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Lenore's thoughts rest in the dark, staved away by the loving hand resting atop her head. It lies heavy and sure, petting her furred ears as if ordering her mind to quiet.
Faint laughter rings from above as a firm thumb presses down upon her bottom lip. A delectable truffle of chocolate pops into her mouth.
“Mmh…” Lenore hums around the bitter treat, rubbing her flushed cheek against pillow-soft and velvet-covered thighs. It melts over her hot tongue, a fleeting respite from the cloying blaze set alight beneath her thin shirt.
“Your dear friends are beside themselves with worry.”
She furrows her brows, deep-set by the tight knot in her stomach she's fighting to ignore if only to spend another eternity in this moment without care for the fickle ways of the moon, the sweat dripping down her temple, or the hardwood digging into her weak knees.
“Such loyal ones, werewolves are. How amusing.”
Lenore glances up, dark eyes rimmed with a heavy sleepiness that almost seems to deepen with ardor at the sight of Annabel’s fangs peeking through her smile.
“I'm sure you'd think so, dearest,” Lenore drawls, her own incisors dragging over the silk of her nightgown like a promise and a tease, like a beast biding its time.
Primly and dulcet, Annabel's voice trickles hot sparks over Lenore's spine that melts her back to close-eyed submission. The words fade into white noise. Sweet, blessed murmuring.
Lenore mutters something incoherent in reply, her lips pressing to her dear Annabel Lee's hip in a lazy mimicry of a kiss, lest she finds issue with her lack of response and takes it as a reason to stop this long-winded treatment.
Her tail, fluffed out in black and white fur like a Samoyed’s whole body, thumps against the floor in heavy satisfaction. Resting at Annabel’s heels isn't the worst place to be, but the lead-lugged ache in her haunches suggests it would be unwise to reject an offer to accompany her beloved on the sofa. If one is extended to her, at least.
More urgently, the throbbing between her thighs is begging for attention. Between bites of delectably dark chocolate, she's panting into Annabel’s hand, no shame to be found.
(It's been dead for a long time, actually, mourned rather frequently in Annabel’s bed as luck would have it.)
Ruts have been a seasonal offense ever since Lenore was old enough to deal with them. While the perks of being able to dwell among humans include access to a variety of tools for sexual reprieve, her family’s archaic traditions absolutely demanded that if she wasn't spending her rut with a mate then she could forget about getting off at all.
It's because of that and a variety of other reasons that prompted her to simply up and leave. No amount of pack loyalty would get her to swallow her freedom.
Though she found out very quickly through a reckless hunt through the so-called haunted vampire manor nestled beyond the outskirts of the city and a tryst with vampire mistress Annabel Lee that, truly, nothing quite quenches the flame of desire like tongue, teeth, and touch. Lenore had never really managed to repair the damage done to the clothes she was wearing that evening, but she did get twin puncture wounds at the base of her neck—subtle (sort of), adorable (in a way), and… claiming.
Unlike most mating practices, their first time together had looked like aggressive play, but frankly, Lenore wouldn't have been able to conjure up more than a deep admiration for Annabel’s beauty amidst the festering anger at being driven down to heel like a dog.
She remembers the moment she snapped—they both did, slamming and being slammed into the wall, nightgowns torn and trousers shoved down, and Lenore fucking into Annabel with half-feral abandon that sparked something in her besides arousal at Annabel’s ruined moan of her name.
Fuck, Annabel’s insides were so soft and tight around her cock, especially when her knot slipped in and she fucking keened at being so so so full of—
Her mind runs its nails down the inside of her frail skull as she grates a whine into Annabel’s skirts.
Lord. Lenore, compose yourself! She seethes.
The world in front of her sways on drunk feet rooted to the ground, and there she tries to collect her bearings as if watching the soot melt into the blurring fireplace whilst its masonry warps with the fire’s glow is any help at all.
She squeezes her eyes back shut with a heavy exhale, burying her nose deeper into Annabel’s skirts. She smells like blood and wolfsbane. Torturous, but it's not enough.
A giggle cuts through the haze and accompanies a cold hand slithering down from her ruffled hair to her sweltering nape, teasing the short tufts there.
“It'll be some time,” Annabel says, gently reeling her from her racing and lurid thoughts, “before your friend… hm. What was his name again? The small and scruffy one.”
Blearily, Lenore's mind rummages through the context. “Pluto,” she says, gripping the damask with a strangled huff. “Annabel…”
Lenore cracks an eye open to meet the sharp, peony gaze of the seemingly apathetic vampire.
