues to calm her. Knowingly born and raised in Hawkins, Henry makes up a story to blame it all on the military that has surrounded the small town for the last two years now. Some type of myth that the military is using all of Hawkins as test subjects for experimenting a fatal disease that they'll use as warfare on other countries if needed be. An attack on the country's very own people and that it's up to her and him to stop it. Allegedly 'blessed' by God with his ability of mind control, he promises that he cannot save the world alone—that it would be her who he needs to rule alongside him.

Her petite hand is caressed alongside his large palm and slender fingers as she is brought up to her feet. Adoring every second of his alone time with her, Henry presses his snout to the top of her head, kissing her dark-strands gently as he inhales the scent of her conditioner that drives him feral.

"We hardly know each other, and I don't have any powers as you do. I wouldn't be of any help, why choose me?" The fright and confusion in her round doe eyes charm him achingly. Why choose her? Because in his eyes he's never met someone so perfect.

"You." He strokes her shoulder-length black tresses, pushing them behind her ears where diamond-studded earrings that truly, in reality they don't even exist. Her jewelry shines and gathers light pouring through the curtains of his parlor as Janet continues to stare in complete confusion of where it all came from. "You hold as much power as anything I've ever witnessed, and without any of the abnormal abilities at that. Sure, just the prettiest diner girl I've ever seen—yet somehow, you are the human embodiment of energy, dominion, and all things perfect in this world. A queen, My Queen, who has yet to take my hand."

Drawing her manicured fingers back, she again refuses the offer to take his hand as his queen. "I woke up in some strange place... A man overtop of me and asked for me to be his queen!? Christ, sure I've poured you cups of coffee that forever went untouched! But I have yet to even— even write my number down on your hand, go out on a date to the movie theater or roller-rink!!! A chance to even find out if I actually like you!"

His eyebrows furrow, kindness completely withering away. "So we will just have to skip all of that, time runs short, you see... and I'm not a man of great patience."

He sighs, regaining the patience and grace the villain inside forces him to pretend to be. "With me, I'll give you whatever it is that you want."

Henry's mind games begin to make her hallucinate a life she has always dreamed of. "I can give you that big Hollywood break you have always wanted." He smiles as an image of Janet dressed up on a paparazzi-filled red carpet makes her heart stop. "Look at that..." He teases, "prettier than Whitney Houston and competition for her too!" Suddenly the hallucination of a famous Janet is holding multiple Grammys.

"Stop it." Her eyes shut tightly, wishing that the mind-torture would just come to an end.

Henry steps closer... "Or how about—" His height of over six feet is like a cold shadow engulfing her delicate frame.  "All the cash you would need to fix up your family's home? Isn't that what you want?" Closely behind her, his baritone and manipulation is chilling. His lips press to the side of her neck, then to her jawline and cheek, swindling her with charm and light admirable kisses. "No more working double shifts to send cash home to your family to help your parents with the needs of your little siblings. Oh, Sweet girl— would you let me do that for you?"

The image of the pile of money suddenly fades into a Thanksgiving dinner-table with an apple pie as the centerpiece. "Or perhaps you just want something simpler, sweeter... like that very special favorite treat your grandma would bake you for the holidays, or even when you just were feeling down." Janet begins to tremble, suddenly smelling the extremely missed scent of her favorite dessert that her late grandmother used to make her whenever she would ask for it.

"Perhaps..." The hallucination again changes, "perhaps you would just want your grandmother..."

The sweet smile of her late grandmother standing before her makes her gasp. Janet reaches out to hold onto her— yet the image fades like mist.

...

"Is this real?" Nearly brought to tears again, Henry's dirty tricks begin to convince her.

"Oh, it can be." Selfishly heated by the stirring sounds of Janet's sobs, the sadistic attraction of weakening her, Henry begins to make hot like an oven. "Our life together— not even a night would pass by without the taste of ecstasy and bliss."

"I don't understand, as in-- you'd spoil me?" Her innocence is blinding.

"In many ways..." He nods, "and I am dying to show you." Her heels clack against the preserved floors as she is forcefully turned to face him. With a possessive grip on her waist and the other cuffed against her neck, Henry's lips clash onto hers. Falling victim to this kiss, Janet's mouth falls prey to his tongue as their shared moans weaken them both.

His breathing becomes trembled, almost spewing whining yips as his lips travel across her face and neck— fingers tearing the buttons of her top open as each of them ping to the ground. Living in his own personal Hell, Henry Creel hasn't felt the touch of a woman in decades— his cock now standing tent-like against his trousers, begging for the feel of a sweltering tight cunt if it kills him.

A Demogorgan-like grip on her wrists drags her again to the floors of the home. Henry finds himself lingering over her, lifting the outfit he chose her to wear in this dream-state spent together, knowingly having her without panties beneath this pretty little skirt.

As the skirt is pulled above her waist, leaving her bare, Janet's legs are parted open for his taking... not by his hands or body, but by a stern point as the lights flicker above him. Suddenly she realizes that not only does he have the power to reach into minds, but a physical force without using a muscle at all.

His thumb swipes through the slit of her womanhood, from her bundle of nerves to the absolute opening of her as he bundles her secretions along his thumbprint, suckling it against his tongue as his eyes shut—enjoying the very taste of her.

Blushing red from the violation, she has yet to see the last of him. Like a man starved, Henry loses his chestnut-colored suede hat, diving into the heat of her with lips pouty and a corrupted sense of hunger.

Alarmed by the abrupt tongue kiss below, Janet's eyes widen as her back arches from the wooden floors. "Henry!" She shouts his name—embarrassed by the lewd performance yet simultaneously easing her fingers through the handsome-smelling pomade of his blonde waves. His breath is hot on her warm mound, somehow the warmth of it all shooting icy chills up her spine as his tongue laps at the pleasure she tends to leak. Henry's sharp nose prods at her clit, tongue diving cock-like into her core as he refuses breath for himself. When his nose isn't busy probing her needy bud, it seems to be often suckled into his mouth—kissed on and praised as Janet's legs tremble and knees attempt to cave in on his head... yet his threatening grasp against her plush thighs keeps her open and wide for him. Out of all the things he can create with his mind, whether it be pies or any dessert he could think of, it is Janet he wishes to devour, Janet who he needs to feel dripping down his chin.

"Give into me. All of you." His voice deepens impossibly darker, demanding her to cum right against his face and foggy spectacles.

A whiny mess in front of him, she refuses it, attempting to be unfazed by the rough dimpling grasps of her breasts in his hands each time that he reaches up from his feasting and takes a fistful of the buxom body he has claimed to belong to him. She just can't... She can’t come undone and show gratifying satisfaction to the man who was sick enough to make her hallucinate a dead loved one to get the best of her!

But the circling tip of an extremely precise tongue says otherwise... sturdy, and pink, his wet flesh knocks the breath from her body and nearly blinds her with the simple motion of flicking the peak of nerves that have already gone shot, Janet squeals as pleasure takes over her, convulsing into a moan that becomes her villainous lover's favorite sound.

With lips glossed from her released pleasure, the grinding of his trousers against the floor has Henry close to his very own break, whether an accident or not—he drops his image...revealing a blink in time of the true creature he is out of the dream-state.

Just for a moment, the monster known as Vecna comes to the eye...enough to make Janet gasp in fright even if when she blinks again, the image of the handsome man that swooned her is back above her. However, her fear is just what he craved...knowing what she saw, the terror clamps up her entire body, a tension that he needs to feel—the exact tightness he wishes for along his aching cock.

With the swift sound of an unzip, Henry's earnest rod seeps into her, snug against her tight walls. His hips lay heavily against her and the absolute fullness of her pussy makes Janet delirious. Stuffed full with impatient flesh, Janet's arms wrap around Henry's neck as the rough pumping takes her breath away. Toyed with enough to be the ride of his life, the woman he obsesses over lays beneath him teased, gushing, mound hot and ready as it takes his aching need near professional.

Eyebrows furrowing as each thrust weakens him, he makes plans for this pussy, more than a ring—he is prepared to give her an entire universe, thrilled with devious excitement to spend every day fucking just like this on a throne where he will dictate realms on realms. "Divine." His voice is the tone he uses as Vecna, chilling and demonic. "Divine perfection." In the moment, he could even be back in that very monstrous form—but Janet wouldn't know...not with her eyes tightly shut as she's pummeled into oblivion by nine angry inches.

Her nails dig into Henry's back as her marbles are fucked loose, the pain only grows his vigor stronger, making him grin as a sinister kiss is placed on her cheek. "So good for me. Aren't you baby?"

"M-uhhh, please..." Dazed, she's clueless to her very own begging. However, Henry takes it however he wants, "No need to beg, sweet one." The pleasure makes him stutter as the ache of a drawn-up sack makes him incoherent, "G—God... you'll have this cock every day, won't ever need to ask."

Whether the lewd tune of sloshing through perfect pussy or the harmony of Janet's every moan and sinful yip, Henry pulses and jolts as his rod chases a soon-to-be-spend of his milky pleasure. A tongue kiss and rough pumping is ecstasy for them both, panting against each other's lips as his rhythm quickens brutishly as her arms are now pinned over her head.

Spoiled by the good fuck, Janet becomes ashamed by the neediness of wishing for more. However, knowing his time is running short, his sporadic pumps and lack of sense reminds her of the spill that will soon fill her. Her hands suddenly reach down, finding the sharp pelvic bones of his slim and taught body. She tries to slow the thrusting of his hips, yet it would be utterly impossible to stop the delight that he finds from plunging into her sweet little cunt. Breathless, she attempts to speak sense back into the feral beast above, making a slut out of her as she can hardly form any words. "You're gonna— Mmm'fuck, Henry please.." Aware of the lack of contraception in her system, Janet has never been a fan of the extra-added pounds that the pill gave her... She tries to beat the earth-shattering pleasure from making her a babbling mute, needing to remind him of how fertile she truly is. "You're gonna—"

"Fill you with all that I have, fatten your womb and belly with my seed? Oh, don't I know it."

The rough fuck becomes vengeful, cockhead knocking at her cervix, and assuring a certain shot of his seed to plant in her womb. "All part of the plan, my love. Why let there be only one of me— when something as tantalizing and breathtaking as you will bring me so much more. Enough offspring for an army, enough sons and daughters— fearless and as capable as what we are as a team, hm?"

Keen to his savagery, she refuses to be his breeding mutt— regardless if the sex has made her feel more alive than she ever has felt before, "I won't!" A panicked shout leaves her lips as her ovulating body craves exactly everything that he speaks of.

"No?" ...

She never knew a one-worded question could hold such a threat. Henry's hips thrust once more as he grunts with a veined embellishment popping from his sweaty forehead. Her stubbornness only turns him on further, releasing wave after wave of his thick spend—pent up, and shamefully sticky, it spews out of her swollen mound and the sides of his immense girth... so much that the overflow ruins both of their clothes and floor beneath them.

Janet's eyebrows furrow and her pouty lips open into a dropped jaw, embarrassed by the creeping orgasm that absolutely consumes her. The shame of it all eats away at her, being captivated and aroused the most by his possessive-degradation and strict claim on her.

Henry's long fingers trace the perfect definition of her face. Her mile long wispy eyelashes soaked in tears of pleasure and shame, her soft cheeks peachy and still flushed with exhilaration, and those sweetly-kissable lips—thick and soon to take his cock down her gullet for the rest of the evening, the rest of her little life. "All mine."

Henry grins, a smile clearly threatening yet it continues to cause his lover to soak between her thighs. "Shall we?" He asks. "Again?"

Needy, and turned into a monster of her own... Janet doesn't even recognize herself—the poor girl is thoughtless, only wanting, needing more.

Overly sex-dazed, she bites her lip with a submissive nod of a diabolically sweet 'yes'.

Henry's thumb tracing across perfect dick-sucking lips seep onto the bed of her tongue, Janet's mouth obediently closes against it as Henry's blue eyes watch attentively at her seductive suckling.

Henry breathes out, overly inflamed by the sight of his obedient little lamb. "We are going to do such beautiful things together, Janet.... Such... beautiful things."

For a moment...

The Creature finally had found kindness in a world so short of it...

After autumn, the freezing winter of the North forced him to seek shelter. Although death is never permanent for him, the sting of an icy-breeze is enough to make any man ache.

He found the refuge he sought after in a nearby cottage. Unsure if it were unoccupied or not, he hid in the home's attached hovel. Soon a family made themselves at home as he stalked them throughout the cracks in the wooden walls. Although the woman-folk seemed kind, the men spoke of seeing him once before... They spoke of his image with disgust, saying things like needing to be aware of the 'hideous beast that stalks the forest'. They were the very same men who had shot at the Creature, trying to kill him without even knowing him— making it the second time that man-kind has tried to end him without explanation.

To keep warm, the Creature stayed in the hovel, making friends with simpler beings like rats as he learned the human ways of life while observing the family silently for half of the winter.

An elderly blind man was the family's grandfather. There were days that he would homeschool his granddaughter— subjects like English and the simple etiquette of survival... but, little did the man realize he was also tutoring a monster hidden behind their walls.

At all times the Creature wished to be a part of this family. However, he knew that his horrid appearance would only cause turmoil and chaos. He would frighten the women and enrage the men with his presence, yet still he wished to do some good for them.

Creeping through the night, the Creature would leave gifts for the family that they'd receive come sun up each morning. A fenced-stable for their sheep, unlimited wood for their fireplace, etc. With the family believing that only something mythical could be the reason behind these acts of kindness, they continued to give praise and thanks to whom they called the 'Spirit of the Forest'... Although it wasn't exactly a true thank-you to the Creature himself whom delivered these wonderful gifts, he still took it as so— accepting their gracious charity of clothes and food that they'd leave out in return for the hard work being done.

For the time being, keeping hidden and observing was enough for the simple beast... but deep down, the Creature truly craved only for the love that the family shared with each other.

Nights grew colder into the long winter and as food grew scarce, it did for the wildlings in the forest as well. Wolves found the family's cottage. Butchering their sheep, and even threatening the family's livelihood with their beastly force and slaughter. As the Creature watched the men of the house shoot down the wolves with bullets, and the wolves snatch out the throats of the innocent sheep... He began to truly understand the nature of the world that he was brought into. Man does not hate wolves, and wolves do not hate sheep... However, in this life— you're either the predator, or you are simply the prey.

With winter becoming far too dangerous, the family packed up for travel, preparing to move into town until the harsh climate came to an end. In town they would seek warmth, refuge, food, and work. Safety from the dangers of wolves and frostbite.

Although they made a convincing case, the blind grandfather disapproved of the journey. Stubborn as ever, the elder wished to stay home in the cottage he had grown accustomed to and had loved for all of his life.

Soon left to his loneliness and the dark reality of being without any sight— perhaps a visit from the 'Spirit of the Forest' would do the old man well. And so the Creature did. With the cottage empty, and no one to frighten with his image but the old man with eyes that could no longer see him, the Creature finally made his debut.

He came from the shadows, fearful of the elder's disapproval, but the old man was entirely too wise and kind... Not only was the Creature welcomed in his home, but the old man would become his first friend.

Weeks passed as they depended on each other and their friendship grew stronger. The Creature cared for the old man's health, and in return the old man shared his wisdom and intelligence with him. Soon the beast had learned to read and communicate, making story-time their most favorite hobby to share together deep into each night.

As the Creature's intelligence grew, he had completed the old man's collection of books in only weeks. All types of tales that ranged in the genres of science, philosophy, nonfiction, and religion.

The Creature— standing already eight-feet tall, began to stand even taller with this new found pride. Now that he had more understanding of this world, a friend, and a home he belonged to— life began to feel not even half as bad as he once thought it was.

Although proud of his progress, what pained the beast the most was the absolutely confusing brain-frog that engulfed his memory about his beginnings... Not born from a womb like a babe, the Creature somehow just— appeared.

The wise old man had the young Creature follow his heart... If there was only one word from his beginnings that he could remember— a word that he constantly dreamt of, then that is where he needed to follow. 'Victor',  was this word... And with this word, better yet— a name, came a journey the Creature absolutely needed to seek after.

Taking on the journey from the cottage, the Creature's foggy memory took him miles away towards a tower that had burned to the ground some time ago. Through the ash and rubble, he found proof of his beginnings.

Evidence—half burnt, and forgotten. They revealed that the Creature was only the result of a sick experiment performed by a mad scientist. He was built by flesh of the deceased, brought to life with the charge of electricity... A monster that never should have existed, a disgrace to God and all of mankind.

But as the memories began to flood back to him, he found a positive in all of the negativity— beginning to be able to recall an angel that spoke to him... Perhaps not an angel, but a human of the woman-kind, 'Elizabeth'. The Creature's true first friend other than the old man who also has shown him kindness and warmth... His mind began to put together pieces of a puzzle that was her image... A memory of a woman that his soul began to crave to find, a woman who has stolen the heart that beats from his chest— regardless of the short time he may have spent with her, only a night, not even a full hour. A time spent that he can hardly recall... Only remembering that, well— she was kind, and she wasn't out to kill him like the others.

In the ruins, the Creature then found a letter hidden by soot and snow addressed to his creator— a letter that revealed his full identity... 'Victor Frankenstein'. Finally, the man responsible for his existence. Not only had the Creature found his maker's complete name, but also an address where he could be found.

Anger seemed to fuel him, but the gentle-being never wished to cause Victor Frankenstein any harm, at least not yet... Already created, already a part of this life, all the Creature wanted from his creator was a companion... A monster like himself to live out however long this life of his may be...

Excited to reveal his findings to the old man, the Creature journeyed back home to the cottage...

As he neared the home, he heard the sounds of snarling wolves and noticed the sight of the front door being widened—the Creature already knew what to expect inside...

"Nooo!!" He rushed in. Finding wolves gnawing at his only friend, making the Creature fight them off tooth and nail. Although the animals injured him with their bite, what hurt the most was watching the old blind man begin to slip away in the Creature's arms.

Before being able to mourn his only friend that evening, the elder's family had returned and seen what had unfolded. Immediately blaming the creature, the men did not hesitate to begin firing at him. Once again misunderstood, lied upon, and seen as some grotesque barbarian— the men continued to reload and fire, injuring the Creature with shots to the throat, chest, and head. As his life began to slip from him, and his eight-foot body met the cold hard ground... He wished to never awaken again, hoping for what most men usually fear— a permanent death.

Cursed with never ending life, the Creature awoke with wounds completely healed, body anew.

Again, he was denied the truest form of freedom. Again, he was denied an ending. Unsure of how long he had laid there, the cottage behind him looked as cold and abandoned as it ever had before...

He realized that this part of his life had come to an end— that the old wise-man, his friend, was positively gone... Only God knows how much the Creature would truly miss him— their talks, their laughs, their walks... All memories the Creature will forever cherish, and keep dear to his heart.

Being able to have met such a kind man and know that out here in this huge world, Elizabeth is still somewhere out there— it was enough for the Creature to keep going... It was time for him to begin another journey. Time for him to go back to his maker, the only person who could make this right.

Whether it be his creator's help to find Elizabeth, build a monster-companion like the Creature for a mate to call his own, or finally succeeding in a true death... Any of the scenarios would bring the Creature some sort of peace. But no doubt— Victor Frankenstein is the Creature's last hope for a life with a possibility of worth living.

A journey in which he must begin in this very moment, without waiting even a second longer.

———

As the brutality of winter's climate continues to tear at his patch-work flesh, the Creature must take a break from his long travels, once again seeking out shelter in the hovel of someone else's cottage.

Acquainted once more with dust, rats, and cobwebs, he finds a corner for what he believes will be only one night of hidden rest. However, as the wind picks up in speed and strength, others find this cottage as well and seek out the same kind of refuge in it... Not wolves, no, something much worse— Men.

Through the cracks of the wooden walls, the Creature observes quietly like he once did into the last cottage he hid beside. Instead of seeing a family coming home from a day of chores like once before, his soul is overwhelmed with the feeling of impending doom... What he sees are men— cruel men in uniform. Men that are rogue soldiers with women whom are on chains.

As he watches their drunken laughter and brutish behavior, it doesn't take a scientist to realize exactly what is happening. Not only are they breaking into a cottage that isn't theirs, but these men are runaway soldiers, lawless, and victimizing three women for their own source of amusement.

The women cry with bruised bloody-noses mixing with their fallen tears. Their clothes are torn and the group of five-men touch at their torn garments with clearly lewd intentions. The Creature's rage heightens... So extremely tired of witnessing the evilness of man, he wishes to jump through these walls, to free the women, and to end the worthless lives of each soldier whose duties were to protect instead of harm! But, suddenly, a songbird-like hum of another woman nearing the cottage stops the Creature in his tracks...

He crosses the room, peeking out another crack as he notices the warm colors and clothing of a woman who carries a bucket of fresh water from the nearest lake back to this home. Her attire matches the taste of this cottage, clearly noting that she is this home's very occupant...

Swiftly moving through the hovel's back door, the Creature's hand covers the sing-songy hum of her plush lips. He hushes her, already expecting a scream to come as she stares at him with extended eyes and the usual fear of his appearance. Suddenly his arm is wrapped around her waist, tighter than the leather belt she wears as her bucket of water is spilled onto the ground. The woman is lifted inside of her hovel— mind overflowing with horrid ideas as the monster pulls her into the darkness of her shed. Kicking her legs and scratching at his flesh, the usual worries of a woman being kidnapped drives her insane with fear. Will she be murdered, tortured, raped, or even worse— perhaps eaten alive by something this grotesque!?

To the young woman's surprise, the Creature wants to cause her no harm at all. He pulls her against the wall that separates the house from the hovel, forcing her to watch through its holes and cracks at the horror she almost walked in on...

He tries his best to quiet his beast-like baritone with a hushed whisper— lips pressed against the shell of her ear, causing her to tremble. "Soldiers. Rogue. Reckless with the woman-kind."

Her round brown eyes meet his. Her stare darts back and forth, left and right into each of his irises— staring in confusion at two eyes that do not match. Eyes from two different deceased men, and a face patched together like grandmother's quilting...

"Stay." He demands. Frozen in horror and bafflement, the girl does just that.

Although afraid of the man standing feet above her with a clutched grasp around her waist, what is much more frightening are the actions of the strange men in her sitting room only a thin wall away... The soldiers pluck through her belongings with their bayonets, tossing her nightgowns to the floor and being destructive of all of her possessions.

"A woman." A soldier out of the five inhales her scent from a scarf in her hamper. Another responds with a mouthful of her dried and salted meat— food that was meant to get her through this brutal winter. "Good." He laughs, "an extra twat, easier than sharing only the three here."

The homeowner quietly gasps, realizing that if she were to have walked through the door of her home, she would have only become their fourth victim... She watches the women seated on her bear-hide rug crying and embracing each other by the dwindling fire. Although abused and assaulted sexually, they cling to the eldest of the three— a woman who clearly is the mother as the other two look not even a day older than seventeen and twelve. "We have to help them."

The Creature's solid clutch tightens, stopping the woman's frantic need to help as she grabs for a pitchfork from a wall-hook. "Not yet."

Her voice rising well above a whisper is soon to get them caught...

"Guns." Still hoarse and healing from the bullet that pierced his throat and killed him momentarily, he shows her his scar... If they were to attack now, the soldiers would shoot at him until he quit moving. By time he would recover from their bullets, the soldiers and the three women would be long gone— and including her... A fourth hostage of theirs and taken away from her home without anything the Creature could do... "We must wait them out, however long that may take."

Continuing to watch through the wood, her eyes widen as another soldier tears the shedded hair from her hairbrush... once again sniffing her scent, the soldier notices its coarse and black texture of curls... "Ahhh." He coos through an overly-excited exhale, "a lass of different— flavor at that."

As the soldiers laugh wickedly together, she trembles, now beginning to feel ill. Watching these men await the arrival of her— a woman of a different ethnicity, they make her out to be not even human... only a new variety of woman they'll have to pass around and molest.

"Watch no more." The Creature pities her for the sudden look of pale-ailment across her face. "Sit, get warm." So far from the fire burning inside, he places his tattered coat around her body... Letting the largeness of it drape to the floors as she sits on the hovel's only insulation— a bed of  hay.

"What is your plan?" She sniffs back coming tears as she hears her cottage continuing to be wrecked, now not allowed to watch the massacre of her home anymore being that she was noticeably becoming too upset.

The Creature bends to her height, taking a knee beside her, proving himself to be more of a friend than a foe.

"They cannot stay here forever. Food and kindling will run out soon. It is best to catch them as they journey back into the forest where the trees can keep me hidden... One by one they will meet their fates. I will end them for what they have done. I will free their hostages— and then I will be on my way." With his focus still on finding his maker, this incident is only a bump in the road. But, being a creature of good spirit, the beast is determined to make all things right for these women if he is capable of being of some help. "With patience, I promise you... You will be able to return to what is yours. They will not stay here for long..."

But with that, the young woman knew the Creature was absolutely wrong... Since autumn and always being one to think ahead, she had started early— preparing for the chilly winter that she knew was to come... and now that it is here, her home is filled with firewood and food that could last the trespassers weeks...

With a small burlap-sack and canister tied to her belt, the woman unties her belongings, revealing nuts, berries, and a few ounces of water from her journey out through the forest today... Little did she realize it would be all she has to survive on for however long the men will stay in her home. She reaches for the creature's hand— her mitt on his being not even a fragment of his large palm and long fingers. Inside his grasp she places three almonds and two raisined-grapes from her harvesting. She rations out enough for their sustenance tonight— kindly sharing with the gentle beast that she only met moments ago. "Eat. Keep your strengths up— you're going to need it."

Her kindness warms his heart, opening his palm wider to observe the few treats, he becomes even more curious of the beautiful bronze-minx before him... "What is your name?"

"Lephia." She swallows a cashew roughly.

"Lephia..." He echoes her name, beginning to quote a Greek narrative he once read with his only friend— the blind old man who taught him how to read. The Creature recognizes this name from one of the many books that he has read, finding immediate similarities in the girl and her name's meaning... "Lephia, meaning a kind embrace, or beloved wisdom in Greek... Hebrew for— heart."

Softly, the tawny-painted angel grins, widening the Creature's eyes from the sight of her absolute splendor.

"And you? What is your name?"

"Creature." He doesn't hesitate to respond with the only term he has ever been referred to as.

...

Lephia frowns, unhappy with such a title for someone as kind as himself. "What are you? If I may ask... Are you of— man?"

He nods, "yes. Many.

———

Hours pass, even nights, and then came days... As a week approaches the exhaustion and hunger from running out of rations and sleeping on hay makes both Lephia and the Creature disoriented with lethargy.

Then again, their survival isn't nearly the hardest part... Listening in on the torture of helpless women go on for hours in her home has broken the young woman into a nonbeliever of anything in life being good.

Trying his best to take her mind off of the sounds of besiege, the Creature introduces Lephia to friends she never realized lived in her hovel... the rats.

Rodents that would once make her sick to know live in her storage-shed connected to her cottage, soon become loved far more than men in her eyes. Quiet, innocent, sweet... The complete opposite of evil men, never needing to worry about the tiny furry beings pillaging, raping, or killing. 

Finally getting along with her new eight-foot friend and their collection of rats, Lephia slowly begins to remember that maybe— just maybe, in some of these deep-dark corners of Earth, there might just be some sort of harmony left after all.

This very evening becomes the roughest night of all, past day seven now, the water in Lephia's canister has emptied and so has her rations...

A few days ago, around day three, the Creature refused the kindness of taking any more of her food. With him not being able to die— he'd rather live through empty-stomach pains than to watch someone as precious as Lephia die of starvation in her own hovel.

