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The cemetery was slivered in moonlight, mist curling low over the stones. Morticia walked with her usual unhurried grace, the hem of her gown whispering over the damp grass, her fingers trailing the tops of headstones as though greeting old friends. You trailed beside her, beneath puffing pale in the chill, every sense sharpened by the nearness of her. The air was heavy with damp earth and roses left to rot, but all you could smell was her perfume. Dark, intoxicating, faintly poisonous.
When she stopped, you nearly stumbled to keep from passing her. She had chosen a tomb, smooth marble glistening faintly with dew, and turned her head toward you with a smile that was anything but sweet.
“My dear,” she murmured, voice low and velvet, “do you know what I crave most among the dead?”
Your tongue fumbled for an answer, but her hand cupped your chin, nails grazing lightly along your jaw. Her smile deepened, cutting through you like silk drawn over a blade.
“Devotion,” she purred. “On your knees.”
The command rooted you where you stood, a shiver rolling through you at the weight of her gaze. Still, you obeyed, kneeling before her as she leaned back against the tomb like it was a throne built for her alone.
Morticia gathered the folds of her gown, parting them slowly, deliberately, until you could see the pale lines of her thighs. She tilted her head, black hair spilling over one shoulder, and an arched brow.
“Don’t be shy, mi gatita. The dead are excellent voyeurs.”
Your lips pressed against the inside of her thigh, reverent, trembling. Morticia’s fingers curled in your hair, guiding, not gentle but never harsh, tugging you closer until you could taste her. Her sigh slipped into the night air, dark and unhurried.
“Such a good mouth,” she whispered, eyes closing as her hips shifted ever so slightly. “Eager. Desperate. You’ve thought of this, haven’t you? How I’d taste, how I’d sound when you pleased me?”
Your tongue dragged along her folds, tentative at first, then bolder when her nails tightened in encouragement. She rolled her hips against your mouth, patient, decadent, drawing out her own pleasure while you shook with need. Every moan she gave was measured, every sigh designed to make you ache harder.
“Slower,” she coaxed when you grew frantic. “Take your time. I want every drop of my pleasure savoured.”
Her nails scraped lightly across your scalp, her voice falling into a murmur like a hymn.
“You exist to worship, don’t you? To kneel, to serve, to be useful beneath me.” Her laugh was low, rich, devastating. “And I–oh, yes–shall let you.”
She pulled your head back just enough to look down at you, moonlight making her face a pale, exquisite mask. Her thumb stroked your swollen lower lip, smearing her slick across it.
“You exist to worship,” she repeated, slow and deliberate, her thumb stroking along your damp lower lip. “To be on your knees, to open your mouth for me, to taste what only I choose to give you.”
Then she pressed you firmly back against her, grinding her folds across your lips until you parted for her. The taste of her spilt onto your tongue, slick and heady, and her sigh bled into a quiet, sinful laugh.
“Mm… yes. Lick me. Slower–mm, yes, just like that. Flatten your tongue. Every stroke…. Oh, darling, you’re learning.”
Her thighs framed your head, velvet skin tightening as you traced the line of her slit with your tongue, teasing her clit before circling it, flicking lightly until her hips twitched. Morticia rewarded you with a long, low moan, her hand pushing you harder against her.
“Good girl. Such a good, hungry little mouth. Do you know how obscene you sound, sucking me like that? The dead are listening, and you don’t even care, do you?”
Her words made your core throb, heat pooling in your underwear as you dragged your tongue from her entrance up to her swollen clit, sealing your lips around it and sucking. She gasped, sharp and sudden, her body arching ever so slightly against the marble slab behind her.
“Yesssss–there. Don’t you dare stop. Keep licking until your jaw aches.”
You obeyed, your tongue circling, pressing, flicking, desperate to please her. Her cunt grew wetter with every movement, her slick coating your chin as you lapped greedily, messy and eager.