“Ah, right. Pluto,” Annabel says, uncaring, and reaches down to condescendingly scritch beneath her chin as if she was some beloved pet. She's none too proud about the little “mmh” that leaves her chocolate-pliant throat. “How long do you suppose it'll be before he arrives with your water supply?”
Lenore's ears prick up just as the struggle of stamping down the boiling heat begins to show on the crease between her brows. “He’s quick on his feet,” she says, “a day or two at most. I'd be completely out of my mind by the time he arrives…”
The heat stirring in the room grows headier. “Then I can only hope he takes longer,” she whispers, eyes glinting.
But Annabel—this woman who'd happily toy with Lenore's insides if given the chance—
(A wicked misconstruement of that statement sends another flare of heat to her gut.)
—Finds it in her to smile oh-so serenely as Lenore allows herself onto the chaise and yanks her onto her lap, her clothed cock pressing up the silk-covered cleft of her ass.
Annabel moans as she tenses. Then, as if picking up on her desperation, she purposefully grinds down. “Nh… How very forward, pet,” she coos, eyes aglow in that menacing peony-pink.
Lenore catches the hint of arousal entwined with Annabel’s croon.
Bite her.
The undercurrent of metal and sweet belies the unsaid permission that sifts beneath Annabel's flesh and curls its temptation into the tight grit of Lenore's jaw.
Just once. She's been a tease all evening.
She grazes the tips of her canines over Annabel's chilled skin. The veins beneath lack life and vigor yet—there is blood where there is desire.
(Oh, to have Annabel Lee laid out beneath her in the torn remains of her dress and linens again, trembling with ecstasy, wrapped tight around Lenore's cock as she moans temptation through fang and strain against the flushed neck of the one taking her.)
Lenore's pulled closer by the arms wrapped around her neck until her nose is pushed into Annabel’s neck. The scent of wolfsbane and herb-wrapped decay festers strongest, smeared over her skin and washed deep into the fabric of her nightgown. Her growl rumbles against her jugular, threatening.
(Just a bite.)
Annabel’s moan blooms sweet and erotic the moment her smooth, ochre skin breaks beneath Lenore’s teeth.
Blood gushes into her mouth like a popped heart, dripping down her chin in rivulets that her tongue drags over the metallic flavor once then twice—a starved thing, a beast, a mutt—and tightens her arms around Annabel’s trembling body to keep her from moving too far before she's done.
A hand comes to fist Lenore’s hair, accompanied by Annabel’s softer whines that feel just as performative as they are real. She tugs and fails to pull her away, dropping back down to clutch her shoulder with a twitching hand.
“Pet…”
Her claws twist into the delicate silk, a gentle rip punctuating her dining and the restless little noises pouring from Annabel's throat.
“P—Goodness, pet…”
She drags her tongue, hot and rough, over the throb of trickling blood, eyes narrowed as metal overwhelms the delicate taste of flesh. Her jaw drops back open again, nearing for another bite—
“Pet.”
The hunger dissipates instantly. “Sorry, dearest…”
Lenore’s lips slide back over her teeth as she presses an apology to the mess with a kiss, a soft keen rumbling in the back of her throat. Red smears across her pale cheek as she kisses, again, tinged with more need this time as her clutch turns into a cajoling embrace.
“Sorry,” she mumbles again, quietly playing with the ruffles around Annabel's neckline, claws gentler now. A plea for acquiescence. The truth of a guilty lover. The merit of a loyal dog.
Annabel wrenches her back by the collar of her shirt and ghosts her lips over the underside of her jaw with a cold little sigh. Any human would faint at the sound of such a sound that promises cruelty, but Lenore's billowing tail betray her contrition by wagging excitedly like she'd just been presented with the prospects of a treat and a good fucking, not plausible punishment. It continues to fight Annabel’s mischievous handling of it until she brushes it in such a way that it forces her hips to twitch against her.
The moans that leave both their lips are damning.
“You're awfully audacious tonight,” Annabel coos, her tone light yet wicked. She fists Lenore's hair tighter and plies another desperate sound from her lips. “And you'll have me believe that you're truly sorry?”
“Well… one would usually think so after the second apology.”
“Well, it wouldn't be too much to hear it from you properly now, would it?”
Lenore gasps as she's shoved back onto the floor.