However, tonight as she grows weaker, the Creature begins to worry... Recently the soldiers inside the cottage have run out of food and wood for the fire. They speak about finally leaving, planning to welcome themselves into someone else's home again. Any cottage will do for them as they hideout from their superiors and generals of the militia that they have run from. But today, they still continue to move slow and lazy. They have yet to leave— still continuing to benefit off of whatever else they can scrape from Lephia's poor home.

The whistling wind nearly howls with tonight's frost... The soldiers chat about their plans to leave as the fire continues to dwindle away, but they have no idea how truly freezing it is for the hidden occupants in the hovel beside them... As Lephia tries to find sleep this evening, she trembles with clacking teeth as she lays balled up in a corner of the shed's hay.

Into his strong arms, the beast lifts her. Tonight, they will share the same space— share in each other's warmth for survival.

Although his embrace gives the girl comfort, it is truly the divine thickness of Lephia's well-rounded body that provides them with the mass body heat. Like a human furnace or a perfectly stuffed pillow— the Creature wouldn't mind continuing to hold onto her cozy ampleness forever.

He covers over their cuddling with a blanket. The thick cloth has gone unused for years now, full of dirt and holes chewed by rodents. But even so, it is enough to get them through this chilly night as they have completely run out of all options.

Lifting her hand to the face that watches down upon her, Lephia's fingertips trace the Creature's every scar... Still unsure of what he is exactly, or how he has come to be, she is able to find beauty in his every detail... A sort of perfection even.

Not only does she trust this beast, but after countless days spent with him— she has grown to adore him.

With eyes falling heavy, the girl nuzzles further against his body. Tightening her knees towards her chest as she is cradled gently to sleep in his lap and strong arms. Her mane of earthly-scented coils teases the Creature's lips as they press against the silk of her hairline and peck softly, once, then twice— kissing gently at her forehead.

Lephia's long eyelashes sweep against the top of her cheeks as her closed eyes soon usher her slumber. The sight of her is glorious, making him forget the stinging chill of tonight's climate, the harrowing events happening inside the cottage, and even his reason for why he had wished to find Victor Frankenstein in the first place... Without the ability to release his gaze from her, the beast is content with watching Lephia the entire night— resting with opened eyes on her image for hours on end, it brings him the most immense comfort and joy as the morning sun slowly begins to rise.

———

Although the comfort of each other's bodies is enough to get them through the coldest night, Lephia awakens a hue of sickly-gray, coughing, and with limbs all too rigid. With prickling in her fingers and toes, she is sure that the temperature is causing her extremities to die... Expecting gangrenous if they stay in this hovel another day longer.

Moaning from the pain of pins and needles, the Creature quickly covers her mouth from drawing too much noise. His other holds her tighter— rubbing her clothed arms and thighs roughly as he tries to wake and warm the blood in her petite frame. "Mustn't make noise, Lephia. Listen—"

Becoming a bit stronger from her fatigue, she notices morning light seeping through the cracks of the wooden-hovel. Past daybreak now, finally— there are sounds of the soldiers leaving her home.

Her iced over lashes are hard to open this morning... A mistake she hadn't realized that crying herself to sleep would cause... But, as she peels them open, her sight is now set on the gentle gaze of her dearest friend— A friend who warmed her in his arms all of last night. Although genuine and adoring, his eyes are just as tired. They look as if he had spent the whole evening sleepless and looking at her, or had he?

"Do you hear that? Is it them?" Lephia's voice— a weak and quiet whisper is music to the Creature's ears. Glad to hear that this deathly-cold hadn't taken away his favorite sound. He nods, "No more pain, no more suffering." Lifting her from his lap, the Creature holds Lephia's hand as she takes first morning steps with her aching bones this sunrise like a newborn doe.

Together they walk weakly towards the noise they are hearing, watching the men hurry their victims into a horse-drawn carriage that they came in a week ago. "Let's get a move on it before the ice-storm worsens." A soldier, with redheaded curls stands big and burly. He seems to be the chosen leader of this group of vandals— lighting tobacco in a wooden pipe this morning as he makes all of the commands. "Through the window last eve, I thought I saw candlelight coming from another cabin about three-miles yonder."

Another soldier, seeming to be the leader's lackey, agrees swiftly. The man is younger, brunette, and he's a thin petite... More feminine than the rest of the five and easily the one who would have been forced to do most of the men's comforting if they hadn't come across their female victims... "Good! More women, more wine, more fire. Let's move already!"

"Wait..." Flakes from the storm reddens a third soldier's frost-bitten skin, causing him to squint. Before they are able to fully gear up and leave, his curiosity of the cottage's hovel they never once bothered to enter begins to peak his interest...

As if the men were staring past the wooden doors and right through the thin shed, Lephia feels as if she is being stared at directly as the men creep closer to where they have been hiding inside for over a week now. Near a panic, she knows that she is too weak to put up a fight... And although big and unsure if human— she's afraid that the Creature is just as tired...

He covers a gasp soon to come from her mouth... With several days, hundreds of hours, and countless minutes of being together— the Creature knows her well enough to expect Lephia's every move... Familiar with her now as if she were a part of him. "Don't." He pleads quietly, "not a word—let me handle it."

Snow and ice crackle beneath the soldier's feet... So close to the hovel now that they can even hear the man's breathing... "Surely there could be something of use in here, perhaps more wood, or tools to help us get through the snow." The soldier's hand grabs at the latch of the door... Lephiaimmediately covers her eyes, too afraid to be soon revealed.

The Creature quickly bends towards the door. Kneeling in the dirt, he ushers a line of their friendly rodents across his shoulder-blades and down his long arms like a diagonal slide from the roof to his fingertips. He directs them to scurry through a crack in the door— immediately frightening the nosey soldier as fifteen of them run past the man's booted-feet.

"CHRIST!" The soldier shouts, nearly slipping on black-ice as he attempts to stomp on mice that are far too quick for him.

He instantly draws back from the door in an absolutely startled frenzy, letting Lephia and the Creature finally breathe again. As his troop of men laugh and make fun of the man's squealing over the sight of critters, they force him to let go of the idea of bombarding the hovel. "Unless you have a need for rodents, their copious amounts of rat-shit, or a hankering for catching tetanus— I advise you to carry on, soldier. There's never anything in an old hovel anyways— usually just full of litter and shite that not even the cottage's keeper wanted!"

"YAH!" Pulling on the reins of the horses, one of the most impatient of the five men start up the carriage as the third soldier finally catches up before being left behind...

At last... Lephia and the Creature are safe. Her home is empty now that the soldiers and their hostages leave from their line of sight into the smog of the snowstorm, and although her cottage has been ravaged, it is still hers.

Hers, and free from the evil that once tormented it.

The Creature is the first to take foot out of the hovel...

Into the freezing fall of ice, the eight-footed beast lifts his head to the sky, feeling freshly fallen snow on his flesh for the very first time in his very short lifetime.

Tired and starved, the young woman conjures enough strength to smile with a charming giggle. "You've never seen it? The snow? Never have watched it fall or feel its bite on your skin?"

"Snow." The Creature repeats it, fascinated by all things new to him. "Not like this." Familiar with only a fallen few specks— seeing a sky of white is more than something memorable. An event worth noting being that it is their day of freedom, another day spent with the sweet and kind Lephia.

Her curls flow madly through the chilly-wind, afro holding onto snowflakes like a dreamcatcher catches onto dreams.

A perfectly sculpted by God, fallen snow-crystal lands on the tip of her bulbous nose— a nose red and inflamed from the choppy climate around them. The creature lifts a lengthy digit of his, pressing his fingertip to the peak of her snout. "Exquisite."

...

A warm hue of plum enriches her cheeks. A gorgeous face without nary a blemish— either reddening in color from the harsh winds, or actually becoming enamored by the Creature's undeniable tenderness.

His back is suddenly turned on Lephia... Reminded of his plan, he is free to finish what needs to be done before having to continue his journey to find his maker. The creature's feet crunch across fresh snow and ice as he follows the route of the soldiers and their horse-drawn carriage. "They have not gotten far in this storm... if I stay behind the trees and attack from behind— the blinding snow will keep me hidden."

"You're leaving?" Now shaken and released from the blush-worthy trance she was put into, Lephia becomes aware of just how lonely she truly is soon to become. "In—In this snow!? You won't survive it!"

"I cannot die, Lephia. Go inside, find warmth, your home is again safe. Now I must make things right."

Slipping in the snow as she runs in front of his long-legged stride, she stops the Creature in his tracks as she begins to shove at his large moving body. "Then I'll join you! I can be of help!"

Assuming that a friendship has blossomed between him and Lephia, the Creature wouldn't dare let her spend another minute out in this cold, or better yet— be a witness to the heinous attack soon to happen on the men... How he will crush their bones into dust, tear them limb from limb, stain the snowy forest-floor around them with gallons of their crimson blood— he cannot and will not scar her with that image... "I won't discuss this any further, please, go inside. I am to free their hostages— end their evil. It isn't for your innocent eyes to see."

"Do not tell me what I am, or am not to see!" Her hands find his abdomen again, trying to push the Creature yet having no luck in moving the wall-like beast even an inch in his position. "They deserve what is to come! What you do to them, cannot be any worse than what they've done to those women!"

"Lephia, please!" Taken by the pits of her arms, the Creature lifts the girl from out of his way like a stubborn child. Placing her back onto her feet to the left of him, and out of the direction of his path.

...

"Fine!" Giving up on the fight that has made her even more exhausted— she pleads, now realizing that there is no stopping him, her heart begins to break...

With a gentler approach, her hand becomes wrapped around his— a heartwarming hold that becomes the only thing that can stop the beast from marching on as he can't help but to watch closely at her sweet embrace. "And then—" Lephia gulps, "then where will you go?" A hidden rasp breaks through her tone as she fights back gloom and tears, utter sadness from already missing her new friend.

"Victor." His response is of an unfamiliar name. But, his mind is focused once again on the mission that he set out for to begin with... "I have to find Victor."

"Okay, sure! Right!" She agrees anyway, playing off the simple fact that she hasn't the slightest clue of who this 'Victor' individual is. "But, can't Victor wait? Perhaps, maybe until— spring?"

"I just—" Lephia pauses, trying to sound less needy and desperate for company. "I owe you... Let me repay you for your servitude and protection. Repay you with— kindness?

"Kindness." The Creature repeats it... Although familiar with the word, it is not often shown to him...

"Yes!" She insists. "Clothes, food, comfort— I uhm, mean warmth!" She blushes with a sweetly embarrassed chuckle, "not from me or anything, but— what I mean by warmth is... shelter, a home. . . . Please?"

He recognizes a human emotion in Lephia that he feels constantly— loneliness. Not only is she lonely here, isolated, and deep into England's countryside... But now with all that has happened, she is afraid. And the Creature is as well... What if the group of rogue soldiers aren't the only ones out here? What if something happens to her after the Creature's departure? He just can't risk it.

"Til spring?" The Creature asks, reassembling his mental agenda to find a way to fit Lephia in it... Perhaps even having her come with him into the city when it comes spring, anyway he can continue to protect her and keep his eye on her.

"Spring." She nods. "My home is yours."

"Home?" Another of his echoes... Yet he repeats it this time from a memory he has of the old blind man who once said the same thing... The last friend of his that he left only momentarily— and lost from that very mistake.

"Yes."

The Creature makes sure, "My home, is also yours?"

"Why, yes." Lephia nods.

"And you— you are mine?" A bit ahead of himself, he isn't exactly sure why this question seemed to blurt out... But what he does know is that it felt right. It felt right to know, and important to ask.

His optimism and genuine innocence continues to make the girl weak with butterflies and blushing adoration. "Perhaps we should start somewhere simpler, how about with— supper?"

Food, a warm meal, it sounds absolutely divine... The Creature agrees, "supper."

Back to following the track of carriage wheels, Lephia follows right along. The wind-chill hasn't changed up a bit, continuing to make her tremble and ache. The Creature's feet stop at once, refusing to move any further and get too far from the cottage... Stubbornly, he insists on hesitating to move another inch— even as Lephia attempts to yank on his arm.

"I know what you're going to say..." She denies the simple fact that she's absolutely freezing, yet her teeth clack like an instrument after each word. "I'm fine."

He ignores her, taking a young tree from the forest-line in the strength of his callused palms, the Creature snaps the tree from its bottom roots... His fingers wrap around the bark, gripping the girth of the tree tightly as he breaks it into bits.

Lephia's eyes widen at the sight— now wondering if this is how he can handle a tree, how will he handle the fragile bodies of the rogue soldiers?

The Creature grunts as he snaps each limb into foot long bits, a sound that tightens Lephia's knees as the strong gentleman ignores every cut and splinter the lumber makes on him...

Now satisfied with the amount he has chopped for her, Lephia gasps as the heavy weight of the wood is suddenly placed in her arms. With enough kindling to burn until he gets back, the Creature turns the girl by her shoulders— forcing her to march back to the cottage. "Start the fire, I'll come back to you."

"You will?" Tasked by the heavy lifting of wood, Lephia's voice is lightly strained.

He nods. "Promise me then." She refuses to leave— even if the pieces of tree weigh her down to the ground. Needing— desperate for his certainty.

...

The Creature wears a coat full of holes where his bare gray skin continues to poke through, yet being needed and hearing Lephia's soft breath reaching out to him for the reassurance of him coming back— it warms him in a way that a fire never could. "You have my word."

———

With what supposed to have been a rest day by the fire, the young woman couldn't bare the wreckage of her home and the gut-wrenching silence of just her and her thoughts—wondering if her newest companion is doing alright out there in the snowstorm, surrounded by horrible men with guns and bayonets...

Cleaning is what eases her mind— even if only for a few hours.

She sweeps, dusts, washes, and scrubs away blood and other bodily excrements with tears welling in her eyes. Disgusted by the savages and feeling a brokenhearted-guilt for the women who were tortured here, she regrets the fact that she never once had a moment to speak with them or help them during such a cruel week...

Mortified by it all, her day doesn't let up just there... Back and forth from the lake with multiple buckets of water, Lephia boils many of them for warm baths and in preparation for a stew come evening. Although the Creature is strong— in her own way, so is Lephia. A young woman living off-grid and all on her own, willing to do whatever possible to make her house feel like a home once again.

She travels through the storm prepared in extra layers now that she has been rekindled with her own belongings, however, they continue to soak with water from the lake as she takes a pick-axe to the ice— conjuring up pails of fresh water beneath it, and slipping and sliding on a body of water frozen-over as she searches for the most shallow areas hoping not to fall in.

After much more than what one would call a tasking day, Lephia simmers down come nightfall. Waiting with a candle lit by her window for the Creature to return home, she prays that he will in fact keep his promise and see her again...

To her surprise, as night begins to darken and her heavy eyelids continue to try and fail her— she spots him. Instant relief floods across her. Although the Creature's stride is slow with a look of displeasure beneath the hood of his coat— all that matters is that he is home, he is safe, and proven to be trustworthy enough to keep his promise... but deep down, she never once doubted him.

As the beaten figure of a man enters the cottage, a heaping arm load of more firewood enters in with him. After an unimaginable fight to save a family of women, his mind somehow always remains on the comfort of Lephia and her home.

She takes the timber from his arms, a few pieces at a time as she places them near the fireplace in a log-holder. "Glad to see that you are back..." She begins, having to take another glance at his wounded skin and the sight of bloodied-snow on him, "I thought you might come home looking like this..." Her hand gently brushes snow from his shoulders. Although only a distant memory now, the Creature can still hear the sound of men gurgling on their own blood and the snap of their bones. Far from proud of his actions— he must remind himself that although lives were lost, three women made it back safely to their home, and he was the one to make sure of it.

...

"What you did needed to be done." Lephia gulps, trying her hardest to lighten the dampened mood that has overcome him. "They were on the way to terrorize more of the innocent. You did what was right— what was necessary..." He sighs, wishing that the memory of tonight would fade away like how challenging it was to remember his beginnings before he went back to the tower in which he was made.

Lifting from her bare toes, Lephia takes down his hood— picking a few pine needles from his hair, tangled from either the storm's wind or his tussle of a battle against five men. "Come along then." She smiles softly, "the boiling water for your bath has just cooled down enough for you to get in... I think you've earned the rest, aye?"

Although quiet, he agrees well-enough as he is taken by the hand and soon given privacy while being left to a cozy candle-lit privy with a steaming bath awaiting him in a cast-iron tub.

The warm bath water against him is comforting, although it can be hard to feel when each patch of his skin once belonged to many men of different nervous systems... Despite the fact, the Creature seems to still enjoy soaking his tired bones further into the serene bath. It's nice, it's relaxing, and as he lives each day in this body, it is beginning to feel more like his own... It's as if he is finally becoming at home in this man-made figure of his, although somewhere— deep down he can feel that there is still a missing piece.

With a bath that has worn him thin, the home's crackling sound of a burning fireplace is enough to make the large beast wish to curl up in a corner like a kitten—  or better yet, drop just where he stands, pass out, and find the imminent sleep his body asks for. Although the thought of this is wooing, an aroma coming from a simmer-pot above the stove draws the Creature's full attention.

"Ah, there you are! I hope you're feeling better. If not— this should do the trick." Pouring splattering chunks of stewed nourishment into a wooden bowl, Lephia places a bowl of steaming hotchpotch in front of him and a loaf of bread— half broken and shared with her as she takes a seat beside him. "Come! Sit!"

The Creature sits in a wooden chair— long limbs instantly beginning to spill over the seat as his bent knees knock into a table that is far too low for him. Yet so very focused on the presence of food in front of him, the incident doesn't bother him once. He leans his face over the bowl of stew, inhaling heavenly steam within a fog of vapor. Flattered, Lephia giggles sweetly. "They may have gotten their bellies fat on my brandy and salted meat, but it takes a true homemaker to use ingredients to bake, cook, and make a meal that warms the belly as well as the soul..."

With a single slurp from a wooden spoon, the meal does just that— instantly nurturing the Creature's entire being with just one taste of it. Dropping the spoon, he takes hold of the wide bowl on each side, lifting it to his lips as he begins to gulp down every drop. Shocked, yet prideful of her cooking, Lephia notices that with the size of her company— perhaps she should have given him a bigger portion.

The Creature hiccups, instantly excusing himself as an exploding belch nearly knocks frames from off of the walls.

"I'll take that as compliments to the chef." She laughs... suddenly becoming filled with over-curious gloom. "I was wondering..." Lephia begins, swallowing her bite roughly as if her words have become restrained. "How are the— the women?"

. . .

Reminded of the day that he has had all over again, the Creature's tone seems to fade into darkness.

"Alive."

How else can one explain the well-being of women so very mistreated? He continues, "alive and home."

Knowing that at this very moment in time, the women being alive and at home is about all that they can ask for— the dinner table becomes silent enough to hear a pin drop... Lephia's weak stomach can't bear to take another bite as she pushes her bowl away... No longer hungry.

. . .

"Can I do anything else for you tonight?" Lephia's flowery whisper brings a chill up the Creature's spine. A voice so sweet, innocent, and filled with tears— he wishes to only hold her and bring her the comfort that she seeks."Uhm, another bowl? Perhaps more bread?" She continues.

If it isn't wrapping himself around her soft figure, he is uninterested in anything else... The Creature's eyes journey through the cottage, landing on the sight of Lephia's shelf of books...

"Oh!" Joy finds its way back to her, even if only a little. "Is it reading material you require? I do have some novellas.... Perhaps I'll take a trip into town and pick up something that may interest you?" She grins playfully while taking their dishes one by one from the table. "I'm sure you wouldn't care very much for my century old romances and tragedies."

"Romances." He repeats— foreign to this particular genre.

"Ah, yes." She nods. "Tales of love."

"Love." Another echo— The one word he was born already knowing— already craving. A feeling in which he has yearned for since the moment Victor Frankenstein created him.

"Mary Shelley, Emily Brontë, George Eliot..." Lephia names a few of her favorite authors. "Careful, they'll break your heart."

A heart long broken... Being that the Creature hasn't had the amusement of a good story in such a long time, any of them will do tonight. "Show me to them at once, please. They will do just fine."

"Sure, if you insist." With a curious lift to her brow, Lephia watches as her large companion fills his arms with her collection of books. The Creature immediately finds comfort nearest to the fire, pretzeling his legs as his heavy body drops to the floor kicking up slight dust.

With a stack of books towering near him, his long elegant fingers fold back the first page of the topmost novel— already focused and totally lost in its words.

Holding her singular burning candle, Lephia smiles— wishing her friend a 'good night' as she excuses herself off to bed. After moments of her very own unwinding and grooming, she expects sleep to come easily after the horrors of what happened in the past week... But, despite her exhaustion, it seems that every sweep of wind or crack of wood in her doddering cottage continues to keep her wide awake— fearful of rogue soldiers that she knows are deceased, yet she still can't help but to expect them to burst into her home at any given moment.

A battle with her unnerved mind tonight... Hours of the dark evening begin to pass at the speed of light, and in between each of her tosses and turns, Lephia finally lets go of her pride— flipping her covers off and entering back into the sitting room as she seeks the comfort of the Creature. "I cannot rest."

Tuned into the sudden sound of a sweetly soft voice still lying awake in this late hour, the Creature agrees with her... "Neither can I. This story is just all too riveting—" As the Creature's eyes leave the already hundredth-something page, his words are cut short by the utter sight of Lephia... A glimpse of an actual angel. Although the light of the fire is dim, it is enough to highlight the details of her honeyed-skin, swarthy, and as warm as the definition of her every feminine curve beneath her sheer white gown— a chemise transparent enough that her bare body nears visibility beneath it.

"Jane Austen..." Taking a vague breath in, she makes note of the book he chose from her collection. "Pride and Prejudice, I enjoy reading that one a lot— one of my favorites actually." . . .

Silent. Stupefied and knocked senseless by her image, the Creature struggles to respond— better yet, he struggles to breathe correctly.

Lightly stirring in her stance, he continues to gaze. Although impossible to ignore the glorious sight of Lephia— he reads her exhaustion... The discomfort in her own skin, her own home, it's all so prevalent in her appearance. With a glance at her mouthwatering buxom breasts, the Creature detects goosebumps across her flesh and hardened peaks centering her large brown areolas... Immediately, she becomes shy from his watching as she crosses her arms over her ample bosom. "You're cold." Voice soft and full of compassion, the Creature worries for her wellbeing.

"Yes, oddly..." Lephia agrees with a sigh. "As much heat the home has, thanks to the amount of wood you brought in, burning in the fire... I cannot find warmth or any easement. Not even with multiple furs spread across the bed... It's just— strange." Still unsure of the reason behind her insomnia, she realizes that it could be the result of missing the comfort of another body beside her... A comfort that the Creature granted her as they slept in silence, sharing body heat, and protecting each other for a full week.

"A type of warmth that no added quilt can provide..." Impossible to deny, the Creature as well admits to the apparent loneliness.

"Exactly." Lephia sighs in the relief of being understood. "Would you... Would you lay with me?"

She'd never have to ask him twice. The Creature stands swiftly, nearly hitting his head on the banister above him.

"Oh!" She giggles sweetly, quieting her playful mockery with the press of her fingertips against her lips. He then takes these very fingertips— holding her hand lightly as Lephia watches wide-eyed as her towering companion leads her back into her bedroom...

Her feet stop the travel. "Better yet—" she pauses, "perhaps, where you were lying?"

The Creature takes a glance back at where he was seated... A ground far too solid, and the area brightened by the flicker of the fire's flame... "Are you sure?"

More than sure, Lephia already begins to drag a fur from her bed and a few pillows alongside it. Right beneath the light of the fire— she settles in. Giving the beast the image of true warmth and comfortability; conjuring his own eyelids to become heavy with the excessive need for sleep. "Are you coming?"

The only thing she is missing to finally find sleep tonight is the consolation and protection of her most trusted companion. And by the sound of her needy tone— the Creature waits no longer... Finding himself instantly cuddled up behind her, he wraps an arm around her waist and draws her in closer as Lephia's body fits perfectly against his— feeling his warmth and heartbeat against her back as she becomes the comforted-little, to his big-spoon.

Although nearing sleep, consistent worry makes Lephia frown... Is this her life now? Not being able to rest on her own? Repulsed by her own bed regardless of how many times she may cleanse it? The thought of winter ending and her being back on her own again makes her stomach ache tonight... Will her home ever feel like a home again?

"I hate how much of a nuisance I am being..." As a hidden tear trails across the definition of her nose, her voice has become stuffy— sounding of gloom. "Needing to be held through the night like a child, I mean it's despicable—"

The Creature interrupts with a yawn of utter tranquility, a breath that soon puts him right to sleep— inhaling his favorite scent of Lephia's full curls. "You haven't the slightest idea of the amount of comfort you bring me... Goodnight."

...An interruption that silences her every worry.

The crackling fire is the most perfect sound to coax them right into sleep. Flipping around once more, Lephia decides to face him. She interlocks her legs with his, mushing her face against his chest and her ear against the rhythm of his heartbeat— body placed seamlessly against his as they become one... A needle fitting a groove.

———

Sharing berries and aged-cheese with his rodent friends for breakfast this morning, the Creature enjoys more literature of romance. He recites words that make his heart swell and ache... Scripture is nearly prayer-like, as he desires to be so encapsulated by love as the characters are in each of these books.

In the ceiling, hanging from a banister, as he reads above Lephia who rustles around in the kitchen, he quotes a segment from 'Pride and Prejudice' that sticks with him this very sunrise. "You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love...I love...I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on."

"There you are!" Lephia looks up—interrupting his soliloquy, "I've been calling out to you for a while now. Please, come down from there!"

"Me?" So focused on his novel, the Creature never once thought that her mumbling was for him, only chattering with oneself as some may do. "Lephia, how am I to know who you're talking to?"

She giggles, shaken a bit with the rest of the house as all two hundred-fifty pounds of the man comes down from the roof. "Well it's just you and I here, now isn't it?"

"Yes but you—" The Creature pauses with a chastened sigh... "—But you don't call me by my name."

"Creature? Monster?" She frowns, "is that what you mean?"

He nods. "Yes."

"And why would I, when you are neither?" Lephia's eyebrows furrow distressed even more so. "Possibly— Adam?"

"Adam?" Confused, he repeats.

"The first man created by God, and I for one have never met someone like you before. Perhaps you are another original from him." Rejuvenated from a well needed rest, Lephia's smile glows even brighter today. "So— Adam. Fitting, yes?"

Having yet to be completely honest with Lephia about his beginnings, he isn't sure if he's worthy of the name 'Adam', being that although the first of his kind, his creator, Victor Frankenstein— abandoned him. The thought alone is distressing, however, it isn't enough to take from his joy. Hearing Lephia refuse to call him anything that is equivalent to the word 'beast'— it warms his heart like there is no tomorrow. If nameless is how she calls for him, then nameless he shall stay.

The Creature soon takes notice of the mittens covering Lephia's fingers, multiple layers of clothing, and a basket of packed goods by her hip. "Take me to them." An unwavering need— determined to help the women who were tortured in her very home even if it meant to walk in three-feet of snow to get to them.

Knowing how much the ordeal already has affected her, the Creature wishes for Lephia to possibly reconsider... "Are you sure?"

She gulps, although not sure at all, she only wishes to meet them anyways. Without being able to change her mind, Lephia tightens her belt and scarf for the cold and long journey out of the cottage. "I don't have much... But, they deserve a kind hand— and that I can easily give and will always have."

He nods, "I am your most loyal servant." The Creature takes the basket from her delicate hand, wrapping her arm around his as he leads the way as a gentleman.

Out of the home and before being able to near the trees, rustling in Lephia's hovel makes her tense up around the Creature's arm. "How could I have forgotten?" He apologizes. "New friends... They needed us, I hoped that you— well, that you wouldn't mind."