“You’d let me ride your face until you suffocated, wouldn’t you?” she whispered, voice trembling with pleasure. “Drown in me. Be buried here in the dirt with your mouth full of my cunt.”
Her hips continued to roll against you, deliberate, unhurried, but merciless in their rhythm. She used your mouth like it was hers by right, her thighs clamping around your head when you whimpered.
“Deeper,” she hissed. “Push that tongue inside me. Yes–fuck me with it. Fill me. Stretch me open.”
You did, plunging your tongue into her, fucking her with frantic strokes while your nose pressed against her clit, rubbing, grinding until she was shuddering above you. Morticia’s sigh broke into a ragged moan, her composure fracturing as she rocked down against your face.
“Ahh–fuck, yes… just like that–don’t stop, don’t stop–”
Her orgasm tore through her, hips jerking, slick gushing over your tongue. You swallowed, drinking her down, face soaked as she rode out every last shudder on your mouth. Her moans were low and devastating, echoing off the stones until she finally eased back, gown falling to cover her again.
She looked down at you, your face wet, lips swollen, chest heaving. Her smile curved sharp and indulgent, admiring her work.
“Look at you,” she purred, running her damp fingers across your cheek before pushing them between your lips. “Marked. Used. My perfect little altar.”
She withdrew, licking her own fingers clean with slow precision. Her eyes gleamed with wicked satisfaction.
“Come,” she said softly, already gliding back into the shadows of the graveyard. “The night isn’t finished with us yet.”
But she paused when she saw you still kneeling, thighs pressed together, trembling with need. Her smile widened, cruel and decadent.
“Pathetic little thing,” she murmured. “Dripping for me while you served. You’ve earned something for your devotion… and I do enjoy watching you fall apart.”
Her hand extended, and when you took it, she drew you up with effortless grace. She pressed you back against the smooth tomb, pinning you there with the weight of her presence, her perfume wrapping around you like smoke. With a tilt of her head, her lips hovered just shy of your ear.
“Spread your legs for me.”
You obeyed instantly, heat rushing through you as her long fingers gathered your skirt, slipping beneath to find your soaked panties. Her nails scratched lightly over the thin fabric, and her hum of amusement made your knees weaken.
“So wet,” she crooned. “All this from pleasuring me? You are utterly sinful.”
Her hand pushed the fabric aside, and she slid two fingers through your slick folds, parting you with deliberate slowness. When she circled your clit, your hips jerked helplessly, and she laughed low in her throat.
“Hungry little cunt,” she whispered. “Do you ache to be filled, mi vida? To be stretched wide for me?”
When she pressed a finger inside, the stretch made you cry out, and she drank the sound like she was sipping wine. Another finger followed, curling deep, her thumb pressing firmly against your clit until your thighs shook.
“Look at you,” she said, voice silken. “So open. So desperate. Ride my hand, darling. Show me how badly you need it.”
You did, rocking your hips down, fucking yourself on her fingers as she watched with unblinking fascination. Her thumb was relentless, circling, pressing, drawing you closer with every second.
“That’s it. Take what I give you. All of it. Every last thrust until you’re spilling down my wrist.”
Your release built fast, your body clenching tight around her fingers as the graveyard spun around you. She leaned in, her lips grazing your temple, her whisper velvet and commanding.
“Come for me, my sweet. Let them all hear you.”
You shattered, climax crashing over you in violent waves. Your body jerked helplessly as she kept her fingers moving, milking every spasm, every gush of slick until your thighs trembled and your voice was hoarse from crying out.
Only then did she withdraw, bringing her soaked fingers to her lips. She licked them clean with exquisite slowness, eyes never leaving yours.
“Delectable,” she said, her tone identical to how she’d praised her own orgasm earlier. “You’re every bit as delicious as I imagined.”
She smoothed your skirt back into place, composed as ever, and trailed her nails lightly along your jaw.
“Now,” she said, stepping back into the fog, “walk with me, mi amor. The dead are satisfied… but I am not finished with you yet.”