She pushes herself onto her knees, tugs at the hem of Annabel's dress, and presses her forehead to her knee in a flowing string of motion. If anyone were to look at them and disregard the palpable ring of her quick pulse alongside the blood smeared over her mouth and the midnight silk of Annabel's nightgown, they'd be the perfect image of a hearth-warmed couple—like a painting of a white-bloused gentleman bent at the knees petitioning the vexed lady of the house for forgiveness.
Lenore begins with a low drawl, voice thick with a certain somberness, “my beloved Annabel Lee, forgive me. You… were too much for me to resist.” She licks her lips. It's performative, almost. “Whatever you'll give, I'll take,” she says, eyes soft and heart presented to Annabel's curled simper, “and if you'd rather I lock myself in a room and… find relief in another way, I'll do it. It—It hardly matters.”
The scent of rosemary and blood grows headier, like a thick cut of venison still bleeding on the plate. Her mouth waters, canines itching to sink back into her neck even with Annabel’s gaze pinning her down imperiously.
“A pillow from your bed would be all I need,” Lenore says, lashes low. She reaches up, daringly, and threads her claws through Annabel's ringlets to guide down for a kiss.
Beautiful. Like sunlight caressing one's palm.
The tightness in her throat unwinds as Annabel laughs and ruffles her furred ears like one would a dog. She huffs, amused. “Mm… I suppose I'd misjudged you. You're normally a vicious, dangerous thing whose teeth are well-acquainted with quarry of all kinds. That large gash you had gifted Montresor just a moon ago? Beastly.” She simpers, grazing her hand down Lenore’s cheek before digging her thumb into her bottom lip. Flecks of flesh are clinging to her teeth. “Adorable.”
She drawls, “though given that, I had expected you'd never do something as pedestrian as rutting into me like a heat-stricken mongrel. You're not exactly leaving a dignified impression, are you?”
Lenore’s lashes lower in faux submission. “It’s my shame to bear, dearest,” she says, sitting higher on her haunches.
“And what have I done but sit here, pet? Surely feeding you my stash of Godiva and letting you lay your head on my lap weren't that arousing? How silly that'd be, if that were the case.”
Lenore wrinkles her face as her ears press flat against her head in dismay. She leans in to bury her face in Annabel’s shoulder and groans.
“I love you. God, Annabel, I really do” she says, the words besotted yet strained as she drags her claws up under Annabel’s dress. “But truthfully?” her voice dips, “I'd rather fuck you than debate with you right now.”
A delighted shiver pushes Annabel’s smugness to the forefront. Lenore’s thoughts fade into fog and smoke once more as the floral scent sharpens. This is hers.
“Oh, I'm sure you'd love that, pet,” Annabel sighs. “But—”
Lenore drags her rough tongue over the luxury of her soft, bare thighs, mesmerized by her shudder and the wet sheen that's left. Undead or not, it seems Annabel had never stopped moisturizing since the day she died.
“But?”
“As your mate—” a swift kick throws Lenore back onto her ass— “it's my responsibility to care for you, is it not?”
Shadows slither out from the dark corners of the sitting room and lash around her throat like a leash.
“Hck—!”
It swiftly yanks her back onto her knees.
Lenore bites back a growl, marked by her tail curling tight to her hip like a wronged thing. Annabel’s condescending pat to her head makes her ears press tight against her skull in petty protest.
“Ngh…” she glowers, canines digging into her bottom lip as her fingers try to pry beneath the makeshift collar. No give. “A little warning next time?” she hisses.
The vitriol and indignance flickering within Lenore fiercely battles her simmering arousal for space in her lower half. And it loses. Unspectacularly.
Her cock presses tight against her pants, unforgivingly chaffing against the lace number she has underneath. While dressing-up or begging aren't necessary particulars for pleasing a mate—at least according to her family’s standards for alphas—something about wearing something nice for Annabel shifts the heat around her stomach and pulls a heavier fog over her mind, lashes drooped and all.
(Honor as old as her family’s bloodline says it's better to die standing up, yet how can it be? She'd gladly bend down to drink from the River Styx if it was Annabel Lee who led her to it by leash.
Her vampiress often feasts on dignity as she would blood, and she could drag Lenore back by her haunches without even using a hint of glamor or allure.
But she doesn't.
Just a hand upon her still-beating heart.)
Tepidly, Lenore glances up, fingers still trying to wedge between her straining throat and the shadowy collar—and her face is coaxed to burn with the way Annabel wraps the leash once around her hand with an elegant twirl of her wrist like it’s a dark, wispy bracelet to go along with her midnight-ruffled evening gown.