As the doors of the hovel swing open, Lephia lays eyes on two handsome stallions.

Horses-- healthy and young. The same horses that carried the wagon that the rogue soldiers rode in on. As Lephia takes a look at the hay that once covered and insulated the floor of the hovel, she begins to chuckle at the sight of it being stolen by their starved temptations... Suddenly, she realizes she'll be doing much more feeding than just for herself, the Creature, and their little rat-companions. "There, there." The angel of a woman pets their long snouts, already gaining the animals' trust. "There must be more hay somewhere. You mustn't worry, you'll be taken much better care of than you were with those rotten soldiers, aye?" With the horses' help, suddenly their journey today will be far less difficult in the carriage. "You just do your jobs, and surely I will do mine."

———

Changing positions in the middle of the journey is only for the best... Although the Creature wishes to lead, and never let Lephia lift a finger— nearly flipping the carriage's wheels is enough indication that in this instance, Lephia must take charge.

In her earlier years, the young woman was trained by her father on horse-handling. Now needing to use those skills— she passes along the lessons to her newest friend, showing the Creature how to conduct the horses and pull on the reins. "How in the world did you get them back home without flipping this over, dear?"

"Well—" The Creature shrugs, now forced to sit on the passenger side before he kills them both. "I might have— pulled the carriage alongside them."

Bursting into a fit of amusement, Lephia would have paid a fine coin to see the Creature being a third horse pulling a carriage alongside the stallions. "My goodness!" She laughs, trying her damndest to catch her breath. "That is absurd! But no worries, with my help— come spring, you'll be ready to ride all on your own!"

More laughter warms their hearts through the chill of the winter's wind— enough hardy enjoyment to warm them as they converse during their day-trip into the forest.

After a few miles of traveling through a usually quiet forest, Lephia notices Law Enforcement ahead... Quickly tearing down the British flag from the carriage, she hides any other evidence that the transportation isn't of her belongings... Also worried that the sight of these fine well-kept horses aren't another sign that they belong to the militia...

"Get down! Quickly." Wanting no trouble with the officer she approaches, she understands that the sight of her companion could cause a riot all on its own.

"Woah now, woah there." Clicking at the horses, Lephia pulls on the reins, easing them to a stop as an officer places his hand up and signals his presence. "Aye Miss, good day!" The sergeant speaks, "careful 'round these parts, yeah? An absolute savage tore through five brave soldiers yesterday. Their remains were only found just this morn' near the wood-line here. No animal has been caught, but foot prints in the snow seem to be human... Please, return to your husband. No need to be scurrying around here without the man of your house to protect ya'. Take a visit to town in a few days, yeah? Check the columns, perhaps by then we'll have already caught the bruteand it will be front paper news. Go on now."

Wishing to roll her eyes, Lephia would hate to start an issue with him being that the sergeant is already far too idiotic to realize the details of the stolen carriage. However, his misogynistic behavior and insults to her friend are enough to peel her lips freely open anyway.

"Soldiers you say?" She begins in sarcastic confusion. "How strange... And in this part of the North? Perhaps they were rogue and up to no good. Then, maybe whom you call a savage and or brute— did us all a great big favor, now dinnit?" Watching the officer begin to frown, Lephia excuses herself before any trouble can begin. "Good day. YAH!" On her command, the horses send them back on their merry way.

At the foot of the carriage and covered by a cloak, the Creature relaxes his fist... A fist tightened around the handle of a hammer— awaiting to bludgeon the officer if needed be. Not because of the man's insults about him— for that, the Creature had nary a care about. The hammer only in hand and prepared for the continuance of his disrespect towards Lephia... At this point, her protection comes second-nature to the Creature... An adoration running so deeply for her, that even bad manners towards her puts a bad taste in his mouth.

As Lephia continues to lead the way down the path, she can feel his peaking from beneath the blanket. "Come up." She demands, voice still tight with aggravation from the officer's interference. "Something important to remember in life is that you must always let unkind words enter your ear and exit out the other... You know very well who you are, dear... A hero, far from a savage or brute."

Having been protected and taken up by Lephia swells the Creature's head, his heart, and incidentally even his loins. If his fondness grows any larger for the young woman, he's afraid he'll begin to burst at the seams.

A grin graces his lips— again reciting all things new to him.

"Hero."

———

Entering a cottage full of women with broken hearts may be colder than any ice-storm to ever exist, but watching joy fill their eyes as they welcome the Creature inside with a tight embrace is cozier than any perfectly lit fire.

"How do you do?" The oldest of the women, presumed correctly to be the mother of the other two, welcomes her hero and Lephia inside. "Please come in, a friend of our knight in shining armor is surely a friend of ours."

The woman continues, she gulps— hoping that Lephia isn't frightened by the sight of her healing bruises and busted lip. "I am Edith. I live here with my daughters Hannah, Margery, and my husband Douglas—" Edith pauses... "—well nevermind that." With the woman noticeably skipping breath like an nearing hiccup or breaking into a cry, Lephia looks towards the Creature in confusion... He drops his head, silently revealing something that hadn't been told.

Edith indeed had a husband, as her daughters surely had a father... And with his name still so closely on the tip of her tongue— if he is no longer here with them, it only could have happened recently...

The woman changes the conversation, quickly wiping a tear from her eye, "and uh— your name dear?"

"Lephia..." The young woman gulps, "I've brought you all some goods that I thought might could be useful during this difficult time— err, storm."Lephia tries not to remind them... making the reason behind her kindness out to be the brutal storm instead of their week long torture.

The woman smiles anyway, accepting the gift basket from Lephia's hand. "Right, thank you love. Very kind of you."

"Miss, if I may—" Lephia nearly bursts with the need of being helpful. "I'd like to be of great help to you today."

...

"Great help?" Edith pauses in confusion...

Her eyes are tired. With only one night of rest since the incident, Lephia knows that if herself and the Creature could hardly rest last night— this woman probably hasn't slept at all. The strong minded mother refuses the help. "Nonsense, you've done enough—" However, her immense exhaustion says otherwise. "But, when you say help... Help in what way exactly?"

Lephia smiles warmly, instantly unrolling an apron from her belongings and wrapping it tightly around her cinched waist. "Madam, in any and every way possible."

Having to stand back, the house of tired women and the overbearing Creature watch the energy and focus of Lephia unhinged with the idea of getting their home spick and span.

Skilled as a true homemaker, the young woman tidies up the cottage, prepares multiple meals, hand-washes their clothes, assists with hygiene, and puts the daughters to bed after a belly-warming supper.

Watching Lephia cater to the wounded is quite overwhelming for the beast. In her, the Creature is reminded of Elizabeth... In Lephia, he sees the first person he ever met other than his maker, the first interaction of kindness... But although their goodwill is similar, he finds it hard to believe that Elizabeth could be remotely as exceptional as Lephia is... Like something out of scripture, an embodiment of an angel— the most perfect woman to ever exist! No— The Creature highly doubts that anything more superb could ever exist.

Forever appreciative of Elizabeth's kindness when all things were new to him— what he thought were feelings for her, were clearly mistaken now that he has met sweet Lephia. A magnetic force of longing for her has come to control his very being... Emotion so troubling that it feels like a swarm of butterflies within his stomach, or perhaps moths in the belly of the once deceased man it belonged to.

In literature, opposites attract. And although there is certain contrasts between them; like Lephia's mane of beautiful curls that defy gravity and grow towards the sky and his strands of gray and brunette strings— thin and balding, or perhaps the way that her skin absorbs the sun's heat into a stunningly-bronze hue, warm and velvet. And her flesh— supple and ample enough to endure many brutal winters, all while his flesh is pale, gray, and cold— body strong, however, thin and lanky. Her beauty being the reason behind instant smiles and people's sense of peace, while his appearance is a thing of nightmares and incorrect judgements about him... So many differences to name, yet the shared compassion and love that they have for the world is evidence of the Creature and his new found love being not as opposite as he'd like to think... Now finding himself stuck on wondering, if maybe— just maybe, the feelings he has for her are just as mutually shared.

———

"Your husband, he is kind." As nightfall approaches, Edith helps Lephia with dishes after supper— making note of the Creature leaving the cottage for more firewood after he spent the entire day watching and admiring Lephia with eyes glued.

Lephia nearly chokes. "Husband? Oh him, no, just the man who saved my life."

"Ah! As he did ours— but if not your husband, mind me asking what he is?" Edith's question is pursued with strong curiosity. "Is he of man?"

"I asked him the very same!" Lephia laughs, "he responded with... 'many'. I'm still not quite sure what he meant by it."

...

The mother towel-dries wooden plates with a squinted look of peculiar confusion. "A strange man, yet angelic." Edith shrugs, "perhaps sent from God?"

"Perhaps." Lephia agrees.

"He seems to show a great fondness for you." The mother continues— beginning to laugh as she watches Lephia blush, seeing the same playful glee she hopes will return back to her daughters one day...

"You believe so?" Lephia attempts to control her own amusement, "I believe it's just in his character, as you said, a gift from God."

"Maybe." Edith adds, "surely he protected you well, in the hovel— beside us that is." . . .

Struck by these words, Lephia gulps. She hadn't realized that the Creature had already spoken about her, "I didn't know he told you, I hadn't realized you knew about me. Listen, we— we wanted to help you, I promise we did!"

"No lass, none of that." Edith calms her with a gentle hush, "The Creature— he doesn't speak much, so it wasn't him that told me of you." She continues, "actually, it was a silly speculation I made while under confinement... I recognized a woman's existence belonging to the cottage while being forced to use a bit of your items, which I truly do apologize for... Also, sometimes at night when the soldiers were quiet enough— I thought I heard the soft purring of a woman sleeping behind the walls."

Stunned by this revelation, Lephia cannot believe that all that time spent speculating— not once did Edith bring awareness to the soldiers and get her and the Creature caught... Perhaps, Edith is the truest angel out of them all.

"You stayed hidden, and I am glad that you did." The mother sighs, "I couldn't bear to see another woman stripped of her dignity."

...

"Your daughters..."Lephia hesitates with a gulp, "are they— well?"

"Traumatized." Edith's response comes quick and sharp, as if she had been waiting for someone to ask her about it for a while now. "My eldest is fearful of carrying a bastard child, and my youngest forced into early womanhood— menstruating before her time and has yet to stop the bleed."

"Mercy... We have their carriage, as soon as the snow lightens up, we will take you all into town for medical attention." Alarmed by the information, Lephia immediately wishes to seek help.

"And what? Seek after medicine?" Edith frowns, "with what currency?" Her dishrag is suddenly flung across the kitchen counter as anger and strife takes over the fatigued woman. "Their father was butchered in this very home! We are penniless! Barely made ends meet even before! And now, we will make even less." Edith's laugh is of pure hurt as tears swell in her aged-green eyes. "Unable to pay for medical care... and to make matters even worse, I'd just be taking the girls to practitioners that are of man! Another touch and gaze from the opposite sex—another that cannot be trusted even if he was trained to care for the public... I cannot imagine how my littlest would react to another bearded-beast spreading her legs for his inspection... Christ, she's only twelve!"

Sniffing back her weeping tears, Edith strengthens for her girls— praying that they cannot hear her gloom from the loft upstairs... She refuses the help, "no— my mother was a midwife and she taught me well. We will be alright, Lephia. Just will take what comes to us head-on, and chin-up."

Sickened by the truth of Edith's pain, grief inflames Lephia's spirit... Wishing to stay just as strong for Edith as she is being for the girls, Lephia has to ask to be excused— needing to find fresh air outside as she escapes through the front door for a moment to cry in the forest.

On the Creature's way back to the cottage with enough wood to last the family of women logs until spring, he notices Lephia by her lonesome out here in the trees. He drops the wood— watching quietly from behind the bark of each evergreen.

His heart fills with passion and adornment. Kneeled to the ground, Lephia is the image of a mystical being, as stunning and breathtaking as the characters he has read about in myths. The elderly blind man's bookshelf that the Creature read through were filled with stories of gods, goddesses, fairies, and enchantresses. Whichever Lephia may be— he knows that she is the fairest of them all.

He suddenly notices her gentle sobs, his gaze is interrupted as he rushes over to console her. The Creature was right, he knew that this visit would be far too much for the soft heart of the woman he fancies.

Lephia cries over a freshly dug grave... A grave that the Creature dug for the man of this house whose corpse was badly beaten, an image that made the women ill, the body of a man who they cared for— and was left in the middle of their home like trash and chewed on by wolves.

Hating to see his sweetheart cry, the Creature holds onto Lephia tightly. Never once did he want her to find out the extent of what the hostages had been through— the reason behind keeping it a secret.

"All winter—" she sobs, burying her face into the crook of his neck, "we must come back, we must care for these people, they need us!"

"Anything that you want..." He submits, "daily visits, if it would please you, Lephia."

Sniffing back her tears now that she is once again comforted by the Creature, Lephia snickers quaintly, "perhaps not daily, I'd hate to become a nuisance." She smiles, "but it is important for us all to lean on each other, wouldn't you agree?—"

Facing the beast, she becomes surprised by his shared tears... "Your eyes." Puzzled by the sight, Lephia can't seem to understand... "Why do you cry?"

"Because— you are." The Creature admits to finding utmost pain anytime that she is upset... Enough suffering to see Lephia's unhappiness that it even brings him to tears.

...

Her fingers trace the Creature's tears, falling unmistakably in love with him. "Who sent you, gentle giant? Tell me— who have I to thank?"

He could ask the very same question, wondering how blessedly be he has become ever since he chose her hovel to find shelter on that day— fortunate to ever have met someone so bewitching. "I want to take you home now, Lephia." He'll never keep a secret from her again, "Go where we find warmth, and so I can tell you my tale, my full truth."

———

With winter on its way to an end, the Creature and Lephia only grow closer within their special bond. Not only did he share with her his beginnings, but she shared with him her own.

When the Creature spoke that he was made of many men, he meant it wholeheartedly. With one out of the many evenings spent together conversing, Lephia finally was let out of the dark— now informed about every detail, even down to the minute lightning struck him and he was created by Victor Frankenstein, the scientist the Creature is to chase after come spring. "When winter ends and you meet this 'Victor Frankenstein', I pray you do not give into temptation to cause him harm although he well deserves it." Moved to tears, Lephia encourages her friend for the best. "I wish you to only show him how much of a fine gentleman you are... Show him that you are intelligent, kind, and worthy of respect! His mistake was not creating you, it was not seeing you for the true success that you are." A continuance of her sweet words that persist to pull on his heart-strings everyday.

Although his tale of Victor Frankenstein infuriates Lephia, it is the story about a woman named Elizabeth that makes her ache... An unfamiliar feeling of heartbreak and jealousy consumes her. As Lephia had listened to the tale of Elizabeth, it was as if she were a school girl battling unrequited love all over again. But nevertheless, Lephia kept quiet and cool as she listened. Being alone for so long, if having the Creature in a platonic bond is all that he wishes for— she still will gladly take it.

As his tales ended, hers began. Born into a family with a history of indentured servitude, it was Lephia's grandfather who worked his family out of bondage with his power of intelligence. Her grandfather became the greatest accountant that all of England had seen. Skilled in arithmetic, intellect, and inhuman mathematical skills, her grandfather then passed these strengths along to Lephia's father— now a businessman who has continued in his father's footsteps for decades ever since.

With their family's service being so highly regarded, their surname moved up within ranks of the British class. Now a well-known and prominently wealthy family in England, Lephia and her family are seen almost as royalty. As she reached adulthood, suitors came to her like parasites. She was engaged right out of primary schooling to a man with royal connections to the Queen. Although Lephia knew that becoming his wife would make her family and herself highly regarded— regalia wasn't what made her burn in life. Social gatherings, tight corsets, and promenading would only depress her... And with this the Creature had to agree, feeling that nothing as beautiful and majestic as Lephia should be tamed to such a sedentary life.

Luckily coming from a home that respected the opinions of strong-minded women, knowing that their sweet daughter's heart belonged to the countryside of England— her parents allowed Lephia to follow her dreams in life in a time that forbade it. A family well known for going against the grain, if their daughter found happiness in the solitude of their summer-cottage, then so be it, the home was hers. Proud of their daughter for making her own decisions, there could never be any bad blood between a family full of such joy and pride. To this very day, when holidays and birthdays come along, Lephia makes it her mission to mark it in her almanac as a reminder, and visit them in town for the special occasions. A visit full of open arms and warm memories— able to see how much her siblings have grown and proud to be able to come back to a family that feels exactly like where they had left off.

As December, January, and February come to a snowy end, the climate quickly changes from icy to consistent rain. Furthermore, just as Lephia had hoped, the Creature made sure that they kept in contact with Edith and her daughters. Together they share many meals, laughs, and even slowly have healed together— finally being able to see the women smile again as they continue to trade food, hay, and clothes with the new friends that they have made. The women's smile isn't the only surprising toothy grin... To Lephia's amazement, even the Creature has begun to smile. A sight all too handsome for her to gaze upon, a sight that could cause the young woman to fall even deeper in love with the man that she cannot have.

Finding enjoyment in the little things, Lephia and the Creature find themselves outside more often as well— venturing through the ancient forest, playing in the snow that soon has become rain, and even sleeping beneath the stars on the dry nights— humming to the sweet giant as he continues to find the best sleep with his head in Lephia's lap each slumber amongst the moonlight.

So amused with each other's company, the Creature continues to make it impossible for Lephia to quit adoring him! Becoming unhappy with the sight of Lephia having to take her pail a half-mile out for fresh lake water, the Creature found himself digging a manmade quarry for her only a few feet from the cottage with his bare hands— once again treating her like a Queen, and showing more affection than most men give their wives.

As rain begins to fall again this evening, Lephia watches the Creature from afar— once again with another labor of love for her as he hammers wood into the ground with his fists as he builds her a new barn for the horses.

"Beautiful." She blushes, "shelter for the animals for even they may come down with a chill from this rain."

Focused on finishing, the Creature continues with hard work— trying his best not to look at Lephia who constantly takes his focus and blinds him with months-worth of beauty.

"You have been such a blessing." Taking a step closer, Lephia raises her voice as rain pellets begin to rain down harder—soaking the ground beneath their boots, "really, whatever it may be, how can I repay you?"

...

His silence is deafening, although as is the roar of pouring rain... Lephia continues, "perhaps a trip into town for more novels? Any of your choosing!"

"Nothing at all." He refuses, panting from exhaustion as he ignores his fatigue to finish this gift for her. "Whatever it is you could ever wish for, Lephia. You would only need to tell me it once... And if I was able to read your mind, you wouldn't need to tell me it at all."

Yearning for his kiss, she has never met someone whose words strike her heart like a spear the way that he does... He yelps, finger suddenly splintered by wood. Lephia treats the wound, taking the elongated finger to her mouth— suckling the splinter out with the purse of her lips... As she draws the splinter from his digit, the rest of his hand spreads across her cheek—cupping her jawline softly.

"Got it." The hairline-piece of lumbar is spat from her lips, soon realizing the absolute trance she has put him in with the simple task of her mouth. With lips parted in awe, the Creature looks down upon the softness of Lephia's perfect face— eyes so round and innocent that it captures his soul.

Switching to his thumb, the Creature breaches the fullness of her plump pout. Easing his thick digit onto her tongue, he shudders at the feel of her warm saliva webbing from his touch... She sticks her tongue out wider, willing to take whatever else he is to put there. Choked by the lewd rising thoughts piling up in his mind, the Creature's breath is rasped— needy for more attention from her.

...

Sadly, as if the universe only sought after Lephia's melancholy, their moment is interrupted by a fallen tree. A sapling so wide, so strong, so intensely tall— it is surely sent to end her. The roots beneath its mightiness fails the tree's strength, soaked by the rainy weather— the crackling fall comes as a surprise to them both as it lands on top of Lephia only a foot from the home.

. . .

The impact is felt roughly. Pain races through Lephia's body as she is knocked dizzy with the certainty of death. Her eyes open suddenly, the pain she felt eases into nothing at all... Both of them being covered in sap, Lephia brushes off wooden chunks as her hand becomes stained red with blood... The crimson drips down her face, yet it does not belong to her... She faces upwards, looking for the Creature she was just sharing a moment with only a second ago, she finds his image again— now something haunting as Lephia's glorious glow of brown skin pales white as a ghost.

Above her, the Creature continues to stand protective over her body. Although the impact was felt, it was the Creature who endured the majority of it as he sheltered her with his body, now causing an injury that would have killed any ordinary man or woman.

His arm dangles, broken and on a singular piece of flesh—continuing to spewer blood across Lephia's face.

He covers the leak of blood, but his hand is not enough to stop the steady flow of crimson. "Don't worry, I'm alright. Remember what it is that I told you, Lephia, I cannot die."

The artery continues to gush, now becoming the second most gruesome incident she has witnessed in such a short period of time... "You're bleeding— heavily, so heavily."

"Please do not take worry." The Creature's grip becomes fiercer, now sounding the gush and crackle of his injured arm.

"Your arm is only..." Her eyelids droop, clearly becoming ill and nearly passing out. She continues with a bit more strength, "your arm is hanging on by a—" Lephia chokes on air, "by a thread!"

He pleads, "wait, I promise, just watch." Holding his arm in place, his bones crackle once more— slowly beginning to mend itself. "You see? Just give it time, I promise!"

Stunned and fumbling, Lephia feels helpless. "I-I should do something."

"It doesn't happen as quickly as I wish— I know how it looks. But, it will heal." Weakened by a laceration that although won't kill him, it still hurts him like Hell. The Creature continues to put Lephia first, forever worried about her well-being and refusing to ever put his feelings ahead of hers. "Lephia?"

White to green, her paleness becomes the sight of coming vomit. "Towels!" She gags, stumbling over her feet as she rushes to the latrine, "a-and I'll draw you a bath too!"

The Creature hears her becoming violently ill. Wishing to follow behind her, he figures that his nauseating image is only even worse tonight... His self esteem again weakens, feeling guilty for being a disgusting sight— he reckons that giving Lephia time alone is only for the best... Enough time for him to heal, enough time for him to forgive himself for something that he had no control over...

———

Silent hours pass as a knock on the washroom's door makes the Creature nearly leap from the water... He has missed Lephia more than he can bear, delighted to finally see her again as she enters inside with fresh towels, calm, and cleaned up for bed in her nightgown.

"Are—are you alright?" After finally hearing her voice again— now he is.

"Are you? I only wished to keep you out of harm's way— safe from the fallen tree. Lephia, I'd never intentionally cause you harm!" Hyper within his apology, the Creature clutches the edge of the bath tightly pulling himself closer to her as she sits down on a nearby stool. "I swear it, if I even thought that sharing the air around you could blemish your livelihood, I'd never take another breath!"

"I know!" Softer, she repeats... "I know."

"Today I skipped death. A tree meant to land on me— landed on you. I am forever in your debt." Lephia continues, her gloom-filled eyes watching the twiddling of her anxious fingers. "It was just— all of the blood and the pain, it seems to make me queasy ever since— well, you know." Forever traumatized by what the soldiers committed, the Creature wishes he could kill them all over again for the pain that they have caused her. "I am sorry for how I reacted—"

She is interrupted, "don't ever apologize."

Lephia nods, sighing softly in relief. "Are you— healed?"

"I am, see!" His arm lacks motion, but after a few hours now, his wound looks much better than it did before. "Just a little sore."

She's heard his story— she knows that he isn't able to die, yet for some reason, the thought of his pain and suffering is still enough to make her queasy. "Incredible." She traces her finger over the wound that is still faintly open— needing at least another day to fully heal. However, the injury looks nothing like the dangling piece of meat that it was only hours ago.

She notices dried blood still staining his back— a place that the sore and stiff arm can't reach. "Here let me do that for you."

Lephia lathers the wash rag with soap-water, taking it to the skin of his back. Her soft touch makes the gentle Creature flinch... A stroke so unfamiliar that the only time his back was ever touched was from a whip snapping at him each time Victor Frankenstein became frustrated by the Creature's one-worded retorts. 'Victor.'

"Gentle." Lephia coos in a manner that is gentle and comforting, realizing that she isn't the only one traumatized by mankind. "I'm not them, never will be... The people who have caused you harm, I'd never hurt you."

Able to rest from Lephia's relaxing reassurance, the Creature leans backwards as his always aching skin is tended to. Flesh that is not of his— flesh that always revives itself... It constantly prickles and tickles, feeling like pieces that just don't belong...

Lephia gulps. She slowly washes across his taught abdomen, a body fleeced in stone like muscles in rows that make six, her hand trembles as it cleanses across the abs that are strong and hilly beneath her fingertips.

As the Creature continues to rest, her movement of the rag against his pelvis comes to a halt as she jumps at the sight of something shocking— the splash of water immediately wakes him up. "My Heavens!" She gasps, skin now feverish with intense blush. "You were created to be the most pristine specimen of man. Perhaps your maker was very detailed in finding every perfect—" she gulps, "inch."

The Creature takes note of what area of his flesh frightened her— unaware to how extremely well endowed his manhood truly is. "Am I beautiful, Lephia?" Utter innocence spills from his lips.

"Beautiful?" She questions the word she's never heard him recite before... "That's new, where did you read that?"

"The books— the romances." The Creature once again recites parts of literature that have stuck with him. "His skin's glow worshipped the sun, handsome bone structure blinding, and casting shadows from his sharp jaw. The man was an angel, he was beautiful. However, it was his kind soul that made him absolute perfection."

...

The washroom becomes silent... Lephia recognizes the memorized words, not because of it being from one of her favorites as well— but because it's an original piece, a book journaled and authored by herself. "Wh-Where did you read that?" She stammers.

"Am I?" He cares for only one thing. If Lephia finds him beautiful— his horrid self esteem and  how others perceive him, could never matter.

She refocuses although the chill of goosebumps lift across her arms. "You are divine. You have life, don't you?"

He nods.

"Then yes, you are beautiful and meant to be..." Lephia assures softly, "not created by some mad scientist, but a gift from God. Understand?"

He does. The Creature understands, and because it came from her mouth— he can never be bothered by his unique image again. Lifting his hand from the water to Lephia's face, he washes away blood she had missed from her own bathe, dried crimson still in the tight curls of her hair.

Lephia would never need to ask him whether she was beautiful or not— because to the Creature, she is beyond it. "Perfection."

Water from his wrist drips down her sheer linen dress showing the prominence of her breasts as his eyes widen... Although unfamiliar with the anatomy of women, he has now read through countless pages of Lephia's romance collection and knows that a bosom so firm and perky should be adored— the flesh here should be tasted and bruised with love-bites.

His hand reaches for the peak of her tit through her gown, cupping her breast with a massage that draws a breath to her lips... Although enjoying the utter swell of her natural tear-drop bosom, the innocent creature pushes his caress further, deeper, wishing to feel the beat of her heart as well as bring her utmost pleasure.

Lephia's head buzzes with bewilderment, hips grinding against her seat, and becoming a spectacle of herself for the touch she has craved months for. He watches her lips part and racy sounds seep from them... The Creature craves the air that comes from her pout, edging closer to them before the girl takes full advantage— shocking the beast with a wanton kiss that she's held back from for so long.

Their lips press into a kiss and the Creature's eyes widen... He drawls backwards— stunned for a second as he realizes that in this very moment, he has found his missing piece. Not in need of another organ, not a lung— not a heart, but only a woman to place in it.

Desperate for more, the Creature chases after the kiss he was allowed a taste of. Needy to feed on her lips, he pulls Lephia into the water— swindling her away into his arms as her mouth falls prey to the hungry man's tongue kiss.