Morticia didn’t let you go far. Her hand lingered at your waist, cool and unyielding, drawing you back against her. She sat upon another marble tomb as though it were a throne built only for her, smoothing her gown aside in a cascade of black silk. With a sharp tug, she pulled you forward until you were straddling her lap.
“Mm,” she purred, her nails trailing down your spine, “that’s better. Look at you, trembling thing. Perched atop me like an offering.”
Her thigh pressed upward against your soaked core, forcing a gasp from your throat. She relished it, her smile sharp and slow, her lips ghosting along your cheek.
“Ride me,” she whispered. “Grind that needy little cunt against me until you’re ruined.”
You obeyed, rocking forward on her thigh, the fabric of her gown dampening under your slick heat. The pressure made you whimper, clutching at her shoulders as you found your rhythm. Morticia’s hands were everywhere. One tangled in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat, the other palming your ass, dragging you harder against her.
“That’s it, tesoro mio,” she crooned, voice like silk-wrapped steel. “So desperate. So wet. Do you feel how easily you soak through me? How much your little body begs?”
Your moans spilt freely now, echoing faintly across the headstones. Morticia’s lips traced your throat, biting just enough to make you shudder. She rolled her thigh beneath you deliberately, grinding up into your cunt, controlling every ounce of your pleasure.
“Filthy,” she murmured against your ear. “You rut against me like an animal, and still you want more. Pathetic little slut.”
Her words only made you move faster, hips bucking down in messy rhythm, your clit throbbing against the silk. Morticia laughed low, cruel and indulgent, her nails raking down your back.
And then her own need surfaced. With one deft tug, she drew your skirts higher, leaning back slightly, and parting herself beneath her gown until your slick folds brushed hers. The contact was devastating. Wet heat against wet heat, clit against clit.
“Ahh…” she sighed, head tipped back, lashes lowering. “Now this is divine.”
You both moved, grinding together, your cunts sliding, slipping, wetness mixing in desperate friction. Morticia held you there, pressed flush against her, forcing you to ride the sharp line of her pleasure as much as your own.
“Look at me,” she demanded, catching your chin between her fingers. You obeyed, eyes locking with hers as your hips rolled against her. “Yes. Watch me. Watch me fall apart on you.”
Her moans grew ragged, still melodic but cracked with hunger. She rocked her hips up into you, meeting your rhythm, stroke for stroke, her body trembling with contained power.
“Mi pecado…. Keep going…” she gasped, voice breaking into laughter and moans all at once. “So messy. So wet. Just like that.”
The friction grew unbearable, your clits swollen and throbbing, your slick smearing across each other until every stroke sent lightning through your core. You were crying out now, shameless, clinging to her shoulders as your orgasm built again.
“Yes,” Morticia hissed, nails sinking into your hips, dragging you harder against her. “Come with me. Come undone with me, here, where even the dead must envy.”
Her body tensed beneath you, thighs clenching, her breath breaking into sharp, desperate cries. You shattered with her, pleasure tearing through you both as your cunts rubbed together in frantic, soaking strokes.
The orgasm ripped you apart. Heat flooding, muscles spasming, voice raw in the night. Morticia arched against you, mouth falling open in a silent cry before a low, guttural moan poured out of her throat.
You clung together through it, grinding even as your bodies quaked, milking every wave until you were both trembling, slick, dripping down your thighs and staining the marble beneath you.
At last, she slowed, her breathing ragged, her smile wicked and satisfied. She pressed her forehead to yours, lips brushing yours without kissing, her eyes gleaming dark and indulgent.
“Ruined,” she whispered, a cruel caress in her voice. “Marked. Mine.”
Her hand cupped your cheek, thumb smearing your spit-slick lips. She licked her own fingers lazily, savouring the taste of your mingled desire.
“Come, my dear,” she murmured, voice still trembling with pleasure. “Walk with me. The night will not tire of us yet.”