Ah?
Annabel pulls at the leash.
Humiliatingly, ridiculously, obediently, Lenore crawls an inch forward.
“Wait, are you—? I—” Lenore fumbles through short breaths, eyes trained on her love. “I… Hold on now, I think I should be offended.”
“Was it too sudden? I was worried you'd desecrate my sofa if I took any longer,” Annabel says while she puts on a vicious little smile that does things to Lenore’s fraying self-preservation. “Come here.”
Partially slack-jawed and incredibly hard, Lenore finally shuffles over until she bumps her head against Annabel’s legs, tail wagging as she pants.
Annabel bends over in an elegant swish of chiffon, pulling little hums from Lenore’s throat with an affectionate rub beneath her eye, just over her mole. “We've had you bathed, fed, rested, and that now leaves one last prerequisite before bed,” she says.
A hungered moan spills from Lenore’s bitten lips as that same gentle hand grips her jaw and pulls her face up to meet Annabel’s piercing gaze—glowing pink suns. Twin Venuses.
“All that's left to do is tire you out.”
Drool pools beneath Lenore’s tongue as she chases her receding hand.
The leash shortens quickly as Annabel strides forward, leaving Lenore to shamble after her.
Annabel leads them up a grand staircase polished to a shine. Lenore’s tail glides alongside the carved bannisters while her palms and knees endeavor to match her swift pace. With her gaze left pinned to the ground, she can only roll her eyes with irritation yet persevering fondness because of course Annabel is levitating. The vampire mistress is a carefully curated appearance that'd be shattered if Annabel dared let her velvet slippers scuff the ground. She'd be torn. Devastated.
Teleporting the two of them to her room? Perish the thought! Where's the style and power play in that?
“I have this terrible feeling that you're thinking, pet,” Annabel drawls.
Lenore snorts. “Pardon me then, mistress. I have a habit of doing that. Is it that great a problem?”
“Very much so. However…”
“... However?”
Malice as thick as a leather cape seems to settle over Annabel’s shoulders and spill from the steps in shivering waves. Lenore’s eyes narrow a fraction, though she can't deny the anticipation roiling in her gut. Just what do you have planned, Annabel Lee?
The floorboards creak in rhythm as they reach the towering mahogany doors of Annabel’s bedchambers.
“Do those… instincts of yours hold any true bearing in bed?”
Lenore flushes hot. “What?” she deadpans. She tilts her head, ears pointing downwards, as if this new angle would make the simper on Annabel’s face any less menacing and more explanatory. “In what context?”
A hauntingly beautiful laugh echoes through the desolate hallway and resonates in every hollow aching part of Lenore that she's suddenly very, very aware of. She's already bracing before the leash forces her closer, her long limbs stumbling despite her coordination.
“I'll put it this way.”
Annabel bends down, venomous eyes raking her lowered form with a certain glowing hunger Lenore can't quite name right now.
(Her blood shrieks and clamors beneath her veins, shaking her heart and pulsing in her ears—rattling vents housing a vengeful wind similar to the notes of a certain amusement poached from the quarters of her most animalistic instincts.
Annabel Lee is a beautiful creature. Her lethality is yet another blossom to her allure.
Yet even the ominous look she gifts Lenore with the practiced dip of her head makes her look an awful lot like the predator known for eyeing the necks of her kind.)
Lenore breaks out into a sweat. Her throat twinges beneath the chilled collar. Her tail practically shoves itself between her shifting legs.
(Where is Annabel looking?)
“When a mutt has made itself a frequent visitor of another’s home, who do you suppose should be followed?”
She furrows her brows. “Well, obviously the—”
“Who do you think has no right to speak out of turn?”
Lenore stops.
Annabel smiles, trailing an affectionate finger down her nose like she was a beloved dog.
“Show me how much you like this, pet,” she murmurs.
The black and white fur of her tail brushes her thigh as it slowly slides out from between her legs. It rises. Then, it sways.
Oh.
Annabel croons, rewarding her with a heavier petting behind her ears. “Would you like more?”
“Y-Yes,” Lenore whispers as she shifts closer, her thighs pressing together tight.
“Then I'll ask you.” The weight slides down from her head to the collar-bound expanse of her nape. “If a cheeky, audacious, and needy dog wanted to spend its rut in its mistress’s home, who should be followed? The dog or the mistress?”
A shaky exhale falls from Lenore’s lips, head heavy. “The… T-The mistress, undoubtedly,” she replies.