So full of greed, unfathomable lust, whimpering and knowing he will need to beg for repentance later, the young creature has yet to become fully as obscene as he is soon to become with her.

Once again soaked, this time from bath-water instead of rain, Lephia becomes heated into obscene moans... Craving the Creature's affection with double the amount of arousal her ovulation has ever given her. "Please." She feels her manners shredding away each second, especially as prodding of his growing excitement reaches beneath her and teases between her thighs. "I should leave you!"

Hoping to find her values again as a lady, Lephia flees the tub with the Creature right at her heels. "The universe made no mistake when they were brought together, for their love was unfathomably fated!"

He quotes more memorized lines from her drafted novel, holding the private journal of hers above his head.

"Stop that!" Still wiping their heated kiss from her lips, she paces, beginning to jump to attempt to reach her book, "put it down!"

Another quoted soliloquy is his own rebuttal.

"Give me the damn book!" Continuing to be ignored drives her into a tantrum of rage. She notices the Creature's absolute nudity. "And to chase after a lady while appearing so— so scantly!"

"Only moments ago, my anatomy was described as perfection. Now it is scant?" He suddenly learns sarcasm.

Completely revealed from the lack of bath water that once covered him, the Creature stands eight feet tall— manhood staring at her an inch away and causing budding heat to increase between her legs... "I want with you, what these stories imply." He pleads wholeheartedly. "Especially this one, I've read it twice now."

"Twice?" Puzzled by the revelation, Lephia can't believe that a silly hobby of hers could cause such passion.

"On my third time." The Creature steps closer with confession. "It's handwritten, an original, who authored it? I must read more of their work."

"What?"

Becoming aggravated with Lephia's cluelessness, he repeats himself. "Who wrote this book—" The pieces begin to puzzle together, already more intelligent than most— the Creature is now able to comprehend even the small things like Lephia's awful lying when she is hiding something from him.

But it all makes so much sense, the desk by the fire isn't just for crocheting, and her fingers aren't always stained black from the overindulgence of blackberry jam or playing in the fireplace's soot.... It's ink. Ink from writing and pouring her heart out onto sheets of paper! A woman so full of love, she must share it somewhere... If not with a lover here in the forest— than through a form of art just as beautiful, writing it down to forever savor this very feeling.

"Lephia, if this story is yours. No wonder why I felt it so deeply." The Creature steps even closer, making her feet travel backwards as he lusts for her. "It compelled me, you compel me."

"You see a journal, handwritten, unpublished, and you read it!? This was not on the bookshelf of literature!" Lephia argues. But, with the beast being created only months ago, does she truly expect him to make such a connection? To know what is ethical or have any regard for one's privacy unless it is told to him? "Give it back!"

"No!" He shouts. "A husband— why haven't you one? Tell me now! At once!"

"Mercy! You've seen the world." She scoffs. "Men are cruel are they not?"

"They are." He doesn't hesitate to agree, "and I wish to protect you from them— forever. I cannot go on without assuring your life long security. I love you."

There was once a time that she wished to hear those very words spill from his tongue, but no— not like this. "Love isn't something contagious from a novel."

"You're right, love is what bloomed here over months spent together."

Lephia parts her lips for another rebuttal of denial that the Creature refuses to hear.

"NO!" His interruption is a roar that shakes the entire cottage. Insulted with her lack of confidence in his intelligence, he won't have her tell him how he feels once more.

Lephia gulps... muted from his shouting, the silence is enough to make the chimney-bats take flight after such an outburst. "Fine." Swallowing back aching tears in her throat, she must remind him of the woman he spoke so highly about. "And what of Elizabeth?" She's heard his story about her now, having already decided that day to work on keeping their love for each other platonic after his description of this woman— a woman that he clearly loves!Lephia thought it best not to try anymore, knowing that when he entered town come spring— he'd only be seeking after her, or seeking after Victor, for his creator's skill to create a companion like the woman... Like, Elizabeth.

Lephia continues, tears now finding trails down her face and soaking her thick lashes. "—And what of Victor Frankenstein and finding him in spring for the companion that he is to create for you?"

"Elizabeth..." the Creature begins, weakened by Lephia's pain. "The woman you speak of was the first to ever show me kindness, and for that, my god— I do wish her the most joyous life that she could possibly have, but not with me. I was naive then— mistaking compassion for love. But now, after so long with you— it doesn't come even an inch to what it is that we share. And Victor, he can stay just as undiscovered as he is in this very moment. I wish not to even meet him, for he could never create me a mate more perfect than you— even if he stitched her piece by piece, thread by thread with every intention of perfecting her just for me."

"You, Lephia— I swear it is only you." The Creature quakes with a level of devotion that possesses him. "No spring, no departure, no Victor."

"I cannot be sated if I try and deny my love for you a second longer... My adoration for you is irrevocable. I am enamored by your entire being and I'm not going anywhere, I love you." Haven't taken a breath in a full minute, he refuses to even blink until this point has been made and has infected her memory. "You are my home, and you are mine." Long ago, he had asked her this before... Only a week into knowing each other and asking Lephia if she was his— it had already felt so right. Easy even then to pour out from his lips.

Now, he needs not to ask her ever again... She is indeed his, and she will forever be. Lephia's hands touch his body, palms flattening against his chest as she moves slowly and far too silently.

"Speak." He demands, craving the sound of her voice, needing to hear her agree to this shared devotion— or surely out of anything that has ever happened to him, this is what will kill him.

"I want you." Her touch lowers, easing to his sharp pelvic bones, watching what once hung near his knees rise up his abdomen in feral lust. She gulps, "you want me too."

Turning Lephia around to their reflection in a mirror placed in the sitting room of the cottage, he becomes tearful for the last time about his image. He sees himself unworthy of her, needing to make sure that it is this man in the mirror that she truly wants... A man generated by another, a man that has been called 'beast' for so long that it has begun to stick with him.

"Him?" He asks, positioning their sight on his every blemish, scar, and strangely colored patch of skin. "This very man who looks nothing of your book?"

Lephia nods, "yes, him. and him in every way." Turning to him, her fingers sweep the chisel of his prominent jaw. The love that she has for him is deeper than physical appearance. "As if you appeared from off of the page itself, you are the man in that romance come alive. Greater than him— in fact, indescribable. Nothing that could possibly have come out of my imagination and penmanship."

...

He had asked if he were beautiful, but even better than beauty, Lephia has shown him that he is worthy. "We will watch each second." His skin begins to burn with the unfamiliarity of lechery. "You have witnessed for months my fondness for you, mind and soul. But my god— tonight you will watch me share that very fondness with your body."

She wouldn't miss a millisecond for even a blink. Lephia lifts her gown, bare beneath as she rubs the perk of her ass against his standing-groin. Causing his flesh to swell into a hot stiff-blade, shuttering within his every breath.

The erotic fantasies he had been reading have given only clues, but nevertheless, they are not the step by step tutorials that the towering-virgin needs to correctly make love to her. "I know how to hold you, how to cherish your flesh, but to pierce you with my love, I — help me."

"I'll take care of you." Her hand cuffs around his girth, angling his cockhead beneath her waiting to be split by a rod that her grasp can hardly fist properly. Pushing backwards to impale her deprived cunt full of him, his overwhelming fit tries to tear her as they share in an exhaled-moan. The Creature's eyes shut... He has felt her warmth— cuddling against her body nightly as if she were his human furnace, but this warmth is sweltering, tight, and slick— making his knees wish to buckle as the feminine-slit of her body sheathes around his anatomy's every inch... Corrupting his most sensitive and alive nerves.

Although virtuous, his manhood who once belonged to someone else is not... With strokes that begin soft and slow, his cock soon works with a mind of its own— hungry for the enjoyment of a woman that it hasn't felt since being reborn.

Her sheer nightgown that constantly teased him with the blurred sight of this perfect body is torn from her like paper. The Creature's grasp becomes tighter, stricter, snatching a handling grip onto the back of Lephia's neck and arching her spine for the complete image of ramming into her.

Hips snapping into a brutal rhythm, her ample backside clap with the sharp sounds of thunder as the flesh of his thighs and pelvis are met against her ass. "Muh!!" Struggling to keep up, the savagery along her body is far too new for her. Whimpering through tasty erotic torture, her pussy is stirred and stretched by something diabolical the way that it wishes to dig into her cushiony walls.  "Heavens—You'll break me!"

But what has already broken is his mind. Deafened and unable to make a single coherent thought, his body chases after his first encounter with perfect twat. With pleads gone ignored, Lephia gasps— suddenly lifted from off of the floorboards. Her toes leave the wood to become dangled in the air— held in the grasp of a madman enthralled with her viscid flesh. A tear falls from her eye as her pussy tightens, humiliated by the pure enjoyment of his ravaging. First being pummeled inside of with a bruising grip to her hips, forcefully bent over and arched for thrusts from the back, to now lifted— airborne, wrapped in strong arms and clasped within lewd handfuls of her over-spilling breasts as cock is knifed into her as if she were weightless.

Feeling owned and reminded of the Creature stating this many times, she is in fact his, without the ability to run from this decision... Lephia's filthy promiscuity gets the best of her, ashamed of the thrill of being dominated like this, the soaked and stifling walls of her pussy betrays her sobs and hesitance— quaking as her core clenches down on his driving-manhood, she squeals as an orgasm consumes her into what feels like a black-hole of blindness... The many years of celibacy has eaten away at her endurance,— or perhaps a fuck from a towering-mystery-unknown is simply too much for one woman to take.

Numb and dormant in his arms, the Creature immediately quickens... Taking advantage of his lover's stillness and relaxed muscles, he's free to use this body uncouthly. A perfect ragdoll in his arms, the Creature's thick-bulbous cockhead kisses at her cervix with each jagged spike. His heavy sack slaps against the abused flesh beneath her, a speed so damaging— tempo so stirring, Lephia awakens just to melt into ecstasy once more. Without any control of her gyrating movements, the overstimulation of fast jabs tease her honey-spot until stars erupt in her sight— the second orgasm easing her back into overly-pleasured tears.

Fucking the girl so hard, the Creature rocks Lephia's cottage with a power that shatters the glass of the mirror, a reflection that they continue to watch become fractured— sending streaking cracks throughout the image before them, and damaging whatever else is made of fragile glass around them.

Lephia dangles with a wild mane of curls. Undoubtedly a sleeve for his cock, a doll for his taking as she lays so very pretty against his chest— eyes half-lidded, lips pouty, skin red and smelling of sweet perspiration, taking the Creature's girth and well-awaited blows to the pit of her stomach like the good girl she truly is.

Tonight, he has only proven himself to be a beast after all... He, the most gentle-giant may love this woman and will protect Lephia until his dying breath, but is undoubtedly a true monster of carnality... Ruining his beloved with his rough fornication— not only her body, but her God given sense as well.

A newcomer to man's most favorite addiction, yet the Creature has yet to realize the true power he possesses... Wishing to use his dyer strength only for Lephia's protection— the vigorous ability he possesses is fierce enough to cause her fragile physique absolute destruction and madness.

Refusing his need to release— although his body wishes to spill cum into her until it shoots from her ears. What the Creature craves more is hours of this. He aids Lephia back to the ground, her bare feet are placed against the cold wood and her weak legs fail to keep her upright. She crumbles there, panting tired breaths in disbelief— tender and already missing the engorgement of him inside her rearranging her organs. She watches him walk away from her...cruelly leaving Lephia needy, empty, and cavernous. "Please... Where are you going?"

"Get up." Her wrist is snatched and she is once again up on her feet and under his authority. "Take me to our bedroom, not done with you yet."

Soaking from the fondness of his leadership, Lephia leads the way. Finally back into her own bed, she finds comfort in knowing that her feared bedroom is a place she will never have to spend alone again.

———

The sun shines differently through the lofty stained-glass windows of their bedroom this morning. The rays shine with a purpose today. Instead of it being just another day for the Creature, it is a day anew— Another start at a life of warmth and love.

Lying next to his lover, Lephia sleeps in late today. Body still tired and limber as she rests in a pillowy nest of her wildly rambunctious curls. He has to remember that his woman made love with him, a lab-created beast last night— not just any man of normalcy.

Her thick eyebrows furrow, wrinkling in between each other as she moves an inch in her position to avoid the sun in her eyes. With this aching body, she winces. Worry fills the gentle-giant beside her, watching her stir in the pain he has caused from his entirely too rough ways of lovemaking.

He wakes her gently, mouth gaining on her full bosom peaking through her torn gown with an almost magnetic attraction. His tongue slowly circles the peak of one breast, suckling away at the flesh as it draws tighter into hardened arousal.

The Creature's hand finds the warm pudge of her belly, covering it completely with his pole-length fingers and resting his wide palm beneath her navel— caressing gently where it was he had been plunging deeply into during the many night hours spent together... the womb of her, a place in which he filled with pleasure— a place where she stole the entirety of his soul as she took his breath. "Have I caused you pain here?"

A smile creeps past her puffy lips, face still swollen from the bloat of a well-earned heavy sleep. "An ache." Her morning rasp is quiet and honeyed, melting the beast into the sheets beneath them. "But I am sure it will go away."

He notices another slight wince in her expression as she turns to meet him... He can't help but to be upset with himself, his self-hatred heavier than ever, knowing that he caused who he loves so much as even a splinter of discomfort.

"Broken, stupid, imbecile." He points at his brain, "I should have known I'd hurt you."

"Stop that! And quit that repetition of one-worded nonsense! You are brilliant. Not broken, not stupid, and far from an imbecile." Lephia's hand finds the chisel of his defined jaw, pressing her graceful fingers against his cheek, "if I am not upset, you should not be either."

He sighs... She's right, although he is intelligent enough for full sentences, paragraphs, Hell— even able to recite sonnets! He reverts to his timid one-worded responses when he is feeling most comfortable around Lephia. "Gentle. Flower. Mine."

She smiles, although still dumbing himself down, he couldn't be more adorable. "Kiss me, dearest love."

Rising to Lephia's lips, the Creature does so... Kissing his woman with a much softer approach, he traces her full pout with a feather-like touch of his finger.

"Mhm." A curl falls across her face as she nods in approval. "See? Like that."

Elated by his gentle caress, he grows in confidence as Lephia's skin awakens with goosebumps and a plum-like blush for him. The soft press of his lips sweep across the length of her body. Kissing slowly and seductively against her neck, through the valley between her breasts, her stomach, her hips, the top of her thighs, and finally strumming through the silky black-strands of hair that grace her already aqueous womanhood. Following her every order, the Creature's tongue darts from his lips— swiping through her slit and bundling her taste across his tongue's every tastebud.

He watches her back arch with his every tongue dive into her cunt, noticing the pleasure bewitching Lephia and proceeding further— now known to the fact that licking her wounds from the night before heals her and welcomes sweet relief.

His hands rest at her inner thighs as his thumbs press at her folds, flowering her open to a pink shimmering pulp. He notices a button of succulent flesh— a throbbing anatomy that calls for him to suckle on. His lips wrap around her bundle of nerves, making her empty-minded with dispersed sight. "Muh' baby—my love, you must keep going!"

Her fingers comb through his strands of thin brunette tresses, suddenly fisting his hair and locking the Creature right in this heavenly spot. His breath becomes hot and heavy against her sweet bulb—powerful enough to blow down trees as it passes by the throbbing of her heat. Such a torturous disturbance against her clit that Lephia trembles as her fist tightens further against his scalp. The Creature hisses from the pull of his strands and nearly cums. His mouth puckers tighter against her sensitive nub, lolling the entirety of her cunt into his mouth, and pulling the battered flesh against his lips as if he wishes to inhale her within each of his breaths.

"More!" Her voice is the sound of an impatient yip, edging towards some sort of explosion. "Please my love, right there."

Refusing to move an inch, the beast works his tongue sporadically— flicking mindlessly in the spot that weakens her. He holds down the thick-hips that buck and chase away from his mouth, refusing her attempt to flee, the Creature watches upwards at the sultry mewls flooding uncontrollably from Lephia's lips. Rapture begins to make a spectacle of the young woman, her thighs enclosing on his head— needing some sort of break or escape from his feasting, yet he just can't allow it. Although unsure of what is to come from this upward-climb, his only wish is to find exactly how his lover unfolds with the task of his mouth, just as much as Lephia wishes to arrive there.

His fingertips become dimpled grips into her plush thighs. Like putty in his hands, the utter sight of her buxom body in his control makes his mouth water, facet like— or perhaps it being the damp-flood dripping from his chin due to the spill and spasm of Lephia's seeping ecstasy ... A lively cum deafens the girl into a brain of thoughtless mush, uncontrollably trembling legs, and leaving a man hungry for more of her— having the Creature weak and worshiping her at the end of their bed.

As if he could breathe in the moment of her exhilaration, her orgasm feels nearly contagious. The young beast heated and engorged in rising inches between his thighs aches into the cruelest unknown pain. "Please, I'd kill to feel you." He whimpers and pathetic hiss.

Moaning the sounds of soft deliverance, not even the strength of his fingertips can end the quaking overwhelmingness surging through her legs. "Hurt?"

Her eyes fill with the tears of blissful relief, "pleasured, my love. Have mercy, you have thrilled and spoiled me." She chuckles. Lephia assures him— finding his lips with her own, they share a kiss, damp with the taste of her very own rapture.

The muscles in his taught body are tighter than usual... Flesh contracting as a rush of blood powers an extremely impatient erection, thick and throbbing, needing the immaculate feel of her. Her sweet, sweet, boy... Always so worried about her comfort— putting her first as he quietly endures an aching of his very own. A rigid-staff so bulbous and needy that a pearly bead of precum leaks out of the tip of him. "Don't deny yourself, take what is yours."

Although she supports a morning-coition, he refuses. "I can't bear to cause you any more harm. I'm fine."

"You're not." Tempting her lover with seductive grinds against him, biting her full bottom lip, as whorish intentions gleam in her eyes. "You wish to caress me from my insides, no?" Her fingers wrap around his cock, aiming at her center "Make love to me..." Overstimulated and still sore from last night, it doesn't stop the girl from the arousal— from the absolute need of feeling such a fine cock inside of her again. "Do it baby, just softer this morning, hm?— slower?"

...

He nods, the Creature's breath then shuttering as he directs the length of his cock into her already warmed opening. Immediately his brows knit and forehead creases from the obscene pleasure. The slowness, the antagonizing fit of her warm sleeve of flesh, a power that consumes him and weakens the strength of the invincible monster he was created to be. The tip of his sword easing against her natural lubricant— a sound of sticky movement as if she were a dish hot off the stove being stirred. Yesss, this is exactly what he needed— all that his body craved and tortured him with the thought of.

Each elongated drag is torment for him, a cunt so perfect that it wishes again to turn him animalistic with another day of ferocity and diabolical rutting. But, oh— the sounds of her mesmeric coo is enough to sate the beast within him. Mouth jawing agape in awe of Lephia's every tune, every hum after the Creature's back and forth slow impale.

Continuing to endure this rewarding-torture to share in Lephia's glee, he realizes why man must rut and jab relentlessly into their woman when it comes to intimacy... Hasty movements as such give no time for a man to think— no time to feel and become lost in infatuation with their lover... A slow pace like this is well enough to create an obsession all too frightening. But, heavens, making love at a speed so very drawn-out, it welcomes a soul-tie, stirring gazes, caught breaths, addiction, and the utter mental decay of man far too deeply in love.

Brain-rotted as his forehead meets hers, they share the air between them in heavy breaths as their lips hover only an inch apart. Lephia widens her thighs in effort for more of an invitation and the Creature's hips roll with a steady precision— tightening his glutes as he pushes further in, nearing both him and his lover on the precipice of shared ecstasy.

He takes a moment to watch his artistry beneath him, witnessing his every veined-inch and girthy-width disappear into her body to the very base of him. Her stomach bulges where he lands, carving the pure size of his penis into her petite frame as a treasured place of praise and worship for himself only. He watches his withdrawal and quivers from the sight of her fleshy-pink grip hesitating to release him— wanting to keep him seated in her clinched burrow to milk him for all that he has. Unable to watch anymore, the Creature's face hides in the crook of her neck— soon taken into her hands as Lephia pulls him into her tongue kiss. "I love you so much." Her words are hiccups of exasperated thrill— knife-like in his heart. However, the greatest injury he has yet to suffer.

"Sent by God, not only made by man." She continues her poetic torment.

"Lephia..." He pleads her name— a tear strikes his cheek from both gratitude and avoiding a dam-burst of his arriving cream. Without the strength to last any longer, the pulsing of her pussy creates delirium. His thoughts short-circuit as the human nature of her fertile cunt pleads for his insemination— banding tighter, slicker, crueler around his cock until he finally releases... A finishing deep plunge into her slick heat, causing an eruption of his load to meet her gummy-cervix, pooling into her abdomen with the force of an angry rising sea.

The Creature has found stress-relief in the sweltering abyss between Lephia's thighs. Here— he is the king of the entire world. No time to waste away on his usual negative thoughts when finally in life there is something as charming and rewarding as the gratitude of Lephia's sweet pussy— pampering him, and treating the Creature like absolute royalty. Now that he has been here, there won't ever be a day without it... With his stamina and ability to never grow tired— there may not even be a full hour where he is able to withstand being away from the swell of this divine cunt. With a sack continuing to unload, and a rod still jolting every spew of his milk, he watches the mass amount of his seed leak from each side of his waning erection.

A continued release causes Lephia to stir beneath him, whining softly as she becomes far too sensitive and overstimulated. Her womanhood still banded so tightly around his girth— yet even with her fullness, the overflow must seep out somewhere... Even if it means painting down her pretty brown thighs and ruining the satin bedsheets before them.

"Mmm— T'so much..." Lephia gripes, half-lidded as her hand finds the belly-bloat loaded of the Creature's cum, unaware of such a copious spill— it is the load she will continue to take each day for the rest of her life. He slides out of his sticky mess, a webbing-leak of pleasure follows behind him. Her pounded mound of flesh throbs with pleasure as she continues pushing out more of the Creature's ooze with moans that soil his mind... He watches as Lephia ejects the overfill from her tight hole, licking his lips as his pupils dilate from such a sight. It becomes fixated in his mind, a memory so tantalizing that the beast could never possibly forget it— A memory that will instantly stiffen his cock to stone as he recalls the day that he witnessed the delicious contrast of his favorite girl leaking his pearly cum down her ebony flesh.

With a chest heaving rapid breaths, his limbs fall weak from the sweet torment in which is Lephia's tenderness. Lying onto her soft body, the Creature's arms wrap around her waist nearly doubling over her within its possessive claim... She chuckles, flattered by his timid embrace around her body as her fingertips stroke the strands of his hair. His face makes a pillow of her plush belly, listening in for a presence that is yet to come... He sighs, soon spreading his large mitt across her womb, fingers engulfing it completely.

"My love?" Lephia begins. "Gloom is present... but, why?" She recognizes his rustling-sigh as something worrying.

...

"In literature—" He opens with a tone an octave so deep and low in spirit that it's barely audible. "There is promise of life to bloom here."

... Her eyes widen, noticing his placement above her uterus, listening in on an idea that never once crossed her mind...

"I've been here twice now— certainly will be here again." The Creature's voice trembles with lust, already tempted to revisit their carnal pastime, however, he refocuses. "My mind is of man and with it, I think... As does the heart in my chest that beats, the lungs in my body that breathe, and the eyes in my sockets that see... Although I am only of an experiment, it seems that everything within me performs, sweet Lephia... Does this not include the vital seed I fill your womb with? A seed of a man who has long left this Earth— only part of his flesh here with me, an unknown man and all of his genetics..."

The truth hits Lephia roughly, like a brick wall, she is reminded as well of the many men her lover is created from. She gulps, the thought of bearing the child of a man-made creation seems nearly impossible— but, as does the utter idea of the Creature's existence itself... Yet, here he is— and is indeed very much alive and well.

"I am made from many of the discarded and dead, Lephia my diety... yet, my functions— they all work." The Creature trembles with worried tears, again revisiting his awful habit of self-loathing and anxiety. "What of it will grow— if I am not one man myself?"

Having not any answers for this question, and wanting to be just as worried and frightened... Lephia toughens up, restrengthening for the man who is always willing to be strong for her. She caresses his cheek, fingers tracing the scars of flesh that has been pieced together like a puzzle... A man so full of magic, inhuman, an oddity in a world already so cruel... Baring his children— it would mean growing the seed from the male anatomy that belonged to someone unknown, alive once before... Only God knows if it's possible, and with it time will only tell.

"You are whole." Her response's first words are of rapid reassurance, a statement he should never forget— strength that in the moment he needs the most. "You are complete and are to never think otherwise. Who is to say that my body never once belonged to someone else? What are you but another form of reincarnation? A tale of rebirth that has been told for centuries. Darling, the body you have is all yours— as will be any offspring that may come from it. I'll remind you once more, my gentle Adam, you are whole. The farthest thing from a mistake."

Eyes once filled with panic and fear of their future, now fill with hope... The large man again melts into the palms of his lover's touch. Lephia smiles into soft laughter as she embraces the sensitive Creature with her love. "And say life does grow here..." She continues, gentle and promising as her expression is the image of purity and absolute beauty, "how blessed the child would be— born to a father whose kindness is unwavering, and a mother who loves every ounce of him unconditionally." She pauses... "Victor Frankenstein may have made you, but he is not the only being who can create something— beautiful."

An aching pierce in his heart spoils him... The Creature watches a woman who is so full of love and adoration for him that he becomes unsure of how he— a design not meant for this world, has somehow become so fortunate. Surely the two can create something fantastic, an embodiment of their shared devotion, built in the womb of Lephia from the seed that has been planted. Let it be God's will, then it will be done... As many times, and as many little souls it may take until their hearts and lives are fulfilled with contentment, pride, and house never quiet again.

As Luna Hollansworth crosses today's date off of her calendar, finally two long weeks have passed since the last night she was able to spend with her fiancé, Hayden.

Although this is the longest they have spent apart from each other in years, she understands that this short break is for their benefit as a whole. Given to them as an assignment to test their strengths during their Christian couple-counseling, their neighborhood pastor has set forth this last evaluation before his decision to marry them come the first of next month.

As a couple who grew up together in Philadelphia's Baptist Church of Eden, Luna trusts that their pastor, Reverend Williams knows what's best for them. Not only did he marry both of their parents decades ago, but he has also had the pleasure of watching Luna and Hayden grow since birth. Receiving this blessing from their childhood pastor means the world to both of them, and being able to profess their love for each other couldn't be done in a better place than doing it in their home-church and in front of members that feel like family.

Hitting light switches as she powers her apartment down for the night, Luna accidentally bumps into a tower of packed boxes on her way to bed. As the single life withers away for the young woman, she's prepared with her belongings packed and a tidy apartment to move into her first home with her fiancé just a day after the wedding bells ring.

Luna finds herself yawning as the rainy evening tires her out even more. The fuzzy-socks on her feet feels like walking on cozy clouds as they begin to wear her out and get the best of her... However, before she can get to bed, an impatient knock on her front door stops her in mid track down her hallway.

With a glance through the peephole, she finds herself smiling— blush heating her cheeks as she watches her fiancé tremble lightly, waiting for her welcome to come inside as he paces the hallway of her building.

She unlocks the door and lets him in, although he should be home at his own apartment across town— she hopes that just a few minutes together and a kiss goodnight isn't enough to completely fail their last assignment of couple-counseling.

As Luna unlocks the door, it springs free as Hayden shoves past it. Becoming hostage in his grasp, she is suddenly showered with intense kisses— forcing a sweet giggle from her lips as she realizes how much she has been missed. "I've missed you too!" She coos, "get in here, you're freezing."

Closing the door behind him with a back-kick, Hayden's hands are still far too busy with illicit groping around Luna's waist and the thin fabric of her pink boy-shorts. His persistence, although flattering, becomes a bit worrying as the taste of nicotine is prevalent on his handsomely full pink lips. "You're— you're smoking again?" She struggles with her sentence, mouth being taken by Hayden's lewd groans and tongue kiss. She knows him too well... On a journey to better himself, the past-partyboy has been trying his best to become a good husband. Quitting smoking, staying consistent in his law-career, and even coming back to church! Anything to be able to marry the girl that his heart aches for...

But, with the habit-forming taste still staining his lips, Luna realizes that he's been having a much harder time with this break than she has. When Hayden gets under the pressure of stress, he's known to sneak a smoke or two... Either when he's tense, or just has had a relief from stress...

And although she wishes to choose the ladder, the way he has pounced on her proves that it couldn't be a celebratory ciggie of relief... "Talk to me, what is stressing you?"

"What? I'm good, baby, I'm fine." His lying is poor, practically trembling as his eyes search the room instead of meeting her gaze.

She notices the dampness of his coat and in his sandy-brown waves, now becoming even more worried. "Stop lying, and— did you walk here?"

"Ran." He presses forward... Acting strangely as if he were a junkie meeting up with his pusherman for a hit. "Needed to get here, needed to see you."

She squints with prevalent worry on her face, needing not to respond being that Hayden hasn't stopped frantically yapping since he came through the door. "You caught me, okay? Yeah— I had a smoke. It's been real tough baby, I miss you, and I need you!"

Dipping lower in his stance, the tall and lanky young man finds his mouth attached to the curve of his fiancé's neck as he suddenly becomes a vacuum— suckling at her skin and bringing bruise-like hickies to the surface.

Oh... But goodness, do they begin to feel good— too good.

Half-lidded as her lips part, Luna melts at the sensation of his attentiveness on her most sensitive part of her body. Savoring Hayden's neck-kisses and love bites although she knows that it's wrong. "But, the counseling..."

"No, Lu! Fuck all that." He refuses, pushing his already fogged reading-glasses up with a finger in the middle. "When you called my office today... You were half asleep, just waking up from a nap. God, I nearly jumped through that goddamn phone. The sound of your rasp as you were just waking up? And—And knowing that your first thought after sleeping was of nothing else but calling to check on me?" He hisses, the reminder aching him all over again, "ooou— fuck, I need that."

She chuckles, sweetly calming his fervor with a kiss to his cheek and a gentle tap against his jawline. "Remind me not to call you at work anymore. Now come on! You know our assignment— no visits for a whole month!"

Her body— so tight and youthful, it drives him mad with lust. Wearing only socks, pink boy-shorts, and a long sleeve white-T, every inch of her might as well be exposed in fabric so napkin thin. "I got one out in the men's room from the thought of you." With a tone dangerously low, Hayden snakes his full lips over every detail of Luna's face, ending with irresistibly soft kisses to her lips. "— busted to your minute long phone call, but it wasn't enough."

"Okay! I get it! My phone call wrecked you... But you handled it— you found some kind of relief, and now you're better." Having to peel away from him, Luna rolls her eyes. "Come on, let's go get your car. You better hope that lot isn't closed for the night now." With Philly only being so big, the law firm Hayden practices at is luckily only a few minutes down the street. If they get there in time, they can avoid getting a ticket on the windshield— but that's only if her fiancé tightens up and begins to think with the head on his shoulders, instead of the one between his legs.

Turning to grab for her keys, Luna is suddenly pantsed! Her unmentionables revealed to her entire living room as her thin shorts are pulled to her ankles. Hayden watches the sight of her from below. With a grip still on her shorts and lowered to her ankles, his blue eyes twinkle in awe of the front row image of Luna's womanhood. "Look at you... goddamn, still going to your wax appointments? Fuck— it's a fresh wax too."

"Hayden! What the hell are you—" Lifting slightly his mouth is instantly against her mound. Swiping feverishly through her folds with his tongue, he savors the taste of her flesh with pathetic moans and a suctioning-suck to her pearl.

Losing the ability to think coherently, Luna drops her keys to the floor as her hands weigh on Hayden's shoulders for proper stability as her jaw lolls open.

"You've been thinking of me, huh?" Noticing her plump mound already leaking with syrupy pleasure, she isn't sure whether Hayden's speaking to her or the pussy. "Already so turned on, been fantasizing about me, huh?"

Her hips buck against his mouth as his nose burrows deeper into her core. "Christ... okay, stop!"

"I wasn't fantasizing! I was on my way to bed! I just showered!" His menacing chuckle warms her, as his long digits glide through her slip— catching her breath like a knot in her throat. "Oh yeah? A shower? Hmm, so I have the shower head to thank for this, don't I?"

Luna reddens, known to the fact she often wastes herself away with long showers and the pleasure of her good water-pressure, he taunts his fiancé with his extremely accurate assumption— tasting the cum and heat of her from Luna's nightly-shower-masturbation with her handy shower head. "Only wish you had let me watch."

"Enough! Hayden, get up!" Becoming aggravated with his behavior, she takes away the access to her body, tightly snapping her thighs shut an inch from his lips. "We have gone an entire two weeks! You only have another two left, and then we will always be together! Hayden, you're acting like some virgin, the hell has gotten into you today!?"

"A virgin!?" The insult stings, however not enough to refuse licking Luna's warm essence from dripping down his bottom lip. "You have to understand. I've been fucking up, Luna! Like my mind is actually malfunctioning or something! At work, I'm making mistakes— faxing the wrong information, shredding the wrong files! And I'm angry! So goddamn angry, I can't even sleep..."

Standing from his kneel, Hayden refuses to give her bottoms back— pocketing Luna's shorts to keep her bare and toyed with. Daring her to reach for them as he stands threateningly over her.

Although a slim man, being over six-feet is enough to make Luna crane her neck to meet his gaze. He softens the tension, rasping with an ache in his tone as his eyes begin to water. "It's fucked up, baby, I know it... But what's even more fucked up is going to Reverend Williams, ready to marry, and ready to be together— then, what does he do?! He pulls us apart, keeping us separate until our wedding day as if we are just some naïve kids."

Resting his hands on top of his head, Hayden exhales, blowing out a large breath as he tries to keep his cool— eyes glassing over with tears as he even realizes how crazy his own mania is starting to look. "I don't mean to act like I've never seen a naked woman before, but fuck— I just miss you... I miss you and I'm trying my hardest not to freak the fuck out."

The shatter and sudden fade in his voice as he holds back tears aches Luna like nothing she's felt before. Her sweet pretty boy. Always having been such a spoiled only-child, Hayden can't help being like this... His sensitivity is what made Luna fall for him anyhow... The way that he cries at the drop of a dime would be seen as pathetic to most, but, have mercy— he's the sexiest crier she's ever seen.

She can't do it... Never could his Lula-Belle be upset with her needy baby. "Come here honey."

...

Pressed in the crook of Luna's neck, Hayden breathes in her scent— the warm smell of vanilla scented soap and body butter against her skin, making his addiction for her even worse.

"I know, it's been rough."Luna begins, trying her best to stay consistently understanding of his sensitive feelings, but finding it terribly hard to be this bare beneath her belly... Hayden's touch slithers across her body with a gentle caress against her ass and thighs. He makes it impossible for Luna to know if he is listening or not— she continues anyway. "I've been marking my calendar and counting down the days until we finally are married and moved into our new home together—"

"Then you do understand..." Guiding her hand with his, Hayden places her touch against the rock-hard bulge in his slacks. "— the pain that I'm in, you understand it."

She trembles, fighting back his seducing measures. "I do but—"

"Please." He can't help but to interrupt... perfect teardrops streaming down his handsome face as if they were cued to. "God, please, Lu. Can't you see that I can't even breathe? Baby, don't do this to your husband... I can't go another day."

A shared slow kiss tangles their tongues, making her forget the clear gaslighting in everything he says. His long fingers caress the features of Luna's exquisitely soft appearance, stroking lightly against any of the fallen strands of her messy bun— a bun soon to become messier if he ever gets her back in the goddamn bedroom.

With his lips no longer tasting of nicotine, she wonders where the flavor of something sweet has come from... "Taste that?"His ability to know her every thought is startling... Reading her mind through those perfectly round doe eyes of hers is simultaneously his talent and his taunt. "It's you... Don't you taste good, baby?"

Her knees tighten, keeping her budding arousal hidden.

Becoming guilty of falling for this trap, Luna traces the stain of his perfect tears with the drag of her finger. His sultry eyes follow the trace of her digit along his cheek, covering her hand with his as he raises it to his lips— pressing soft kneading kisses against her fingertips and palm as her diamond engagement ring glimmers in the low-lighting of her apartment.

Her ring is a rock that any woman would wish to have on her hand... but with a man so needy, Luna has her work cut out to keep it.

Hayden watches her come undone— chiseling at her refusal as Luna's shell continues to crack. His body trembles with need, fiending for Luna's affection as his caress pulls her closer to him by her full-hips. Hayden grinds his erection against her, knowing that she's bare and already sensitive, the grind against her thigh inches towards her pussy— letting the rough fabric of his clothed hard-on aggravate her desperate bud.

Her back arches as she begins to bloom open for him, allowing the grind to increase with a sidestep in her socks that widens the gap in between her thighs for better access. She mewls softly against Hayden's lips as the teasing prod through her waxed mound makes her lose all thought. His digits invite themselves under her shirt, cupping her breasts— braless and supple as he kneads his fingers against the doughy-flesh and strums at her pronounced nipples.

"Mmm—baby, slow please." Both becoming far too excited with shallow breaths, Luna eases him before they begin to rut and breed like animals. "Hayden, my love— you're trembling..."

"Save me." He begs mindlessly, "please, please, please. Thoughts so full of you— I'm fucking up my career, Lu, ease them, please. At least take some responsibility for this."

Already feverish with lechery and far past failing their couple-counseling assessment, the rules of the test were broken the moment that she let him through that door... "O—" She gulps, already regretting her lustful answer, "Okay."

. . .

Her word... Her sweet, sweet, delightful, assurance.

It's finally the approval he needs to act absolutely barbaric...

His tears vanish into thin air, grinning deviously as his mood darkens.

Luna hadn't realized she was marrying an award winning actor. What happened to the drama? Where is the sadness!? "Take my coat off, Luna Marie."

"Huh?" Appalled by the sudden change in his attitude, she questions what in the hell just happened as Hayden calls her name— both middle and first.

Her hands peel the black dress-coat off of his body, letting the damp layer from outside's rain drape to her wooden floors. "God, look at the state of you." Her thin night-shirt is snatched above her head... Now bare from the bottom to the top. "Now take my belt off."

The look of clueless innocence splays across her expression, lips parted in shock— full and pouty, face blushed an apple-red from being shamefully touched. Luna's eyes are a full chocolatey brown as they watch him with obedience, waiting for his direction, taking the leather belt from his hips— just as she was asked to.

"I just don't— I don't understand."

"Shhh." His hush is inconsiderate. He walks her backwards— without care of her tripping as she is forced back into the bedroom. "Just gonna fuck you numb, yeah? You're gonna get fucked absolutely stupid, mhm, understand?"

He pushes her, making Luna fall backwards into a bed of plush pillows and stuffies. "Ah! But Hayden! Your tears? You were just crying! I thought I'd make you feel better—"

"And you are!" He coaxes with a sinister charm, "soothing my aching heart."

Losing his glasses— the rest of his garments go with them. His dress shirt, shoes, pants, and making his way down to his briefs where he pauses— taking it slower here as even a breeze against his hard cock pains him. He groans in agony. Hayden's handsomely thick-brows curl in on each other as he furrows— Adam's apple leaping as he swallows roughly.

From the bed, Luna watches his excitement weighing heavily as it stands up the length of his trim-abdomen. How maddening it is that even the sight of it makes her mouth water...Long, lanky, and tan just as he is, the many inches of Hayden's cock has always made up for his girth from the way he uses it to rearrange guts. But tonight, it's all there... The utter width, girth, length, vigor— A cock filled with such fervor this evening that the amount of blood pulsing through his veins makes him dangerously swollen, throbbing, thicker than she's ever seen him.

He hisses as he fists himself, "g—uhh, god— shit." The lack of physical touch this month, it gives him honest bodily pain.

Her ankles are snatched, suddenly yanked closer to him, furthering her body to the edge of the bed as her knees rests on each side of his hips. Captured with a growl as if she were nothing but a doll, Luna hasn't any ability to run... No option to close shut as Hayden's body is a purposeful wall, caging her pussy exactly where he wants it as the utter weight of him stands in the way.

Frantic, Luna can't even realize the amount of squirming and whining she has begun beneath him. She breathes heavily with fear, excitement— both. It hurts to even touch his tender length, yet he manages to tilt the aim of his cockhead to nudge against the silk of her bare folds. Finding her honey-spot, Hayden eases into the heat of her as his jaw dangles in an opened awe. Stunned by not only the feel, but the sight of her flesh contorting around his shaft — sheathing it as if it were its home. "Fucking hell, you take me so damn deep."

Luna... Baby..."He calls for her, nearing tears once again— but this time they can't be faked. Unable to cry wolf with these tears, Hayden sobs from delirious pleasure... The swell of him already aiding his need to cum.

He quickens, watching the grip of pussy beneath him drag him inside, push him back out, and soak hydrant-like as each minute passes. "I needed this." His thrusts lewdly slosh like a pot mixing macaroni. "Do you hear that? How much this kitty missed me?"

Luna grips the sheets beneath her, tightly squeezing her eyes shut, embarrassed of her own music.

He weighs heavily on her soft frame, pushing her thighs backwards and stretching them near her sides as he spreads Luna's pussy open to its max. "Oh fuck, I'm lucky— I'm so fucking lucky." He works so extremely hard for it, bucking his hips like a bull as his sack slaps against the rimmed-pucker of her asshole, echoing claps through the bedroom walls as if a symphony had joined them.

Sweet feminine mewls with gentle sobs inspire him to dig deeper, Hayden catches the bounce of her breasts— giving them welting slaps as he always has enjoyed the indecency of a rough bruising fuck.

Lying there, open for his taking— she feels without a purpose. Knowing that this kind of rutting could've been easily done to a cocksleeve, Luna continues to rest incompetently, being defiled at the whim of Hayden's free use. She squeals as her stomach tightens... Poor Luna just can't control it... Nothing slow about this fuck, the relentless jabs one after the other knocks her marbles free as her body releases a guilty orgasm that she couldn't ignore if she wanted to. "Mmm' Hayden! Please—"

Her walls cave against him, hugging around his cock and fluttering against the flesh of him like a million kisses. "That's right you cum for me, ughh fuck!Squeezing me so tight Luna, baby... I'm gonna cum."

"Sss—AH!" A shrilling complaint spews from her tongue. Overworked and passed overly-sensitive, Luna's hands rush at the profound v-cut of his stomach, fingers grazing through his happytrail as she tries to slow down the punishing blows. The repetitive thrashes making her body weep with a shower of squirt from not being able to keep up.

Her hands lessening the speed of him are smacked out of his way, taken and pinned over her head as his strokes speed into torturous lunges. Slowing isn't an option as Hayden aims to fill her womb— swollen with his cream, she is soon to feel the pent up loads from his lack of sex.

Like an over the edge nudge to a line of falling dominoes, the chain reaction of his brutalizing impales threaten to take his soul. He groans, hunched over in disbelief as a flood of his semen rockets out of his tip without end. Pushed inside her far as possible, the consequences of this creampie does not matter. A climax so fucking good to him that even if it meant holding a baby in his arms in the next nine short months, this nut still would be well worth it.

Luna winces. Her legs— gone into an active shake as her mind overworks with thoughts of how much they have failed the pastor's wishes. Hayden bucks as he comes undone, the muscles that tighten his entire body finally relaxing as he lay limp— crashing beside his fiancé as they share a rest in a puddle of passion on what were clean sheets.

Relief takes over him... but, Luna's wrists ache and she can't seem to understand exactly when her sensitive soon-to-be husband's temperament changed into the feral beast that just pummeled her...

Both breathless, Hayden begins to chuckle as they lay flat— facing the spin of her ceiling fan. "Fuck! That was exactly what I needed." He rests his hand on her lower belly, a possessive touch on her womb as if he were prideful of the organ he loaded. Caressing where she aches, where he violated, where he claimed. "God that pussy spoils me." He chuckles, "how many times did you finish?"

...

Not enough... An insufficient amount to be dealing with his bullshitting schemes— a night of using her kindred spirit with fake tears for exactly what he wanted... just a nut.

"Yeah... Plenty." She fibs, although undoubtedly the one climax that crashed over her may have been enough to last her a lifetime...

"Yeah? I knew it. You missed it as much as I did, huh?" Hayden tugs open her thigh, "Mmm, let me see it." Luna gasps, feeling his sudden needy touch once again on her mound— spreading open her pussylips as he scans the art of his milky spend trickling out of her.

Using his cum as lubricant, Hayden's fingers sink inside her... hoping to arouse her once again for a full night of more frenzied intercourse. Although the swirl of his warm spend circling her clit makes her dizzy and unladylike, his words power her down...

"You missed it as much as I did, huh?"

His last sentence replays in her thoughts, "no..." Vexed, finally she answers as anger stains her expression. "No Hayden! I didn't miss the sex, I missed you!"

He frowns. Being a usual 'dick for brains' kind of man, he can't tell the difference between missing Luna or missing her pussy. "Well yeah, duh!" He chuckles, "you know what I mean baby."

She closes her legs, taking her clit from Hayden as he uses it as a fidget-toy. Luna sits up in bed while he continues to relax. With her head so full of the most confusing emotions she's ever felt in her life, Hayden has yet to notice what he is jeopardizing with his satyriasis antics. "So you missed me?" She presses the issue, "and if I were like— sick, or on my monthly, and I couldn't have sex... My presence would have been more than enough for you, right?"

...

"Are you kidding?" Showing honest concern, Hayden recognizes the noticeable tone of sadness in her voice. He pulls Luna closer to him, dragging a warm throw blanket over the goosebumps that riddle her plush body. "Of course bubba." He works his charm, using the pet names that she loves from: Baby, Bunny, Lula-Belle, even to Bubba...  Whatever it takes to see her smile again.

"Where is all of this coming from? Baby, I love you... You know this. And plus, nights like that have never stopped us before. I'm not a little boy, Luna, I'm a man— blood isn't anything but... I dunno, lube with color?!" Hayden chuckles, finding joy in his own lewd honesty. Although joking, Luna's eyes widen as she reads deeper into this, finally seeing him for his truth.. the truth of a man with a sexual thirst that can never be quenched. "I'd lay a towel down, I can do all the work, or even better— fuck your mouth? Or your ass? Hell— your hand!"

His nonchalant laughter is uncanny proof of the little regard he has for the issue... and that's if he's intelligent enough to even notice that there is one. Hayden kisses at her shoulder, biting gently at the flesh as his thumbs strum gentle circles on her hipbones. "Come on baby, you know this body of yours— it's my wonderland, my personal playground and you love it. I've got more places for a nut than just here, hm?" Even while upset, Hayden's fingers dip below, it's as if the slit of her womanhood is magnetic— he can't take even a minute without the need to touch it, whether with his hands or with his cock...

Luna's stomach drops... Her realization that the love of her life is nothing but a man full of lust is painful. Their many hours spent in counseling, church, and even the nights spent together while they stayed clothed... Were they all just a waste of time? While she was full of joy— happy to be doing wholesome activities with him, was he only thinking about the sex that they could have been having instead?

"Hey." Hayden interrupts her thought, "are you thinking the same thing that I am?"

...

Luna scoffs... At this point— she highly doubts it.

"I say to hell with the next two weeks, we don't need a month's separation to prove shit to anyone! The pastor was just pulling our chain, probably a test that he wanted to end just like this! I mean think about it— he wanted this to happen, to prove that our love runs so deep, that not even a month of time could separate us." He continues, blurting a mainsplaining-profession of love. A love that is purely of lust. "That's how connected we are... Bunny, I live and breathe you, Lu. So why wait, huh? I say we have a courthouse wedding tomorrow and say fuck couple-counseling forever. We don't need Reverend Williams to marry us, just gotta sign our names on that dotted line... So, what do you say?"

With a smile that somehow still manages to woo her... His cute grin isn't enough to convince her ever again.

Reverend Williams never gave them a reason for this last assignment. But, Luna can now see exactly why... The test speaks for itself. A month of estrangement to let their truths surface to the top all on its own...

Although she gazes back at a perfectly sculpted face and the same heart-melting blue eyes that stole her heart in Sunday school when they were only tots... Luna is reminded that when they reached adulthood, she stayed when Hayden left their church as a troubled teen. The corruption of sex and sin had him, and it seems that it still does.Although she brought him back to the word of the Bible—you can lead a horse to water, but you just can't make them drink.

The deceit of his tears tonight has made her feel taken advantage of. She realizes that the love she has for him is damaging, willing to satisfy him in ways that disgraces her faith and self respect. Hayden used their sex this evening like some type of relief from a coming rapture— a fuck to sate him before he lost his ever-loving mind!

But Luna is a person, not a cure for wellness.

How can there be love when his lust takes up so much space? Will the passion still be there during nights apart? Or, will she always have to be this bare putty in his hands?

Better yet, will it get even worse? To the point of seeking pleasure in the arms of another woman if Luna were to ever deny him? How much is too much?Too many questions and far too many fears that need to be addressed before she is willing to be held hostage in what could be an unfaithful, intolerably, rushed marriage.

Soon melting into the sheets after his dramatically long day, Hayden spins the wedding band that he hasn't stopped wearing since the very day he proposed... In his mind, they were married from that point on— forever his, regardless of the storms that may come. A possessive claim on Luna, that she'd be foolish to think she could ever break free from...

His eyes grow heavy with thoughts of his own... Different thoughts than Luna's, of course.

Thoughts of their gloriously perfect future together whether she'll be willing or he will have to drag her hardheaded ass through it. What is meant to be, will be— and according to Hayden, Luna doesn't have much of an option being that he tethered himself to her before they even were out of diapers. With inch-long lashes that you would think belong to a girl,  Hayden can no longer wait for her answer— sleep finally taking him as the bedroom grows into restful silence.

Finally finding sleep, peace is here— his peace is wherever she is.

Unable to sleep— Luna reaches into her nightstand, grabbing hold of a signed contract from the leasing office of her building that she signed only a day ago. The sealed envelope holds a document agreeing to take full responsibility in the consequences of breaking her two year-lease with her apartment's landlord... But, excited for her next step in life, Luna thought she would be turning it in bright and early tomorrow morning, prepared to leave her single life behind as the days until her and Hayden's celebration of love would continue to countdown.

. . .

Her bedside candle engulfs the paper within its flame instead... Evidently, her plans have changed.

Now needing to continue with her rent next month on what was going to be their wedding day, Luna sees in her future that what is supposed to be a Saturday she would never forget, will be spent here— all alone.

"Huh?" Hayden sniffs, the smell of smoke teasing his nose and waking him from his slumber. "What is that, Lu?" He yawns, "you burning something?"

She sighs, praying that one day Hayden might become the man that she needs him to be— Better yet, she prays that he becomes the man that he needs to be for himself.

After another rugged battle while protecting the citizens of Metropolis from a scaly-skyscraper sized beast known as a Kaiju, Superman aches with what he's aware are broken bones and ruptured organs.

Radiation from the yellow-sun would heal him instantly, but now that the Fortress of Solitude has been infiltrated, and his service bots destroyed, he will have to heal all on his own tonight. To make matters worse, the one message that gives him the most joy and motivation to save planet Earth has been released for all of the world to see... Not only released, but given to the public as a version that Superman himself is far from familiar with...

The video message from his birth parents has always been partially damaged due to the impact of an infant-Superman's vessel on its way to Earth. But, luckily the first-half of the message was able to be saved.

His Kryptonian parents share a message of hope, peace, and the protection of all mankind; a mission that Superman has followed every day of his life since the first time he ever heard the objective. But now that the National news has it, they are somehow displaying a never before seen ending-half to it.... An ending-half that has left the hero just as in shock as the rest of the world.

After being stolen and completely restored by unknown criminals, the message from his birth parents end with the intentions of dictatorship and hierarchy... A message that makes Superman— the world famous hero, seem to be nothing but a traitor.

As night falls in the quiet streets of Metropolis, an injured Superman stops at a storefront— watching the breaking news on multiple TV screens and seeing humanity's trust for him continue to diminish each second.

"The people there are simple and profoundly confused; weak of mind, spirit, and body.Lord over the planet as the Last Son of Krypton."

Superman cringes at the repetition of his birth parents' full message being replayed every minute as breaking news...

He wishes that he never heard it, Superman wishes that it all weren't true! However, after multiple professional linguistic testings, their words have been proven to be unedited and completely accurate. But, how could people who birthed a hero full of such love and kindness, be so cruel?

Their message continues.

"Dispatch of anyone unable or unwilling to serve you, Kal-El. Take as many wives as you can so your genes and Krypton's might and legacy will live on in this new frontier.Do us proud, our beloved son. Rule without mercy."

Superman sighs, facepalming in shame of his parents' true intentions. Although he is sure that somehow Lex Luthor is behind why the world now loathes him, all that Superman desires tonight is to go home and rest beside his most loyal companion— the cutest, most rambunctious, scruffy white pup you could ever meet! A superdog named Krypto. . . .

Then reality sets in. Superman now also comes to remember that not only was footage stolen from the Fortress today... but, so was the damn dog.

He sighs once more, finally coming to terms with the extent of his loneliness tonight as he takes to the air on a flight back to his apartment where he hopes to find some sort of rest. This evening, he would rather just endure the pain and to heal slowly. Not only is it the closest he could ever feel to being human, but it will allow him the necessary pain to sulk in his feelings— pitying himself and rethinking his entire reason for even being here.

Taking to the night sky as stars and a cool breeze whip through his cape, Superman only passes four blocks of buildings before his attention is caught by a woman in need.

Using his intense hearing, he listens in on what are pleads, begging to be helped as she's attacked by a man in a dark alleyway. "Hey! Give it back!" She struggles with her purse in what seems to be a robbery, "get the hell off of me asshole!"

Superman swoops down in an immediate instant... The kind of flying-by that one would miss if they were to blink too quickly. He tackles the thief into the wall of a brick abandoned building, bursting a hole through it as if it were an attack by the Koolaid Man. The tackle tears the woman's purse free from the criminal's grasp as he becomes completely knocked out... asleep in what will be his mattress tonight— a bed of dust and rubble.

As bricks continue to crumble around them, sheets of paper torn from the victim's bag confettis throughout the air...

One particularly lucky sheet feathers to the ground... As a gentleman, Superman hurries to help with the fallen papers. But, as he lifts the sheet to his sight, he notices a stamp in the right hand corner belonging to The Daily Planet— his coverup job during the day as his hidden alter ego, a journalist named Clark Kent.

Snatching a badge from around the neck of the unconscious man, Superman notices that the thief isn't just any vigilante, he is an employee of News Now— The Daily Planet's biggest competitor when it comes to the business of journalism in National news.

He meets eyes with the damsel in distress...

... And he absolutely loses it.

Superman immediately breaks into a fit of belittling laughter, in utter disbelief as he notices the girl to be none other than his very own colleague, Danielle Givens. His rival at work who seems to always be a step ahead of him when it comes to writing good journalism with her constant award winning articles and timely reporting.

"Superman! I—I don't know how to thank you." She smiles sweetly, frantically reordering her fallen papers back into its manila files. "Still saving the day, even in the dead of night! I owe you— big time."