Annabel smirks. It's cunning, devious, and spells more trouble than Lenore can possibly handle like this, and yet she yields to it with a small sound.
“Yes, pet. Me,” she coos, “me, the one who's been dressing you in such lovely silks and letting you dine on the finest veal. Your lover, your owner—does anyone else have such a right?”
Lenore kisses her open palm, heady breath pressing against chilled skin. “Only you,” she murmurs, face hot. The hand on her nape carefully slides beneath the collar to massage her, cool fingers soothing the burning skin. “Mmh…”
“Precisely.”
The hallway rakes its chill down her spine, like the shadows have danced out from the walls and—well, actually, it's hardly metaphorical, Lenore realizes, as a dark tendril slithers up her leg and holds it still when she jerks on instinct.
“I'll be taking you tonight.” Annabel smiles. “Any objections?”
Lenore’s pupils dilate, her claws scritching at the hardwood floor as they squeeze into her palms. Her mind latches onto the idea quicker than her biology should allow her, but she couldn't bring herself to care when the image of Annabel between her trembling legs, leash in hand, sears into her stomach with a shudder.
“No, mistress,” she breathes out.
The doors to her bedroom slam open and the cacophony of whispering shadows drags her in by the neck, her grunt lost in the noise.
Annabel sits on the edge of her canopy in a flutter of frills and silk, her smile illuminated by the warm glow of the lantern at her bedside, her phantasmagorical silhouette stretching until it joins in dragging Lenore’s pants down her knees and shoving her onto her back to yank them off.
“Pretty thing,” Annabel teases.
Lenore snorts as a shadow caresses her cheek, all the love in Annabel’s voice put in a cheeky tendril. She leans back and catches the way her peony eyes wither and bloom simultaneously at the black lace hugging her hips, the filigree flowers struggling to hold her flushed cock.
Even with no pulse for Lenore to catch, the way Annabel purses her lips and her sharp gasp tell her that had she been alive, she'd be blushing a garden of roses. The shadows themselves, tethered to Annabel’s supernatural affinity, mirror her rapt interest with how they can't stop caressing the smooth expanse of her waist and stomach, just shy of her hem.
Lenore can't help but play the tease.
“All yours to touch, mistress, if you aren't feeling too shy,” she purrs.
With a flick of Annabel’s finger, she does exactly that. The shadows make quick work of her underwear at her behest—tearing it off, eagerly wrapping around her length, and using the fluid already dribbling out of her to slick her up from base to tip.
“A-Ah, god…” she groans, lashes fluttering shut as she bites her lip, arms straining to hold her up as she bucks her hips.
Her ears twitch as she catches the sound of fabric rustling ahead of her, yet she can't bring herself to think beyond thrusting into the tendril engulfing her dick in sweet warmth. It's usually so cold, yet now it feels so—hot? And wet.
It feels like a prize and a privilege all at once to be adored to this extent, to have her instincts soothed with the simple promise that she'll be able to knot something tonight. It feels like Annabel—tight and welcoming and takes her down to her throbbing base until her legs are quivering atop the Persian rug that's in serious threat of a mess.
Lenore’s core tightens just as she bites her arm to muffle her gritted moan, heels desperately pushing against the floorboards to feed more of her throbbing cock into the rigged sheath. The tendril’s tip kisses hers, smearing precum on the downstroke.
“Goodness, what a mess, pet…”
Her eyes squint open, fully expecting to meet the ceiling’s crown moulding, only for her heart to stop at the sight of Annabel sliding off the bed—dressed down to nothing but her own lacy bra and a strap hanging heavy from its own weight, adorably pink and unassuming in color, ironic for its behemoth size.
What the hell.
Annabel raises a brow, and the slight curl of her lip shouldn't have roused her as strongly as it just did.
“A bit shameless even for you, don't you think?”
“Hgh…” Lenore chokes out, claws carving divots into the rosewood as her hips jerk up to accommodate her tail furiously slapping the floor.
There's no defending herself. Not against the barb and definitely not against the quickening jerks of the tendril rubbing the underside of her sensitive tip. She couldn't stop herself from cumming even if she tried.
“H-Hah—Annabel—darling, god—!”
Lenore’s head slams back onto the rug as her vision whites out. Her forearm burns like a devil scorched and doused her in pure alcohol, and the sliver of clarity she's afforded amidst the raw pleasure shoots the tension in her jaw. She's biting. Growling, shrieking, something to explain how her throat’s raw from a rapture she can't even hear amidst the undulating heat around her cock slamming into her senses like a semi-truck again, and again, and again.