"Hah!" Forgetting his current role, he can't help but to poke fun at his most hated colleague. "Goody-Two-Shoes does slip up after all! You're two timing The Daily Planet?! Meeting with other news sources, trying to find a better gig!?"

"Give me that!" She retrieves the rest of her most recent work as Danny snatches the last piece of paper from out of his hand.... A fantastic report that any news source would be lucky to receive. . . .

She suddenly pauses... "Wait a minute, WAIT! Look me in the eyes..."

His eyes widen in fear, now noticing his major mistake in slacking to hide his identity tonight, all due to his extreme exhaustion and fatigue after the most difficult day he has had in his entire life.

"No way... There's only one asshole who calls me Goody-Two-Shoes, and that's Clark Kent!" With a gasp, she finally figures it out...

Out of all the people in the world, she, Danny Givens has to be the first to know the true identity of Superman other than his adoptive parents. The shock soon fades as she bursts into her own fit of belittling laughter. "Well I'll be goddamned!!! Clark Kent is Superm—"

He immediately covers her mouth, wrapping the majority of her smug face with the massive size of his hand. "Lower your voice." His words are tightly gritted. With thirty years plus of being the kindest person you could ever meet, Superman can't help but to despise the big personality in this one tiny woman.

Dumb as a box of rocks, he isn't sure how someone like her could be The Daily Planet's biggest success. Already on her second Pulitzer Prize for American Journalism, what Danny lacks in common sense she has in otherworldly journalism skills— publishing stories about Superman that even Superman himself hadn't thought of to write!

"Danny..." He begins with a groan, "why are you always in the goddamn way!? At work, in the media, on the streets. I mean honestly, do you live life with your eyes closed!? I've had to save you a million times! The least you could do— just this once, is to keep your lips sealed."

Muted as his hand is taken from her mouth, Danny watches up at him with a grimace of pure hatred. But it's all true.She's reminded of the countless times she has walked into traffic and been saved by Superman due to being too focused on the emails in her phone or perfecting her lipgloss. Saved again after having her favorite high-heel stuck in a sewer grate instead of taking it off as a bus approached her. And her most incredibly stupid incident of all— rescued once more after trying to catch footage of the illicit crimes happening daily in Metropolis' sister-city, the infamous Gotham.

And all this time, she has owed her thanks to her geeky coworker, Clark Klent... the true Superman.

"Say something will you!" His patience runs short... But Danny still can't help but to be smug with the man she owes her life to.

...

"Wow Kent..." A sly grin curves at the corners of her full lips. "I give it to you! I mean— you have had the entire world fooled by wearing glasses and a tie during the day! Even me!" She chuckles, "man oh man, just wait until I type this up, my name will be forever spoken in history for a story like this! An absolute legend."

She dramatically pictures her name in bright-lights with him, "Danielle Givens, the world's most phenomenal journalist, and how she solved the mystery-identity of THEE Superman!"

The sound of what seems to be a bomb landing startles her, forcing Danny to quit fantasizing and take a step backwards in her heels to steady herself. But, as dust begins to fly.... she realizes that instead of some random explosion, it was only Superman's rage... His closed-fisted punch cratering into the cement beneath them and ringing like a dropped missile.

She gulps, never having seen her colleague or the friendly superhero so very upset...

"You—...You don't frighten me, Clark Kent." Although the rattle in her voice says otherwise, she attempts at a shallow but tough demeanor.

Taking her notepad from her bag, Danny begins to write notes about tonight's revelation. "Now tell me, 'Superman'.With all the chaos in the media today, is it all true? Not only are you just some lousy journalist, but is the good guy persona even real? Or has this hero-lifestyle all been a performance?— kinda, like the dorky reading glasses you wear to work and don't actually need."

Being disrespected after a day like today is far too much for him to bear... Superman begins to heat— the skin of his eyelids begins to sunburn from the sweltering temperature of his eyes.

Lasers from his irises shoot bright-red beams... A line of fire that purposely scorches the tip of Danny's French-manicure and turns her notepad into complete ash in her hands.

A squeal escapes her tongue, dropping the rest of the ash and paper crumbles to her feet. Stunned by the heat and melted nail tip on her finger, she finally becomes fearful and out of jokes. The girl walks backwards, hoping to gain space from the man she has pissed off until she is met with a solid wall against her spine.

Finding an inch of common sense is unusual for her, but tonight, in the spur of the moment, she remembers that this man isn't just her competitive coworker anymore... He is inhuman. An extraterrestrial who she has seen pick up beasts the size of Godzilla and fight terrors that should have long ended this city years ago...

The last thing that she could ever want is the man known as a superhero to use his strengths against her in the ways of a villain— something that she never knew Clark Kent had in him, and something that he himself never realized either.

He presses forward, anger engulfing him as he cages Danny between a building and his taut body. Darkness consumes her as his height blocks the luminance of the streetlight above— now only the glow of red surrounds her from the beam of lasers that he threatens to use on her.

"With secrets of your own, stabbing your place of work in the back with other news sources." Superman begins darkly... His baritone reverberates throughout Danny's entire body and makes her feel meek and feather-like. "Then, the accomplice you attempted a business deal with snatches your articles, willing to steal it from you just to take the credit for all of your work..."

Embarrassed by another of her dumb mistakes, tears build at her lash line— being worked down to nothing but a frail little girl by the belittlement in his tone.

"And here you are pointing fingers, as if you aren't guilty of having a hidden identity yourself." He hovers even closer, the heat of his eyes warming her face like a furnace as she winces with a pathetic squeal of fear. "Well, my hidden identity is a hero— yours is just a selfish, money hungry, two-timing deceiver. Have fun being unemployed.

"You can't—" Danny trembles. Realizing the mistakes that she has made, she regrets coming to make this deal tonight when she truly does love her position at The Daily Planet; thankful for all of the accomplishments that she has been able to achieve there."You can't say anything, Clark."

"Me?" He scoffs. "You're the one pushing a story about who I really am, and you have the audacity to ask me not to say anything about what you've done?"

"Fine!" She bursts. "Look, I-I won't write the story, I won't tell anyone. Not a soul!"

"Right..." After years of rivalry, the last thing he'd ever do is believe a word out of her mouth. "And I'm supposed to believe that?"

Never one to beg, especially a man that she loathes at that, Danny grows aggravated and riled. "You mean to tell me that out of all these show-off-powers of yours, you can't even read minds!? Still just as pathetic I see! You really can't tell that I am clearly telling you the truth!?"

With a tightly gritted jaw, Superman attempts to calm himself by taking a moment to inhale and close his eyes before he does something he could regret...

Always thinking that Krypto's bark is the most annoying sound in the world, a night of Danny's blabbering makes the noise of his dog sound like a relaxing ASMR.

Danny persists, having yet to take one breath as the rambling continues. "What do you want, Clark? I mean, really! What is it?! You-You want the deed to my house? Would that finally make you happy? Give you all the rights to sell my property and make me homeless if your secret ever gets out!? I mean Christ!!"

Tensed, tired, often coughing up the taste of blood, and unusually hot, Superman watches Danny's thoughtless brown doe eyes and never ending chatter from perfectly glossed lips in a state of dazed mindlessness... "I don't want your house, I just want you to shut up."

His eyes glowing red die completely down— behavior suddenly becoming despicable... But, if it were to be anyone to make this hero act out of his character, it could only be thee Danielle Givens.

A grip to her shoulder weighs heavily on her tiny frame, slowly pushing her onto her knees by the extreme weight of it. She hisses as rocks beneath her tear through her stockings and scratch at the supple flesh of her knees against the pavement. She becomes eye level to the hero's waist,  noticing a prominent bulge at his crotch through the fabric of his tattered spandex suit... She gasps, struggling for air at the sight of it.

Her gut drops with an unusual feeling. Finally being treated with the same degradation that her sharp tongue spews towards others, she is stunned to realize that this is the treatment that her body suddenly craves as her pussy weeps through her panties in the moment of being put in her place.

Using this quiet night to find relief, Superman shuts his colleague up by putting her mouth to better use...

Reaching for the split in his suit, a rich breath eludes his throat as his hand wraps around the utter length of himself... He doesn't remember becoming this hard— doesn't remember ever being furious and lustful at the very same time either...

Danny watches up at him. Finally quiet, yet his powerful hearing picks up on the sound of her racing heartbeat and the tremble of her breathing. Her round eyes and slightly parted lips is a sight that makes him shudder, beautiful— yet absolutely maddening. With a gentle cuff to her jaw, the hero aims his swollen cockhead into the peak of her lips— pushing in until he is flush on the bed of her warm tongue.

He groans... Pleasure making him thoughtless as his aching muscles tense in bafflement. With the streets so silent and the world heavily weighing on his shoulders. Superman eases his built up rage with the pretty mouth of Clark Kent's enemy. His hand reaches through the nape of Danny's thick black tresses, fisting a handful as he embraces her to take the vengeful bucking down her gullet.

She unexpectedly moans beneath him, spoiling the hero with evidence of her now third hidden identity— an absolute slut for cock.

Danny skillfully hollows out her cheeks, wrapping her fingers around the base of his girth— weakening him with soft kneading against his tightening sack and a twist in her wrist as she strokes and sucks him. He hisses, quietly coming undone as he watches Danny become bewitchingly flush with tears from deep-throating as they leak down her cheeks.

His jaw drops... His pain is forgotten, feeling healed by the sight of Danny's slobber glistening off his cock alone. He isn't sure what has become of him— or of this rivalry with her, but what is certain is that shared vigor like this won't end in just this one night.

Soft lewd moans filling the alleyway gives the hero absolute brain rot. Never has he watched someone give head with just as much enjoyment as receiving it. Superman anchors himself for the coming climax with a palm against the wall as he watches Danny grin deviously with a planted suckling-kiss on his tip— making his manhood jump impatiently to unload.

"Fuck." Near a whimper, aggressive-aggravation fills his spirit, again reminded of what it feels like to lose to another of Danny's expertise...

It is as if she is good at everything, but being a decent fucking person.

His heavy hips thrusts forward, deeper down her throat as he watches her gag for the breath he refuses to give her.

...

"You'll take it, you'll swallow it all."

Pretty, and beaten at her own game, a submissive Danny nods— letting Superman empty his pent up spend down her windpipe with obedience. Continuing to spill with subtle jerks and aftershocks, his jaw lolls open and eyebrows furrow in absolute bliss. She misses not even a drop, taking the salt of his sperm like her mouth was only made to be fucked.

Annoyed with his perfect relief, Superman growls as his palm wraps around her throat. He lifts her up effortlessly from her knees, slamming her against the wall again as he holds her whole body up above his head. Danny's feet dangle from the lifted-choke. He's able to see the absolute worn state of her... Cum stained lips, torn tights, scratched knees, sweated babybairs, and streams of mascara and tears down her soft image... An absolute fucking mess, and yet— she smiles.Danny grins like the true mesmeric demon she is.

. . .

His eyes soften— realizing that if he can't beat her at the game, to join her instead.

Without a word, the dark street alley continues to grow painfully quiet, dead silent even. Their shared glance is a silent agreement of what is to come, a reassuring wordless promise that the sides of them that they wish to keep hidden— will forever remain only their secret.

He sets her back onto the feet of her heels, yet he refuses to release her as his hand continues to press at the small of her back. Danny cranes her neck to meet Superman's gaze. Leaning closer into a kiss, their mouths collide with illicit moans filling the dark corridor— longing for an affair that is far past due. 

Together, they take to the sky towards his home. Flying for her first time, and en route for another round of gurgling back the cock of the world's most cherished hero.

———

As the work of Lex Luthor continued to destroy Superman and all that he has worked for; love from his adoptive parents and nights spent with Danny is what has kept him sane.

When he thought all hope was lost after an injuring fight with Lex Luthor's Ultraman, Superman returned to his hometown of Smallville USA, questioning his identity and seeking reassurance from the parents that raised him.

As he continued to heal, Superman's true father Jonathan Kent realized the extent of the stress his heroic son was truly under. Pa Kent's warm advice and reminder about the human morals that Clark was raised by, gave Superman all the confidence and encouragement he needed to get his head back into the game.

"Parents aren't for tellin' their children who they're supposed to be... We are here to give y'all tools to help you make fools of yourselves all on your own. Your choices, Clark. Your actions. That's what makes who you are. I'ma tell you something, son. I couldn't be... more proud of you."

Their conversation emphasized on the fact that Superman's identity was never dictated by his Kryptonian heritage or a perceived destiny, but by his own character and decisions. Proudly choosing his connection to his adoptive Kent family over his Kryptonian blood, Superman once again took flight, heading back to Metropolis where Justice needed to be served.

After a meet up with the Justice Gang, they soon ended the chaos that Lex Luther had started. The Daily Planet also pitched in as an extreme help by publishing news reports that exposed the truth about Lex Luthor's plot to turn the public's opinion against Superman and to gain complete control over the government. With this journalistic-pursuit, Danny and the rest of The Daily Planet's hard work finally led to Luthor's arrest.

Although having an end goal of ultimately killing Superman, Lex Luthor cared even less about causing potential harm to the citizens of the planet Earth. A dimensional rift he had created threatened to consume Metropolis into a black hole. Thankfully, Superman's ally Mister Terrific of the Justice Gang aided in saving the world as he used his brilliant technology to close the threatening gravitational field that nearly ended the world. Although Superman and Mister Terrific were a duo not to be messed with; the fight couldn't have ended without the help of Krypto.

Superman's finally rescued canine sidekick saved his life more than once. Krypto not only helped defeat Lex Luthor's clone: Ultraman, and the powerful metahuman: The Engineer, but as Superman grew weaker due to injuries and Kryptonite, Krypto's strength and loyalty was the biggest factor in winning this fight.

Although having been arrested, weakened by Kryptonite, lied upon, broken down by evil, continuously having to fight for his life, and even having his DNA cloned into a villain— with the world once again safe from destruction, his name cleared, and restoring the public's trust in him... Superman takes pride in knowing that the many battles that nearly broke him down to nothing at all, were all well worth it in the end.

———

As the most challenging months of his life finally come to an end, a break from Superman is well needed for Clark Kent. Bright and early this Friday morning, Kent can't wait to publish his very own article about all that Superman and his team have accomplished since the beginning of this Lex Luthor dilemma. Today he rushes into work, getting to The Daily Planet before time for his shift as he dodges the heavy Metropolis AM rush hour— excited for all that he has to share with the world.

With being firsthand at each event, who better could there be to publish the victory than the hero himself!? Surely Danny Givens can't outdo the untold details that Superman has witnessed with his own eyes.

For the most part, work life has stayed just the same. Which is a good thing— change only means complications, and complications only mean discomfort.

Although the competitive tension between two journalists is still at an all time high, so is the now constant passing of spicy notes, sharing taboo glances, and the horny under the table conference meeting footsies in a room full of their colleagues...

A strange new branch to Danny Givens and Clark Kent's rivalry... A branch that seems to never end, even with Superman's stress and rage finally beginning to ease.

Friends with benefits... well— maybe not friends.

With them— everyday, it's something new. Something shameful and lewd... Filthy janitor closet quickies, brain-melting oral beneath their desks while imitating professionalism on company zoom calls, and countless hours of Danny wearing nothing at all but Clark's necktie around her sore little wrists... If only the walls of The Daily Planet and their apartments could talk— they would be broadcasting to the world that Clark Kent and Danny Given's mutual agreement has far succeeded their one time X-rated understanding that happened the night in the alley.

Although complicated intoxicating sex can be blinding, the flames of hatred and jealousy still burn between them.

Convinced that she should be seen just as much as a hero, Danny isn't oblivious to her role in Clark Kent's life. His 'Mr. Save The Day' kindness, kissable dimples, and swindling charm is only accessible when his tension is released elsewhere— a fire that only she can cool with the unmentionables between her legs. If it wasn't for the new carnality in their relationship, would the popular hero have been able to stay sane long enough to save the planet? The world may never know, but she does.

As their strings-attached-rivalry continues, it has become much smoother now that Danny's soft frame has grown resilient to the bruising thrusts and sore body from sex with someone not of this planet. She's become more than resilient. Actually, as the months continue to pass, their sex has grown into her most favorite addiction... Wishing that the thought of Superman nearly pulverizing her bones with each pound into her cunt wouldn't be the only image that tightens her knees randomly during the day... All that Danny knows is that recently, her old list of male suitors just doesn't seem to do it for her anymore... . . . And, although it isn't something that Clark Kent would ever like to admit to, Danny's regular presence although still irksome— has truly come with one or two new sets of perks that he enjoys just as much.

———

"Kent, I've been looking for you." As the work morning continues, Danny finds him in a place where he wished to have been able to find peace. "Hiding away on the second floor offices I see.... Well, dream big Clarky-poo, I guess I could let you visit once or twice when this office becomes mine after this big promotion comes up!"

"Yeah, you wish. It won't be you who gets the promotion... Promotions only go to employees who don't get stuck in the elevators or dumbly get their hair tangled in the copy machine... for a third time, might I add." Clark releases a deep sigh, although he manages a retort— making fun of Danny's dumb blonde energy, he rolls his eyes at the sound of her voice... Soothing himself with a rub at his tense sockets beneath his spectacles.

With one of the higher-ups being out of town for a business trip, Clark was able to find privacy this morning in an unused office room to write his article in... A much quieter switch up than the opened-cubicles the journalists usually share on the busy first floor.

"What is it Danny? Do I need a 'do not disturb' sign on the door or something?" He scoffs, "I'm writing a new piece for The Daily Planet, something you probably should be doing too, if you want to keep all those awards of yours."

"Already finished!" The door clicks behind her, "turned it in about an hour ago."

"What??" Practically sweating as he tries to perfect this article, Clark can't seem to understand how the hell Danny could be done for the day before even noon. "How'd you finish already? You don't even have a credible interview yet!"

"Sure I do!" She chuckles, "with Superman."

...

He mocks her with a short laugh. "You think because you give me pussy that I won't get you in trouble for lying on me? You never spoke with Superman, Danny."

"Oh but I did, because our favorite friendly superhero likes to pillowtalk after a good fuck." Taunting him with seduction, Danny moves towards the office-desk with a hypnotic lick to the shell of his ear.

His jaw tightens as he pulls away. Never once did he expect that the gossip about his accomplishments shared with Danny as he laid in bed on her bare breasts would come back to bite him in the ass. "That wasn't an interview." He grits through his tightly drawn teeth.

She giggles, continuing to tease him with soft-knitted kisses against his clinched jawline. "Oh but baby, little did you know, it was."

Annoyed, he refocuses on his mess of rough drafts piled on the desk. "Whatever. My piece will still be better, I couldn't have told you everything."

"I don't knowwww." She shrugs sarcastically, "when you're a happy man, Clark Kent, it can be hard to get you to shut up sometimes— But I know a way or two, don't I?"

Smelling the lust through her persistent flirting, Clark can't help but to take a peak at her... Sickening long brown legs end in opened toe kitten-heels, her skin-tight skirt is blue with white stars, and her form-fitting sweater is red as her outfit indicates the American flag— a mockery of his Superman costume.

His gaze cuts sharply up at her... if only looks could kill.

"What's wrong baby? Don't like it when we match?" She playfully continues to ridicule.

Clark rolls his eyes once more. "Watch it, aye? I'm running out of patience here." Her hands find his shoulders. Beginning to massage her lover's broadly tensed muscles as her lips again near his ear. "Take a break, won't you?"

"Some of us can't type a thousand words per minute, regardless of the—" "Powers you have?" Danny finds immediate amusement in aggravating him with finishing his sentence— speaking out loud the secret that only they share.

His nostrils flare as he spins around in the office chair, threateningly moving in her direction. "What is it that you want, huh?"

"Oh please!" Crossing her arms, she scoffs sarcastically. "It's literally the only thing that you and I involve each other with. Now hurry up before my break ends!"

Temptation aches him as he watches an inch away from the swell of Danny's round hips and perfect ass, he bites the inside of his cheek, losing to the impulse of needing— that."What are you wearing under there?"

"Wanna see?" Danny's manicured fingers tease at the seam of her skirt, beginning to draw it up her plush thighs.

...

Clark sighs, "I can't, but—maybe later."

Turning back around to his work, her bratty whine pierces through his vexed soul. Following his line of sight to the front corner of the desk, Danny pouts insatiably to draw his attention again.

His glance is a sharp violent eye at her. Annoyed by the behavior of a brat so used to getting her way, Clark becomes even crueler. "I've over-spoiled you, like you can just seek me out and bum rush my privacy for dick any time of the day."

"As if you complain when I come for it." Her rebuttal makes his jaw tick.

...

His squinted study— blinkless, keeping Danny extremely still as her heart begins to pick up in its momentum.

"All of a sudden you have no decorum? You have become in heat?" He ridicules her etiquette this morning for acting like some type of feral animal. "— then rut against something like a dog."

Clark clears his mess of papers from the edge of the desk, the corner closest to her. "There, enjoy yourself."

Supposing that this is one of his sick jokes Danny can't help but to laugh— until she realizes that she is the only one amused... Beginning to frown, she waits for Clark to at least place his hand there, maybe even a toy, or one of their vibrators from his briefcase. "Well?" Impatiently, she asks. "What's it going to be!?"

"Sorry, you don't see it? The corner of this desk?"

"The desk!?" Danny shrieks. Exclaiming in disbelief, she hardly can let him finish that sentence, appalled by the way she is being treated.

Knowing that Clark can be cruel and kinky with his demands, she had at least thought he would get his kicks today from watching her grind against his knee or maybe edge her until she became demented... But, a desk corner? A sharp ninety-degree angle of— wood?!

He sighs, annoyed from the amount of time she has wasted with her presence while he attempts to focus on his writing. "It's solid, it's sturdy, and I'm sure you'll cum quicker than it will. So go ahead, do it now."

Befuddled by this requirement, Danny huffs! ... Yet, she still does exactly what is asked of her...

Slowly stepping her feet apart, her thighs open just enough as she presses her hot mound forward onto the edge of the desk.

She frowns... new to the feeling of something so unusually hard nudging against her panties and probing her clothed-clit, she almost becomes—intrigued. Her hips grind against the desk a bit more, pussy-lips parting slightly against the curve of the edge as she aims eagerly for some, any, form of temporary relief... A relief that comes to her easily from simply just being so very near to her newest lover.

What Clark doesn't realize is that he wasn't the only person eager to get to work early today... As he wished to get ahead of the day to beat her to publishing an article, Danny was already clocked-in and  typing double her speed, feverishly horny, and only wanting to find him. At this point of the day, a gentle breeze against her already throbbing clit could make her cum— but making a spectacle of herself on a wooden appliance is going to finish her sooner than she'd like to admit.

Clark loses focus again. His eyes slightly widen as he watches muted moans escape from Danny's tongue...

Her skirt rises higher up her thighs with each grind and he ogles in disbelief.

Soon his dimples are revealed through a smile as his chuckling throws Danny completely off of her rhythm. "Are you—" She begins, voice weakened by the pleasure. "Why are you laughing?"

"Sorry I just—" The chortle is of pure mockery, over-amused and ruining the trust in what he can make Danny do as her dom. "I just never actually expected you to do it." The hatred in their dynamic, peaking its ugly head into their situation once again. "—Literally letting a desk corner have the best of you." Clark laughs even harder.

A feeling of self disgust as she is degraded makes a tear fall down her cheek... tragically, it also makes one stream down her thigh as well. Body like a wet noodle from the intensity of being edged, she trembles as she backs away from the desk, slightly twisting her ankle in her favorite office-heels from the step.

"Did I say stop?"

Eyes peeled from his work and his focus now more interested on making Danny crack, Clark's laughter has left the building... Face stale and serious as he wonders who the hell commanded her to stop with a threatening tilt to his head.

"Forget it." Danny refuses, sniffling back tears while her voice quakes, "you've upset me, and now I think I've twisted my ankle."

Clark's broad thumb softly swipes away Danny's tears as he reaches across the desk. The gesture is kind, a gentle touch as she nuzzles her face in the palm of his hand. But, just as she thought he was being sweet, Clark's thumb is met on the bed of his tongue— savoring the salt of her dismay, being the true sadist that he is. "Take your mind off of it then, and keep going."

She gulps... "Not if you're going to laugh—"

"Danielle." He speaks her full name with a temperament Danny hasn't heard since being disciplined in grade school.

Pathetic enough, his docile lamb returns to the corner once again. Her tears smoothly run down her flushed cheeks making Clark ache at the sight of her... A shame to be so fucking pretty when this upset. "More." He rests his hand on the tightening stiff cock in his suit.

Danny's breath hitches as she presses more of her weight on the edge of the desk. Whether it be the office-appliance or the watching of Clark's blue eyes that are known to easily become lasers— all she knows is that the pressure has her dangerously close, feeling absolutely terrific and surely enough forgetting about her sore ankle. Continuing to buck with her arms folded behind her back, her hips do all of the work. As Clark watches proudly, he nears turning jealous of the way she's working this desk. The fabric of Danny's tight skirt finds trouble clinging to where it should be... too much movement and thighs far too robust, it's no match for her curves as it rises and bunches over her hips— revealing the sight of damp panties, wet and wedged between the lips of her fat cunt as the desk corner glides right through her. "God." He complains, worried that watching this absurdity is soon to have him staining his slacks. "Faster."

A pleasing wrinkle cinches between Danny's furrowed brows. She grinds against the desk with the kind of force and speed that the metal Ikea made hinges squeak from pressure. He fawns at the image of her arousal. His favorite fuck, she is so absurdly aroused today that the gushing of her cunt senselessly dampens her cherry-colored panties to the color of a red wine.

Clark's jaw ticks. Hardly can breathe without his darkened tone of voice trembling feverishly. "More!" His closed fist lands on the desk, startling Danny as the snap of her pelvis quickens against her frantic rubbing. Full of violence... his demands are made from partly greed, partly the want to torture, but most of all partly irked that Danny Givens is all that Clark has ever wanted and more.

Danny closes her eyes. She can't bear to look at him anymore as her maniacal actions have her too close to tasting ecstasy. Her hips stutter as the friction finally gets the best of her... Like porcelain, she cracks— waves of pleasure eating away at her stamina like a disease. Danny refuses to moan out loud, she tightly seals her lips to conceal the sound that wants to escape her. "Mm' hmph!" She quakes, muffling shut her orgasm.

"Pathetic." Clark gnaws at the end of his pen, probably wishing it were a cigarette after witnessing something like that. He chuckles, repeating the details of what just happened, knowing that the reminder will bring her to absolute shame, "you came... from humping a desk."

She shakes her head, refusing the simple fact. She didn't cum from humping a desk, she came from being told to, and doing it under his watchful eye.

"You came..." He repeats. "—and didn't let me hear it."

Taking the image of her messy panties from him, she begins to pull her skirt down. Danny snaps harshly, "you didn't hear it, because it wasn't for you to hear."

Clark grins— soon chuckling as he flicks his chewed pin cap across the room. "So, I'll just pull another one out of you." He stands, revealing his threatening massive height of being well over six-four. Clark rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt as his large biceps fights against the fabric of his sleeves. "Bend over."

Danny ignores his command— only to be bent over roughly and make her even wetter. Standing behind her, a cuff to her neck forces her spine to bend as he folds her against the desk— face pressed against rough drafts of what she knows are the worst article she has ever read. Assuming the position to be fucked like a whore, the perfectionist still cannot ignore when she comes face to face with terrible grammar and the repetition of sentences.

Clark slides a hand down her back, a wordless command to arch more for him. As Danny's spine furthers into its bend, she feels her perched ass spread apart as she adds a side-step that widens her stance for a straight shot between her thighs. Clark takes a finger to each side of her panties, snatching them from her hips as fibers pop against her reddening skin.

"Look at you... you're a mess." Leaving Danny bare to his free-use, his thumb strums across the pivoted dip of her anus, passing by it and sinking into the gleaming core of her. "I shouldn't have laughed." His apology is weak and deceptive. "No... Fuck no, there's nothing funny about this at all." Near hypnosis the sight of her gushing-hot womanhood is like sticking his thumb through a ripe peach.

Clinching around his thumb, her already needy cunt dwells at this intrusion and makes a moan leave her lips. Clark grins, "such a shame a pretty pussy like this belongs to someone so wicked."

"Cry about it." She bites. Her sass brings even more amusement to him.

His chuckle is dark, "you'd like that, wouldn't you?" With hands immediately finding her waist, Clark glides his impatient erection through the mess she's already made— exhaling a groan from the hug of her. "Oh, fuck..."

Finally eased against her svelte walls, it reminds Clark of what these necessary 'work-breaks' with Danny have become for him. While others need midday coffee, he needs the ridiculously good cunt from a girl whose voice at times makes him want to go deaf. Some need their caffeine, he just needs Danny.

Her pussy grips him feverishly, greedy for cock. Although absolutely fucking annoying, he's never had someone so special to him. Special in a sort that has started to confuse Clark about the entire purpose of their relationship. If so irritating, then why will this moment be repeated in his dreams tonight? Why when he is being Superman, he finds something that relates to her in every pretty girl that he saves? And why is this the fourth cellphone he has shattered to stop himself from dialing her number when he's alone and missing her the most?

"Muh! Clark!" He stretches her out like a glove, her body contorts just for him. Spoiling her with soft deep-strokes, Danny's hand rests on his— pampered by the perfect slow grind of his hips as she moans.

"Does it hurt?"With a body that has built a resilience and gotten used to his sex, Clark worships Danny's rump that has become wickedly firm and shelf-like from the constant back shots of his thighs of steel— so exercised from taking it from the back, the women of the office constantly ask for her squat-routine.

"No, it—it feels good." But just good won't make either of them cum. Clark fists her hair, snatching her upwards by a closed-fisted ponytail. She gasps at the sting and sudden sensation of upward strokes as she is abruptly stood up with her back pressed against Clark's chest. Warm breaths against her ear causes Danny to drip like a faucet, but his whisper makes her pour like rain. "Should I make it hurt?"

With Danny, sadism and savagery is Clark's favorite perversion of her. But, ruining her isn't the only prize here. He knows that what he wishes to deliver— only she can take it. Forced to hold back with his past lovers, with Danny, his sweetheart wears a brave face, letting him fuck her as Superman rather than Clark Kent.

"Please?" His hushed tone against the shell of her ear nearly pushes her over the edge, both synchronizing in a filthy moan as her walls flutter around him with a near climax. Hesitant, Danny nods yes anyways. Knowing that she'll be pummeled to the point of needing an ice bath for her aching body tonight, it's always been well worth the pain.

Relief floods over him. Clark lessens his restraint as his thrusts speed into drilling her as if his cock were a power tool. His fingers grip her waist, strong and white-knuckled to the point of feeling as if they could crush her hip bones. Touching below her own bellybutton, Danny feels the rhythmic impaling in her womb. "Ahh! God—Clark!?"

"Can you feel that?—" His mouth waters anomalistically as he savors Danny's muted answer, being fucked so stupid that she gets absolute brain rot. "—How deep I am inside you?"

Knowing that a hundred-percent of his power would pulverize the soft body in his hands, the slight boost of his strength that Danny takes willingly is enough to keep him forever wrapped around her tiny finger. A personal doll for his taking— pussy molded for the pleasures of his cock only. An entire lifetime of believing that the mineral Kryptonite was his only weakness, only to be proven otherwise as Clark reaches balls deep in the snugness of Danny's sopping core. Pussy that depletes him entirely of his strength.

Weakening with each upward impale, the blown-curls of her silk press has gone absolutely flat. Without strength left in her petite body, Danny loses control of the support of her neck and bones as they bounce in her jelly like flesh from every crash against her. Hammering cock into her with a handling grasp on both of her thin-biceps, Clark nearly cracks her spine as she takes all of it with panting sobs.

The lewd music of her body drops her head in shame, she watches the intrusion— jaw dropped at the sight of the tummy bulge that bloats her with each jab. She knows his every inch, curve, vein, and freckle— memorized like her favorite prayer. Grinning deviously as she closes her eyes, Danny can even imagine the exact inch of him and where exactly it's landing as she clinches down on him.

Her unforgiving grip causes Clark to mewl, "sss'ah! Shit—" he bites his lip, "turn, let me see you." With his help, she turns over. Lifting her onto the desk, Danny's legs wrap around him in a mere instant. Lining his cock back into her heat, Clark nearly folds over as he watches the supple ease inside her flesh, almost as if her needy pussy had pulled him right back in. "Fuck, Danny..."

"Mhm." She agrees, already knowing of her effect on him as his jaw opens loosely. Taking advantage of his open mouth, Danny steals a kiss from him, sharing pathetically strained breaths with Clark as her tongue collides with his. His erection jumps— her kiss will finish him instantly if he isn't careful. Clark peels from her kiss with a wet pop, pushing Danny backwards as she chases for it again. His palm presses against her belly, forcing her to lay against the tabletop as he finishes with slow strokes that blow her mind. Her shrilling moan pierces through the air song-worthy, the slow and deep impales blinding Danny with the sight of stars as her orgasm washes over her and arches her back off of the desk of papers.

"Taking it so damn good, aren't you baby?" Promised to pull another climax from her, Clark succeeds as his pretty bunny comes undone with trembling legs and half-lidded delirium.

She gulps, "uh-huh." Her answer is worn and quiet. He chuckles— sinisterly proud of his destruction. "Yeah you are, that's my girl."

Clark winces as the pussy wrapped around his manhood quivers into a relaxed grip, enough slip and ease to finish with as much strength that he wants. His thrusts quicken, sporadic and untimely— stuttering and trying to get as many pumps in as possible before he bursts like a hydrant.

Danny's breasts recoil with each slam, completely bounced out of her bra, her hard nipples sharply point through the red fabric of her top. So tempted to snatch her, to tear her cardigan off of her, and pop each button that keeps the shirt closed, Clark can't help but to wish that they were home— secluded in a place where destroying her clothes wouldn't come with any repercussions.

The forces of her Mother Nature begs to conceive with him. As Clark wears thin, Danny anticipates his eruption as his precum has already webbed into her making their evidence of illicit pleasure a thick-sounding cream. "Careful where you aim... The last thing I need is your Kryptonian kids staining my sweater all day."

But in a trance— in too deep, far too close to seventh heaven, Clark ignores her plea. Danny watches the look of his agonizing ache across his handsome image as his cock swells like a hot iron. He grunts madly, deranged turmoil across his expression as Danny has to cool his fire with her kiss. Her hand wraps around his tie, lifting herself with a pull as she crashes her lips against his. "Easy, Kent. Slow baby, I'm not going anywhere." Her whisper is sugary sweet against his veined-tensed temple, "now you don't want me walking around a mess do you? Baby, tell me where you're cumming?"

Such an idiotic question from someone whose pussy hasn't felt one thrust slow down yet... Her gentle palms cradle his jawline, manicured fingertips combing through the nape of his dark curls...

Her touch makes him melt, and his dam breaks. Clark's wide grasp takes handfuls of Danny's bare ass as she's lifted from the desk and sat on the entirety of his cock.

The tip of his dagger kisses against her cervix and her eyes widen in shock as he bottoms against her hilt. He finally comes to answer with an impale that makes the building around them shake... 'Where is he cumming?' she had asked?

"In it." A menacing reply that could never be debated.

She wheezes out a gasp from the sensation of Clark's scorching release. Filling her until his spend seeps around the sides of his mighty girth and out of her worn flesh. He takes full responsibility for the mess that he makes of this woman. A birth control prescription for her that he pays a monthly bill for— Clark assures that the expensive contraception will always get its full use when she is with him.

Nothing sexier than his favorite pussy, other than watching his favorite pussy being loaded with his pleasure. A claim on her... an act of possessive toxicity that makes him furious to imagine any other man doing her the same. "Mine." A growl that isn't to be challenged.

As a conference meeting lets out down the hall from them, Danny panics at the sound of corporate chatter and dress shoes walking by them, gasping in horror as she recalls only closing the door instead of locking it.

Her hand covers Clark's satisfied moans. His simping mewls are far too loud as he continues to buck and trickle more of his cum with every jolt of his cockhead.

Finding the desk-chair as he is silenced by Danny's palm and gathered by the greed of her potent cunt, together they fall backwards— panting breaths as he gradually softens within her. "Mmm— fucking hell." 

"Shh!" Danny clutches harder, waiting until the sounds of passing footsteps finally fades away. Clark's blown blue-eyes watch in adoration, wide enough that they could transform into cartoon hearts in any given moment. Sweat drips from Danny's brow and the lustful breaths raise her ample chest as she waits patiently for the sound of the elevator's ding— taking their colleagues back to the first floor. It's moments like these with Danny that keeps him sane. Their time together is a break from always being the world's best Boy Scout, and having to be so well behaved. Moments like this, Clark Kent is the most human he will ever get to feel.

He wonders if she knows how important she is to him. Wondering if Danny realizes that she's just as healing to him as the sun's radiation— if not more.

Clark's words are muffled by the persistence of her silencing hand.

"Oh, sorry, what?" Finally turning to face the man that has been unknowingly ogling at her for the past few minutes, Danny uncovers his mouth to hear him speak.

"I said—" Clark begins. "Thank you."

. . .

Stunned by his sudden words of appreciation, an inch away Danny's tender gaze chases the sight of Clark's full lips to each of his round irises— unintentionally drawing in the man even more with her accidental use of the triangle method. For the very first time, the relentless yapper is irrevocably silenced, without a word.

Clark leans forward, reaching for her lips as Danny pushes him back against the seat. He chuckles, amused with her state of awe, his flirting is torture that heats her cheeks. Diving back towards her once more, Danny this time accepts his kiss... eyes lolling close as they are both sent to a different dimension where time stands still in moments as magnificent as this.

Her breathing quakes as the overwhelming feeling of a school-girl-crush consumes her. Ending the kiss she becomes disgusted... Irritated by the pain of his handsome smile that makes her body burn for him daily. Danny gulps, searching her mush filled mind for an insult... "Dimples are a birth defect, did you know that? Did you know that your face never fully developed in the womb?"

Clark laughs, playfully rolling his eyes as he pulls her body taut— closer to him in his lap, where he wishes her to stay for eternity. "Yeah, okay. Whatever you need to tell yourself to keep you from loving them."

Nearly amused, Danny almost smiles, indeed infatuated with his perfectly spellbinding grin and dimples— and unable to deny it.

Silence falls upon her as she comes to hate the feeling of an actual blossoming love for Clark Kent. A fool in love has never been her... Not the double Pulitzer Prize winning journalist of Metropolis's The Daily Planet...

Knowing the disastrous consequences of how much love can ruin the success of a promising young woman's career, Danny rethinks every idol who has inspired her to become the dedicated artist that she is today... Women like Maya Angelou and Nikki Giovanni, were never held back by the possessive powers of a man with perfect hair and stunning dimples— and it damn sure won't hold Danny back either.

She refuses to fall victim to it, at least not today. Danny just can't let it happen to her— not even for the world's greatest hero.

Rolling her eyes, she scoffs in absolute disgust. "Get your work done Kent! If you want to thank me for something, thank me for saving your ass when it comes to the ten typos I read in your article while I was—" She's hit with an instant flashback, stopping herself from repeating the fact that when she noticed these mistakes in his paper, she was being bent over the desk and at his leisure like cheap pocket-pussy. Danny soon finishes her sentence, clearing her throat as she grasps desperately for whatever dignity she has left "while I was— occupied."

Standing from his lap, Clark releases a guttural groan as his length is removed from the warmth of her cunt. Almost as if he's now missing a part of him, like a limb has been removed. Taking away the comforts of cockwarming her is like stealing a man's car from his warm and safe garage. Just wrong, enough to make a grown man cry.

He watches Danny spruce herself in a tiny handheld mirror... She pats her hair back in place, keeping her curls volumized and fixing her lipgloss as she wipes the drool from their multiple tongue kisses. With torn panties on the floor, she'll just have to go without them... An image that will pain Clark with desire until the very end of this day. Her skirt is pulled over her sweetly bruised and tenderized-flesh, hiding the evidence of their quickie as her American-flag ensemble quickly becomes whole, employable, and knee length again. "You want employee of the month?—" Danny bends to his ear, concealing the end of her sentence in a whisper as she taunts him about his secret identity once more. "Then even Superman should know how to use fucking spellcheck."

Clark bites the inside of his cheek. Nostrils flaring as his lasers nearly activate within his sharp gaze in Danny's direction. Finally out of Danny's sex-daze, he's reminded again of what makes their transaction so no-strings-attached... Realizing that another minute more spent together, the two rivals would have been trying to tear each other's heads off.

Danny dusts her skirt, clears her throat, and regains a masquerade of professionalism as Clark watches the intoxicating sway of her hips and click of her heels enter back into the workplace as if they hadn't just bred like bunnies. He lifts the rough draft of his article to his line of sight, now realizing all of his small errors that he never caught before Danny brought them to his attention...

The paper— God, it still smells of her... like her lust, natural scents, and of her amber and vanilla-noted perfume. Tugging on the crotch of his pants, once again he hardens.Although it kills him to fall guilty to this, something about her just simply amuses him, forcing another smile to peel at his lips and sighing in agony now that the scent of her has him blueballed.

With the office closing down and going remote soon for the upcoming holidays, Clark can't imagine how he could go even a day without seeing her, rather than an entire two weeks of working from home. He smiles to himself, wondering what a fast paced city girl like Danny would think of little ol' Smallville—perhaps even Thanksgiving with the Kents... But as he comes back to reality, he realizes exactly what something like that would entail... A two week holiday spent together? A road-trip to his hometown? And meeting his parents?!?! Clark clears his throat, frowning as he immediately shakes the grin and romantically sappy thoughts away as he zips up his slacks: still damp from wet pussy, and adjusts his tie: still wrinkled from Danny's white-knuckled grasp.

Thoughts like the ones that just possessed him are the type to get a Loverboy like him too caught up... The kind of ideas that are milestones in a happy relationship— not the casual and detached situationship that he and his colleague Danielle Givens have agreed upon... Now realizing that if he isn't too careful— the beautifully chocolate, cokebottle framed, nemesis of his will soon go from the daily pain in his ass, to the persistent twinge in his heart.

Although it has been thirty years or more since Isaac Night has spent the evening at Nevermore Academy, it honestly feels all quite the same.

The walls of the facility built for Outcasts in the late 1825 still continue to hold the stench of mildew and batshit. However, the all too familiar school also continues to hold onto its mysterious charm, secrets, and rich history— the good and the bad.

But back from the dead nevertheless! Isaac has his mind already set on the tasks that were left behind after his first fatal demise. A second chance at life, saving his sister, fixing his lab equipment, seeking revenge on the Addams family, and so much more... But even a young, undead, scientist can put time aside for what feels to be true love.

Tonight, in a candle-lit dormitory, Isaac Night strokes the black tresses of Sarai Carter's hair— his girlfriend he has had since being brought back from the grave.

Cuddled up in her bed together beneath thick blankets, they find warmth in each other during this gloomy Fall evening. Sarai, a kind, kindred spirit smiles softly— always feeling the most secure and relaxed while lying on her lover's chest, listening to the tick of the artificial heart he created himself.

Born a Normie in a family full of Outcasts, Sarai's mother who carries the werewolf trait felt that even though her daughter lacked supernatural gifts, she would still feel most comfortable in a school of students who felt familiar to her home. But, being that the young lady has a cancer of the brain that has already developed into the size of a grapefruit, 'normal' is the last word to ever describe Sarai Carter.

"You were soon to be my first victim... You see— being that I was brought back from the dead, the only thing that restrengthened me was the consumption of the human brain." With a whisper and the crackle of a candle's flame, Isaac softly aids his girlfriend to find rest by telling one of her favorite bedtime stories— the tale of the day that they met. A story he repeats every night due to Sarai's cancer induced short term memory loss. "You were being such a nosy little thing." He reminisces, softly chuckling as his lips sweep through the baby hairs of her hairline. "You were eavesdropping in Nevermore's hallway; came all by yourself after hearing Pugsley and Eugene speak of keeping me chained inside the school's maintenance shed."

"I did?" She asks, feeling guilty over actions from long ago now. "I shouldn't have done that... huh?"

"I'm glad you did." He insists, "I wouldn't have found you if you weren't so bravely curious."

Isaac's trip down memory lane continues. "You entered into the shed where I had just broken out of my chains. I craved the human brain, power to continue healing and I headed straight for you... My tongue— it seeped through your ear as I tasted your flesh. As I was soon to consume the contents of your skull, my tastebuds were wrapped around a mass. I knew what it was instantly— a malignancy, cancer of the brain."

Like clock work, Sarai always seems to hate this part of the story as she does each time that it's told to her. She cringes— nearly insulted that Isaac didn't consume her brain, as if the cancer made her nothing but garbage even to a zombie. "So you pitied me?"

"Not at first..." Isaac corrects. A brain is a brain whether or not it has a blemish. What startled me into stopping, sweet dove, was your amount of fatigue. You lay feather-like in my arms, unaffected by the smell of my rotting corpse, without care of being eaten alive as tired dark circles hid your eyes... and then the sudden question you spoke when you came out of some sort of daze— where am I?"

"That's when there came pity." A wrinkle forms between his brow as the story begins to reappear as if it were happening all over again...

That very day he felt that he already knew her all of his life. Isaac was familiar with how it felt to have an uncontrollable illness, reminded of how he once felt before he designed a heart that functioned better than the failing one that he was born with and kept him constantly sick. "You had gotten to the shed all on your own and forgotten how or why, that quickly. I knew it was memory loss, and all I wanted to do was respond with an answer for your concern, but at the time— with a body still decomposed, I could only make the sound of grunts."

Becoming more interested in the story, Sarai sits up from the pillows and Isaac does the same. The lace strap of her favorite silk-slip accidentally eases down her shoulder, completely corrupting his mind. With a trembled breath Isaac fixes it, his fingers guide the strap back in place as his knuckles caress the perfect mahogany of her skin. With licked lips he begins to wish that he had just let the strap fall... Wishing that the dress would have slipped past her full breasts to be met with his lips. But, the gentleman in him won't let him oblige to such temptation. "I powered past you when I heard Pugsley returning to the shed. I refused to be locked away again. I had work to do— and now that work included one day being capable of speaking to you."

"If we never spoke that day, when was the first time that we did?" Bewildered by the fact that their first time meeting each other was so quick and non-eventful, it's nearly comforting that Sarai can't remember the horror of how Isaac truly looked before his complete transformation.

"Well, our first conversation took a very long time to come." He continues. "Although I wasn't healed enough, I still kept tabs on you. As I stalked you through the woods every moment that I could, I heard a phone call you had one day. You were speaking with your doctor and you refused chemotherapy after he gave you only three months to live... You wished to not worry or tell your family— wanted to continue the normalcy of going to school although you had begun failing your classes due to your inability to remember what you had been studying. I watched you sob alone in the courtyard, wishing to hold and comfort you. That night I consumed more brains than I could count, careless to the amount of victims, I just needed to heal and meet you before it was too late."

"And then it came." He smiles.

... Sarai already has forgotten her question that quickly. "What did?"

Her decline makes him ache... Isaac sweetly brushes a strand of hair out of her face. "The first time we spoke, my dear."

"Healed, I was finally far less grotesque. I walked into the Weathervane cafe and paid for your coffee, introduced myself as Isaac." Proudly he recalls. "I needed to court you, needed to spend as much time with you as I possibly could, and I have been ever since."

Sarai blushes, half-purring against his touch as her face is coddled in the palm of his hand. "I bet it was your voice that did it, huh? You know how much I have always loved the sound of your voice."

He chuckles. "Perhaps." She becomes curious once more,"if you weren't able to talk, Isaac, then how did Pugsley communicate with you? What did he and Eugene call you at first?"

He laughs, playfully rolling his eyes as he cringes at the memory of such a silly pet name. "Well— Pugsley named me Slurp."

"Slurp!?" A brilliant chuckle in Sarai's signature rasp melts her boyfriend's heart. He watches the smile on her face as it becomes contagious, bringing laughter across his lips as well. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh, but why on Earth would they call you that?"

Knowing that his lover has probably already forgotten the chunk of the story where he spent months slurping back brains before they officially became an item, Isaac decides to make an event out of his answer instead... His touch moves against the length of her body. Refusing to miss an inch of her plush curves, his hand travels beneath her slip— becoming warmed by the flesh of her inner thighs. Reminded that Sarai had asked why exactly he was called Slurp, Isaac's tone becomes just as dangerous as his lewd caress. "I can show you, better than I can tell you."

Completely ogled across the span of her figure, Sarai becomes wooed by the imminent lust and hunger in the depths of his brown eyes. Her thighs open for him as if a coded gate that only he had access to. With an aided lift in her hips, Isaac grins devilishly— noticing her desperate need to be toyed with as her damp panties travel the length of her legs to be tossed onto the floor without hassle.

Beginning with tender lip-locking, Isaac's kiss lays her against the mattress as Sarai's fingers seep through the back of his dark satin curls. Easing away in between her legs, he nearly drools at the sight of her.

The flame of the candle can hardly light the room, yet it could never hide the stunning gleam of her already wet pussy— a hunger that not even human brains could satisfy the undead young man's starving need.

A gentle kiss to her mound makes Sarai softly exhale, but a slow torturous tongue swipe through her folds ending with a flick on her needy bud makes her hips buck forward. "Mhm." Satisfied with her reaction, he wishes to pull another from her, repeating the same torment with even more pressure as Sarai bucks forward again with a gratifying squeal.

Cuffing his arms around her thighs, she becomes pinned against her mattress as the tongue-fuck heightens into wet filthy music and moans. Forced by his strength to endure what it is like to be praised, worshipped, and feasted upon— Sarai gets the answer she needed when it comes to why Isaac could be known as Slurp.

Coming up for a moment of air, his chin drips with her pleasure as his story continues. "Sweet Sarai, I've been arrested, all over the news, found my long lost sister, met a nephew I never knew existed, and even broken out of a psychiatric hospital. But I always came crawling back to you, even with everything I have to conquer now that I'm back from the grave, you have stayed on my mind." With a mouth hungry for more of her taste, Isaac once again dips below tongue first.

He watches Sarai's back arch from off of the mattress and her pleasure is just as gratifying for him as the erection in his pants leaks precum with each grind against the bed.

His baritone groans and skilled lolling heats her core, beginning to see stars as she comes closer to ecstasy. Pulling back up before her climax can crash over her, makes a bratty whine fall from her lips. Her fingers once again find his thick brunette strands wishing that she could make him return to the finale. Her needy retorts make Isaac delirious with lust, he peels her hands from the back of his coils— teasing her with a kiss at each palm as he finishes his thought. "You began to remember me— I never left your thoughts ever again. I became a memory that somehow stuck and ever since then you've only needed reminding over our love story every now and again. But you always know exactly who I am, don't you my love?"

"With a kiss like that? How could I forget?" Both breathless they share a lighthearted chuckle.

Watching her like art, Isaac's mouth lolls open as he studies the way two of his longest digits seep into Sarai's core like butter.

"Isaac!" Her frantic bellow is ignored as the curl of his knuckles makes her quake shamefully. "Shhh." He hushes the protest , fingers wearing her thin at her most sensitive spot as his tongue flicks and suckles her throbbing clit. "That's it, good girl, come undone for me."

He becomes a mess down to his wrist from an orgasm that consumes Sarai and soaks his hand. Behaving more beastly than any Outcasts ever could, Sarai comes out of her thrill wanting for more. Switching positions with a toss onto his back, she finds a handsome seat in Isaac's lap as she sinks down on every inch of the ache that plagued him.

With a jaw that falls open into a pathetic groan, Isaac almost loses himself to the sudden penetration in an already teased and swelteringly perfect cunt.

Needing the full image as Sarai rides him without mercy, her tiny slip is snatched over her head, leaving her completely bare and full of goosebumps as Isaac takes in every inch of skin. He sits up just enough to rid his own garment, catching a bouncing tit in his mouth as his grip on her hips forces her down to the very base of his cock. He carves into her snug fit until the shape of him is permanently indented, soon releasing her breast with a wet-plop as he gives the other just as much attention with his mouth— if not more.

Already pumped with adrenaline and a mess of desire, a second orgasm finds Sarai quickly as the utter impalement of him knocks at her cervix— clit throbbing with each rub against Isaac's taut body. Biting her lip until she draws blood, her walls tighten as she cums again with a relieved sob.

Wanting to last as long as possible, tensed veins protrude from Isaac's skin. He reaches to the back of Sarai's neck, pulling her into a kiss as he chases his perfect finish with hammering upward strokes that mute her as her mouth falls agape.

The mechanisms of his robotic heart work in overdrive, filling the room with the music of rhythmic tinkering. Being pummeled by cock, Sarai mewls quietly into a gulp before beginning to worry for Isaac and the intensity of his overcompensating heartbeat. "Is it— fuck." She moans as pleasure interrupts, "baby, is it supposed to sound like that!?"

The rusty gears of his heart strain as if it were powering a train instead of the body of a man. "God yes—" the tip of his cockhead begins to pulse, spoiled by the delights of Sarai's perfect cunt. "It always does, for you my love."

His brilliant mind becomes momentary mush... Scant praises and profanity spill unaided from his tongue as the sex takes complete control over him. "So fucking good. yesss— more, Sarai, more." The muscles of Isaac's abdomen and sack tightly tense and draw beneath him as Sarai's warmth gets the very best of him with a release and throaty-groan that could shed paint from off of the surrounding walls.

He pulls her tightly against him, bottoming out inside her core as will and testament of his endless adoration for her. He fills her to the brim with cum— the gush of his seed aimlessly rushing for her womb. Sarai's pleasured moans are sweet, but the kisses to Isaac's temple and clenched jaw continues the jolting spill of him until the overflow webs between them.

Tender tongue kisses are the only way to end a night like the night they have shared. Exhausted panting and mutual liberation tire out their bodies against the sheets and Isaac notices Sarai's sight falling half-lidded— heavy with long jet-black lashes and uncontrollable sleep.

Nearing midnight, he must remember his condition... With being not exactly alive, a full night's rest isn't what powers him—  brains does, and he'll need to feed soon or expect to begin decaying once again.

Sitting up from bed, Isaac begins to dress with his opened-shirt and coat lying slack across his broad shoulders. Half asleep, Sarai manages to rise once more— reaching her gentle feminine hand towards his chest, assuring that Isaac's mechanical heart has gone back to its steady rhythm.

He is warmed by her affection. "All better love, ticking just fine."

"You've got early classes in the morning, let's get you to bed now, yeah?" She agrees and Isaac gulps with the feeling of impending doom... All of it doesn't make much sense knowing that Sarai continues to awaken early for morning classes that she won't remember by noon. What she should be doing is resting, being pampered, and cherished during her final moments in hospice care— but stubbornly, the young woman continues to push herself... and Isaac is determined to be there each step of the way. "My sweet girl, come along now."

He tucks her into the blankets, kissing her forehead once, and not taking another step until he is sure that she is fast asleep. Although Isaac realizes that he will have to repeat this very  same story come tomorrow night for the hundredth time, he doesn't mind it— not even one bit.

With a blow to her candle that instantly darkens the entire room, three hardly audible words immediately shakes Isaac to his core.

"I love you."

His artificial heart stops— immediately skipping a tink, unsure of if what he heard was true... Could it be the delusion of his own decayed mind? Always being called a mad scientist, is it possible that he has truly gone mad? Or could it really have been Sarai's sweet voice, possibly even her tumor making her sleep-talk? . . .

Taken aback from what he believes was Sarai's first confession of love, he faces her to see that she is still very much asleep....

But it doesn't mean any difference to him, because truly, he loves her so much more. Regardless of how, Isaac knows that he heard it, and that's just enough for him.

After living a mostly loveless life due to cold parents, the only warmth Isaac has ever known was the tight sibling bond he and his sister Francoise shared for survival. But to be loved by someone who doesn't have to love him— a tightly bound fondness grown after only a few months spent together... This, is an attachment he isn't willing to part with, regardless of the ticking-time-bomb in her head.

Now not only needing to save his sister's life, Isaac is now dedicated to saving Sarai's...

Lacking sanity, his mind instantly clogs itself with never ending thoughts...

Surely if the machine he created long ago can take away the supernatural Hyde abilities that are killing his sister, the same mechanism can remove Sarai's tumor. But to power it— Pugsley Addams' electrical life-force won't be enough...

Trying his hardest to quiet his delirium, Isaac rushes towards Sarai's cell phone, dialing the number of the throw-away track phone he left with Francoise and his nephew Tyler.

With Isaac's sister being deathly sick to the point of coughing up blood, hearing Tyler pick up the call is exactly who he needs to speak with and have to do this task. "Tyler, dear nephew, I have a job for you..." He begins, corruption and selfish intention being the drive to his devious smirk. "Abducting Puglsey is still very much on our agenda, but now— you must also find me his uncle, Fester Addams. Locate him, and bring him to me at once... Suddenly I've realized, I'm going to need double the charge."

As the call ends, Isaac unshades the dorm-room's large window leading to the balcony that he sneaks down each night. With the curtains pulled back, moonlight is let into the room like a flood, gently pulling Sarai out of her slumber. "Is everything alright?"

Voice innocent, pure, and painfully sweet... his heart malfunctions again with a skipped beat. "Everything is going to be just fine, you won't remember a thing. I promise."

A promise that will be easily kept being that as he takes on her tumor tomorrow, her brain will be zapped full of electric charge and disconnected until she awakens from treatment... However, if it fails, Sarai will awaken with the same tumor and the same short term memory loss that she already has had everyday for months now... Or something even worse, the treatment could absolutely kill her— free from a painful life, but taking her from him for good.

She smiles softly, trusting in her boyfriend wholeheartedly as she begins to fade back into her pillows. Before sleep takes her again, a corpse moth lands on her hand...

Even the tiny wind-bound creatures who stalk Isaac's rotting flesh can't help but take a liking to someone as angelic and beautiful as Sarai Carter.

"Isaac, my love?" Time continues to run out... Her plush-lipped grin is innocent and heartwarming, but the question she is soon to ask is a sign of how little time they have left.

Their bond— so deeply embedded in her soul that the incurable disease cannot take the thought of him away from her. But, Sarai's condition has worsened in the span of one night... Instead of needing to be reminded of their love story once a day— she needs it again in the same hour.

It's the beginning of Spring Break 2001, and Uni has finally released their grip on their thousands of thrilled undergraduates who will carry a ball and chain of student loan debt to their graves.

Driving a light blue 1960's Chevrolet Impala, Darry Jenner likes his cars how he likes his women— timeless beauties.

While most of the twenty-somethings celebrate their junior year's Spring Break at a beach with friends or chugging down a full keg of beer, Darry and his girlfriend of the last year and a half road-trip through rural Florida on the way to spend time with his parents at the family lake house.

With textbooks thrown aside, duffel bags of wrinkled laundry, and all four windows down letting warm Florida wind whip through their hair and engulf Darry in the sweet scent of his girlfriend's perfume— the young man can't help but to question how Heaven could be real when clearly he's already living in it.

To describe Darry's girlfriend, Corrine Reid, would be like trying to explain that magic exists. The kind of girl that the universe drops from the sky to remind a young bachelor like Darry that pure bliss can come in the shape of a woman.

Corrine wasn't his missing piece, she is the piece that he never knew he needed.

Beyond infatuation, the two live and breathe each other. A bond so tight that separating states away for Spring Break was impossible. Hell— separating for more than an hour of a different class schedule is already suffocating enough. Excitement fills their spirit today. Ready for the next stepping stone in their young lives, they'll be coming to the Jenner's lake house today with news— an announcement of marriage that will follow after their graduation.

A day of celebration, thrill, and the joys of young love.

———

"Jeepers Creepers, where'd you get those peepers?Jeepers Creepers, where'd you get those eyes?"

Picking up hardly any decent stations, a spine-chilling song blasts through Darry's radio.

"Gross." Corrine's entire face scrunches up in disgust. Immediately hating the sound of this staticky tune, she doesn't understand what in the world would convince a station to play such a terrible song! ...Unknown to the fact that when this song plays, it is a warning— a sign to be aware of a certain nearby presence that only comes every twenty-third spring.

Relaxing in the front seat of her boyfriend's car, Corrine's sandals are kicked off during the long drive. Her ruby-painted toes push in a dusty cassette tape hanging halfway out of the stereo, beginning to enjoy a vintage classic, Hotel California by the Eagles.

Darry's long fingers are suddenly wrapped around her ankle, pulling her left leg into his lap and furthering it apart from her right. "Nuh-uh." He refuses, careless about the music and entertained with the thought of beneath Corrine's skirt. "Wider, let the world see." Her denim skirt rises far above her hips, panties pulled to the side and revealing the sight of her waxed mound. Darry's bottom lip glistens as he nearly drools at the sight of her womanhood— velvety and chocolate like a delicious dessert.

She giggles, beginning to squirm as her boyfriend multitasks with one hand on the wheel and the other on her pussy. "When you say the world—" she scans the ongoing fields passing by them, "you mean random cows and horses that we might pass every twenty miles or so?"

Darry laughs softly, her witty sarcasm always amusing him. "That's fine." He chuckles, "I'm sure even the farm animals we pass can appreciate the sight of damn-fine pussy." Dipping a finger into her core causes Corrine's back to arch from the white leather seats, causing a gasp to end in a soft moan.

The baritone in his breath trembles as Darry tries his best to watch both the road and Corrine. Eyes darting back and forth from the empty route to his lewd caress.

"Tight." His brows knit as he continues to work her open more, knuckle-deep as he curls the digit against her cushiony walls. "That's it, let me in." His thumb reaches her clit, gently circling the bud until it throbs. As she heats, the pleasure becomes too sensitive to endure. Corrine's legs begin to close before her thigh becomes indented by Darry's strong hold on her plush flesh, "don't you dare do that again." Almost sounding of a threat. "Open them. Let me see you."

She does... Widening again, her every inch of flesh between her legs is shared with the world— heated by sunlight and her own slutty arousal. A disciplining pussy slap lands on her folds making her mewl, needing to catch her breath as Darry enters in this time with two fingers instead of one.

A devious grin spreads across his lips as Corrine's hips buck forward for more. Her cunt squeezes down on him with each dive inside, greedily wanting to keep his hand planted there for all of time.

"Shit, Darry!"Coming undone, she curses out loud from the removal of both fingers and his entire hand weighing down on her flesh as he strums it like a guitar. From gripping the seat and door handle, Corrine grasps a hold of her breasts, massaging gently as her peaks harden and become a sensitive ache.

Darry dwells in the sight of this... Knowing that this image alone is every man's dream, his fingers return to her slick heat as the veins in his forearm strain from the force of the finger fucking. Digits driving into her like cock, he watches his sweetheart on the brink of tears as her bitten bottom lip conceals her every squeal.

Corrine grabs his wrists with both hands, legs beginning to shake as her toes curl in his lap. "Too much!"The complaint is only encouragement to go harder. Darry curls his fingers, knocking repeatedly against her spot until Corrine sees stars during the midday. His palm becomes soaked by her release— eyes leaving the road for a full minute to watch his baby come undone. Her whimpers are music to his ears, lips pouty— plumped, and just as red as her flushed mahogany skin.

As her quaking fades, Darry slowly retrieves his hand, watching her pleasure web apart from his fingertips to her well-abused cunt. "So sweet, and you're so wet." He notices wrinkles forming in his fingers from the moist pruning. "Make it hard for me to drive with a wood like this."

Tempted to pull over and get a piece of what is already prepped and gushy, Corrine takes him by surprise with kisses against his lips as she scoots over closer to him. "Then let me take care of you baby."

He gulps, "yeah? Like this? While I'm driving?"

"Eyes on the road."She nods, siren eyes lowering into a form of torment as she bites her lip.

Darry chuckles, "yes ma'am." His fingers lift his T-shirt enough to unclasp his large belt buckle. Her hand slowly sweeps against his lap, finding the erection that plagues him somewhere in his dark blue jeans. Palming his thigh— she finds it. Tracing the utter length of him down to his tip as his cock is tightly restrained against the thick denim. He takes a quiet breath of air as she finds his wood, nervous stomachs both dropping with promiscuous intentions as Corrine even begins to pulse down below— wishing, needing to ride him.

Unzipped, Darry's excitement springs free. Corrine can't believe that her sweet brunette doe eyed boy could ever be so obscene... then again, it is the reason they took the backroads, now isn't it?

Her palm wraps around his girth, slowly stroking him to a rhythm that's tantalizing. They share in a kiss, moaning and tongues wrestling as he still can taste the cherries from the milkshakes they shared earlier at some random diner they stopped at. But, regardless of the taste of maraschino or not, Corinne Reid's kiss is without a doubt the sweetest thing a man could ever experience.

She strokes him with an effortless twists in her wrist, knowing how her man likes to be distressed. "That okay?" She taunts— the calculated innocence in her tone making his cock jump from the sound alone.

"Fucking kidding me?" Keep going." His jaw laxes open.

Grinning deviously, she lets her soft giggle tingle his spine. Corrine's tongue traces the shell of his ear before dipping below and beginning on his cock. With a hand still busy, her tongue across his tip makes him hiss. "Easy baby, keep that up and I won't last."

And so she gives attention elsewhere, now knowing just where to come back to when she's ready to finish him. Hallowing out her mouth, Corrine's lips wrap around Darry's hardened flesh and her head begins to bob as he reaches down the length of her throat.

His free hand seeps through her thick black tresses, forcing her head down further."Fuck that's perfect."

"M'going to make you choke, ruin you, yeah?" His hips buck forward for more reach. Corrine gags at the deep intrusion— already expecting a bruised back of the throat. Without caring, she nods.

Chest rising with each breathy pant, Darry grasps white-knuckled onto the steering wheel as if he were holding on for dear life.

His open-mouthed moans fill the cavity of the car. Knowing her effect on him Corrine giggles before perching her knees on the seat and arches her back as she continues to blow him. The sight from the passenger window is a straight view beneath her skirt— revealing damp panties and a pillowy ass from the lewd bend in her back.

Reaching across the length of her body, Darry's free hand gives a welting spank onto her cheeks— fingers tracing the every detail of her cotton-clothed pussy lips.

Moaning from his touch, Corrine's sucking becomes mouth-watering slobber. Keeping his cock steady with her hand at the base of his pubic hair, her fingers cup his tightening sack below, making Darry tense as he fights off eruption. "Shit— you spoil me."

Revisiting his sensitive cockhead, she swirls her velvety tongue across his tip, savoring Darry's salty bead of precum with a known flood soon coming.

"Sss'ahhh." He hisses. "Baby, wait! God, Corrine! I'll—I'll—"

He'll cum, and he does... Corrine finishes him. Knowing exactly what she's doing, she weakens the man she loves with her talented focus at the crown of his cock.  The overwhelming pleasure forces his eyes shut as his girlfriend takes his every given drip down her gullet.

Nearing the wrong side of the road at eighty-mph, Darry finally gathers his sense to open his eyes and he immediately swerves. Startled by the jerking of the car, Corrine sits up and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. "Darry!" She shouts, "what the hell are you doing?! Trying to get us killed!? I said to keep your eyes on the road!"

"Eyes on the road???" He gulps, making his large adam's apple bounce as he nears hyperventilation. "My eyes were damn near crossed after that, baby, shit!"

Catching his breath from the nut that nearly caused an accident, Darry rests against the headrest. She chuckles, "that's pretty sad actually, and not even a full ten minutes." Fixing her lipgloss in the mirror, Corrine teases him.

"Yeah?" He laughs, "lucky I even lasted five with a sight like you in my passenger seat, come here sexy." Her neck is grabbed at the nape of her hair. Pulled into a peck on the lips, Darry's brawny arm pulls Corrine nearer— wanting to be close to her for the rest of the entire ride.

Her face heats into a gorgeous natural blush. She rests against his chest, comforted by his warmth and the sound of his beating heart. "Pretty baby." Her forehead is kissed— simply no better feeling than being spoiled by a man that adores her.

———

Sweetly tucked away beneath the arm of her lover for an hour of time, Corrine sits up abruptly at the sight of random strawberry signs lining the road for a half-mile or more— as if they were a trail of cookie crumbs, or a map to buried treasure.

Finally passing a sign to reveal the meaning of the many strawberries, she gasps. "Darry! Baby look! Florida's Strawberry Festival is coming up on the 24th!"

Thoughts of the festival's homemade strawberry jam, lemonade, and ice cream makes her mouth instantly water, "oh please honey!? Can we please stop on the way back from Spring Break?"

"The way back?" He frowns in confusion, "baby, the 24th is tomorrow. We will miss it by time we head back this way."

...

"Huh?" Corrine pauses, quiet and baffled. "Damn." Darry chuckles, "final exams really fried your brain too, huh?"

She gulps, "hah!— yeah, guess so." Something becomes odd... A total difference in the car as Darry's normally bubbly girlfriend furrows with a worried knit between her brow.

"Honey— uhm, pullover when you can..." She reaches behind them, rummaging through their messy backseat for her bag. "I've gotta pee."

"Yeah." He agrees, "that's a good idea, I don't think we'll see a rest stop for a while now... might as well breathe in the great outdoors!"

Pulling off the road, the vintage car bounces while adjusting to the grass and new terrain of driving onto a random field. Corrine continues to frantically search for her belongings, hanging half way across the front seat as Darry begins to take notice to her change in behavior. "You alright babe?"

Finding her bookbag, she finally sighs in relief. "All good! You see, girls can't just shake our johnsons when we finish peeing. We need alone time! Space, and something to wipe with! I'm going behind that tree..."

Exiting the car Darry playfully rolls his eyes, already unzipped and relieving himself a few feet from the parked car. "Whatever you say baby, take your time." He laughs.

With her school-bag tossed over her shoulder, Corrine rushes behind the nearest tree. A lie has been told... Promised that everything is 'all good', when things are the absolute opposite.

She opens her agenda, flipping through pages of her schedule to find today's date. She becomes even more uncomfortable the moment she sees for herself that Darry was right about tomorrow's date.

Corrine realizes the reason for her confusion and inability to track that right date and time... Most 24ths of the month involve her menstrual cycle— a cycle that has never come late since the first time she bled in middle school. With the 24th being tomorrow, surely she'd at least have been hit with her usual back pain and cramps days ago.

She rummages further into her bag, finding a care package gifted to the students of the university who attended the Health Administration's seminar. She remembers that day for being an excuse to skip her dreadful French lecture and that the seminar would be an added credit to her already poor GPA.

Being that the seminar was a three-hour long adult version of Sex Ed, Corrine is reminded of the free condoms and pregnancy tests that came in the package long ago. As she squats, her panties find her ankles in an immediate instant. She trembles as she unwraps two pregnancy tests, having an already a bad feeling about what the results will read.

After peeing on the sticks, Corrine finds herself pacing and kicking up the the dirt beneath her sandals. She bites her fist as her frantic nerves begin to make her ill— impatiently waiting fifteen long minutes for an answer.

The answer comes in what feels like hours instead of minutes... Both tests read exactly the same— two positive results.

She sighs, face palming as tears begin to gather in her eyes. Although able to beat teen-pregnancy, here she is still unprepared in her early twenties.

She begins to reminisce on the moment her and Darry conceived... the foggy memory comes back to her as she squints and tortures her mind to think harder. It was over a month ago, the night Darry's friends threw the biggest frat party across campus. Loaded off of countless shots and red solo cups of cheap beer during a game of beer pong, their night ended with sloppy drunk sex in an unfamiliar bedroom... the kind of sex that never once involves a coherent thought to wrap up.

She recalls the look in both of their eyes after sharing a groundbreaking climax that filled her to the brim with his cum. Redressing silently, although wasted— they knew they had fucked up.

Concerned with the silence, Darry continued to watch her... He gazed in worry and admitted to indecent thoughts as he wished for another round while watching the spellbinding way Corrine leaked his cumshot. Although a sight that made him feral with lust, it was clearly a mistake they rarely ever make.

He began tipsily, hiccuping and stumbling as he rushed to clean her up and bring Corrine back to reality. "Baby? You— you good?"

She was indeed not good. Already imagining the morning after pill she would take in the morning, and yet she still nodded a meek 'yes'.

Somehow between midnight and dawn, Corrine and Darry made their way back to his dorm that night.... But come morning, the drunken memory of it all never resurfaced— until today of course.

"Fucking hell." She face palms.

"There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you." Darry startles her. Coming behind Corrine he is relieved to have found her. So worried about the news she just received, she had no idea that her frantic pacing walked her away from the tree— now dazed in thought as she wanders the length of a stream.

She quickly hides the tests in the back-pocket of her skirt, "sorry, I was just.... I uh— I'm going to go grab my things."

Darry follows behind her joyfully cracking jokes. "Here we are near the bum-fuck Everglades of Florida! I thought an alligator snatched you up or something."

"Ha! Oh, no— no alligators, maybe mosquitoes though." She gulps, finding her bookbag by the tree, and still behaving strangely.

...

Corrine pauses. Turning to face her lover, she realizes that he may as well know the truth now instead of her hiding it and being uncomfortable all of Spring Break. "No. I'm fine, I just—"

Darry stretches with yawn, still in a lighthearted mood without any idea of how their lives are soon to change. "—just was taking a dump? Yeah, I figured!" He finishes her sentence for her with a burly laugh.

"Not exactly..." Corrine swallows roughly. "Darry I—

"You know I saw somewhere on TV if you shit in the wild, you're supposed to like— dig a hole or something, ya know?" He interrupts once more. "Ah, I don't know, something about the animals could be drawn to it or something so you've gotta burry it... I must've saw it on Animal Planet!"

"Darry!" Running out of patience, Corrine finally shuts him up with a shout. "I am— pregnant." The pregnancy tests are taken from her back pocket, lifted to his line of sight.

He freezes... Nearly becoming crosseyed as he tries his best to read both positive plus signs at the same time.

. . .

His silence is deafening. "Darry?"So very still she even wonders if time has stopped all around them.

Embarrassment begins to set in... Her skin starts to crawl as her boyfriend stares at her without a single word. Not being able to read his thoughts eats at her spirit, unsure of if the news of this is the start of their life together— or the end of it.

Corrine huffs, "well shit Darry, I know it might not be the best time to tell you, but don't just blank out on me!?" The last thing she ever wanted to be is the girl who gets knocked up and flunks out of her almost senior year of uni. A scholarship, and a young life of freedom, instantly taken away from miscalculating her boyfriend's last pump.

"Okay, fine." Darry's continued silence suddenly feels like an insult, the prideful young woman can't take much more of it. "Just give me the map. If there's a bus station around, I-I can just get a ticket and spend Spring Break back home in Louisiana... I know it's a lot to think about, but just forget it, I'll deal with it."

He finally breathes. Although purple faced— he inhales oxygen again as he comes out of shock. "Sorry..." His first spoken word sounds nearly strained as if it were an unmeasurable task to complete. "I really shouldn't have paused like that."

Corrine exhales in relief. "No, you really shouldn't have."

His fingers comb nervously through his silky brown strands, collecting himself before speaking again. "It's just— actually hearing it... Well, it's a lot different than having been waiting to hear it for weeks now."

"Huh? You—" She stammers. Confused, she asks in disbelief. "You knew?"

"It was a thought." He begins, "like how exhausted you'd be after a day of class, the random waves of nausea, and constant craving for sweets..." Darry chuckles, "I mean hell, baby— I think we went through a tub of marshmallow Blue Belle every couple of days."

An unexpected tear falls from her lashes as they share in a wholesome laugh. However, her tears don't go unrecognized... Darry sighs, soon cradling Corrine's sweet face in the palm of his hands.

Words of pure worry flee her tongue. "What are we going to do?"

"Shhhh. What do you mean?" Her trembled whine breaks his heart. "We're going to have a baby and raise them to be the best person the world could ever meet. And trust that they will be, because they will be raised from love."

Knowing that a time like this can be difficult, especially for a young woman who's doing all of the physical carrying, Darry hurts even more from the thought of Corrine actually expecting him to drop her off at a bus station and let the love of his life— the mother of his first child, deal with this all alone.

"I know I can be a prick but baby, we should be happy, this isn't a catastrophe. And when we get to the lake house , even my parents will tell you the same thing... because once upon a time in their college years— little ol me came out of the blue too!" Darry's gentle temperament and excited smile is the reassurance that Corrine needed. "But they stayed together, they finished college, and till this day they have never regretted one moment in this crazy and complicated life. Baby, If they can do it, so can we—and we will."

Expecting her tears to end, they double— then triple. Now crying tears of joy and relief, Darry wipes away her streams of sorrow. "So cute, come here you sap." Locked tightly in his arms, he kisses her forehead and soon finds Corrine's lips.

He grins with pride. "I love you so much. And oh man— the mother you'll be, I can't wait to bear witness to it. Our kid will never go a day without the warmth of a love like yours."

The way he speaks to her... The absolute promise in his voice... There is positively no way that a man like Darry Jenner could fail as a father. "I love you more." Her words are soft, sniffled, and he already knows them to be true.

"Come on, let's get there, we now have double the news to share!" Popping open Corrine's door, Darry eases his girlfriend into her seat, "careful, you're carrying precious cargo in there." Still wiping tears back, Corrine manages a sweet chuckle— reminded that all this time she's been carrying an actual testament of their love.

With the car packed and back on the road, Darry pats his sweetheart's leg. A proud man driving off through the sunset with his little family as his hand finds the way to the warmth of her belly. Corrine watches his side profile as he drives, blushing with keen adoration, and feeling lucky to have found such home and security within a man.

Their evening continues to grow better by the minute. As time winds down with talk of baby names, where to buy a house after graduation, and decent private schools, an obnoxious driver decides to rain on the young couple's parade.

A black truck— more rust than paint, begins to tailgate them as if they are driving far too slow. Darry frowns, looking at his speed gage— he's already ten over. "Great... The first car we see for miles and it's this asshole."

Turning around in her seat, Corrine is disgusted by the truck... Just about the same familiar feeling of repugnance she had when that wretched 'Jeepers Creepers' song played on the radio a few hours back.

"Ughhh." She scoffs. Even the sight of the truck is enough to put a bad taste in her mouth. Such a distinct difference from their baby-blue vehicle, beaming rays of sunshine from their immense joy. It's almost as if the truck is a dark rain cloud on wheels following behind them. Nothing but pure evil.

Darry speeds up, but it still doesn't satisfy the deranged driver. Their car is suddenly rammed in the back.

"WHAT THE FUCK!?" Darry's arm instantly outstretches to protect Corrine as they both are lunged forward, "Corrine?are you okay?" Although frightened, she nods. Watching Darry heat in further rage being that he now has three precious lives to protect  than just their two.

"Hey asshole! Pull over! I'm going to kick your ass you crazy hillbilly fuck!" Hanging half way out of the window, Darry taunts the driver, insulting him with the middle-finger as the man passes them over a double-solid line.

The driver clearly has no care for the laws or other people's safety on the road. Watching the man drive recklessly, Corrine looks into his window. She squints to see better, however, the windows are far too tented. Just in time of Corrine's deathly staring, a rare beam of natural evening light highlights just enough of the driver's face for a glimpse of the maniac through his dark windows.

With widened eyes and her tawny skin beginning to pale, she immediately gasps from the half-second glimpse of his image... Eyes the color of ice, skin like burnt leather, and a figure of rage dressed in clothes that imitate a human.

No, this isn't a man— this isn't a man at all.

Turning away from the truck she clinches her eyes tightly shut, praying to forget what she has seen, and praying to convince herself that it was all imagined after a tiring day of road-tripping. But her Creole roots keep her from refusing the clear indication of something demonic... Raised all her life in the spirituality of Hoodoo, her grandmother has taught Corrine when exactly to trust her gut instinct.

"Pull over pussy!" Darry continues to argue out of the driver-side window.

"Darry, stop!" She panics. "You need to let him pass! Let him pass right now!"

Although aggravated he listens to Corrine's pleads.

"I can't believe that guy." Complaint after complaint rolls off his tongue and tightly gritted teeth. "This car is a classic! It will cost me thousands to fix the damage of a fender bender on a vintage vehicle!"

"And look at that!" Darry reads the truck's license plate after finally being passed, he scoffs in annoyance. "BEATNGU— Beating you? Fucking weirdo... Clearly he makes a habit of this, doing this shit on purpose! Probably trying to race people in that souped-up hunk of junkyard shit."

. . .

"No Darry, something's not right..." Her intuition reads the plate otherwise.

"What is it baby?" He asks, hyped with pumped up adrenaline. "Should we make this baby purr and race him? Show him that he isn't 'beating' anybody today?"

"No! Read it again..." Corrine insists, nearing sudden hyperventilation."BEATNGU!!! B-EATN-U... Be eating you."

"Woahhh." Darry chuckles playfully, "Babe, that's such a freaky way to interpret that." He shakes his head, "you're totally over thinking it."

A feeling of sickness falls over her... She hisses with a grasp to her stomach, unfamiliar with this kind of pain.

"Shit, Corrine??" Trying his best to drive responsibly, Darry trembles in panic as he checks in with her. "Corrine what's wrong? It's way too early for kicks, I know. Baby! What is wrong??"

She refuses. Registering the fact that this feeling is more of a gut instinct than any kind of pregnancy flutters... She gulps, the overwhelmingly terrible hunch about this truck making it hard for her to breathe. She wishes Darry to slow down, to turn around, to brake and gain far distance from this fucked up truck!!!

Noticing a road marker to their right, Corrine points to it. "The interstate— get us off these backroads."

He sighs. Disregarding her anxiety— Darry brushes it off with a complex of knowing it all. "But baby—" His voice sweetens as he practices patience with his favorite girl. "Look, I've taken this way home a million times or more, it's the quickest way."

"Darry!" Corrine this time insists.

Tempted to disregard her wishes again, his eyes leave the road to look at his worried pregnant girlfriend... As Darry meets Corrine's eyes in a shared glance, the fear in them is sharp and breathtaking.

Not only does he recognize her dread, but it is as if he can see his future— his destiny, his fate of what will come if he continues down this same road as the truck ahead.

. . .

He gulps... With terror beginning to consume him as well, Darry Jenner  makes an immediate sharp right, kicking up a dirt and a dust storm beneath his wheels and nearly flipping the car as he ends sharing the same path with the mysterious trucker.

The car instantly feels lighter with relief. Although hair and goosebumps continue to stand on both of their arms, at least this side road will lead them back onto the congested highway.

Maybe an extra hour added to this trip in the depth of infuriating stop and go traffic, but nevertheless, a life-saving escape to what could have been.

———