Finally, Lenore slumps on top of the rug. She’s half-blind, twitching through the aftershocks—once, twice—and gone. The warmth and shadow dripping from the walls seem all too distant, muddied by how a part of her feels deeply unsatisfied.
She unlatches her jaw from her arm. She licks her lips, the sharp, metallic tang of blood chasing her tongue.
“I feel cheated,” Lenore mutters.
Annabel laughs—actually laughs at her, that ridiculously mesmerizing melody that makes her heart speed up and the world shrink until it's just them in its purview, and sinks to her knees beside her with that mischievous, trembling smile on her face.
“Funny you say that,” Annabel says, “when that might be the first time I've ever seen you so… pathetic.”
There's no good reply to that. Not with the red on her cheeks too dark to feign composure.
Her arm, limp as she is everywhere but her dick, is taken into Annabel’s reverent hold. She tilts her head, furred ears flicking in amusement as she watches Annabel’s sinuous tongue trail down from the tips of her claws and lick up the rivulets of blood seeping from her bite mark.
“A pleasant snack, mistress?” she murmurs, smug.
“Silence,” is murmured into the meat of her arm, Annabel’s lips pressed tight over her skin. There's a faint glow to her eyes, pink with shards of red undertones.
It's as if she was fighting for monopoly over a juice box, and she lets her know as much.
Annabel scoffs because she likes pretending she's above entertaining Lenore’s attitude, but she isn't. Because she reminds her about the collar still cinched around her throat by yanking it hard, forcing her to turn over on her stomach and brace against her thighs, wine-dark lips close enough to kiss the tip of her ridiculously big pastel pink shaft. “That was merely a prerequisite, pet. Foreplay.”
It's with palpable disappointment that Lenore realizes her still-hard cock isn’t getting any more attention tonight.
Until she feels something wet prodding at her hole. One curious glance behind her tells her that perhaps she shouldn't have looked back and seen the goddamn tendril from earlier, coated in her cum, gently trying to ease in.
Lenore’s eyes widen as her breathing spikes to a defensive degree, her body jerking away while her tail drops back down to purposefully curl between her legs.
“Anna—sorry, uh, mistress,” she hisses, lashes lowering, “just… give me a moment.”
The words stick in her throat, more instinct than intent. The collar feels heavier, tighter somehow. Her claws dig into the ground as if she's physically fighting the curling in her stomach. She's shivering with it, breathing in the mature peony scent of her lover’s room even when its pungency feels like it's pinching her nose, anything to ground herself as the heat beats down on her and the sweat makes the lace of her bralette itch.
Far be it for Lenore to care about arbitrary restrictions such as the roles of her secondary gender, but the part of her that knotted a goddamn sheath of shadow knows she's afforded a little bit of worry.
Her tail accidentally brushes the underside of her flushed cock and it drools on contact. God, she really needs to bite something before she—
“Shh, shh… Lenore, pet, enough of that.”
The hard floor disappears from under her, and when she opens her eyes next the cradle of shadows deposit her in the middle of Annabel’s bed. The canopy’s thin black netting and crimson muslin have been dropped and drawn shut, the golden lantern light at the side peeking in through the sliver between the rosewood bedpost.
Lenore swallows thickly, the familiar scent of flowers and death in the pillows unraveling at the tension at her hackles, relaxing her fully when she turns to the foot of the bed and sees Annabel already nearing with a gentle smile.
Her face warms. Instinctively, she leans back against the headrest and Annabel comes to straddle her in an endearingly familiar position.
The world, then and there, quite literally shrinks to encompass only the two of them.
“A bit of an overreaction…” Lenore whispers against the soft curve of Annabel’s cheek.
Annabel foregoes the leash and cups her jaw instead, angling her head up for a kiss, deep with the sigh that passes between them as if weary with the weight of the world on her shoulders. Every second of it has Lenore melting atop a bed of peonies, her tail wriggling under her like an unruly featherduster.
They part with a gentle tilt of the head. “A reaction nonetheless,” Annabel says, golden lashes low enough to cast a small shadow over her cheeks. “I haven't kissed you at all tonight.”
“No, but you've touched me.” Lenore grins and it's a stupidly cheeky thing that makes Annabel dig a fang into her lip to keep from laughing at it. “Tore my undergarments clean off and ravaged me, didn't you?”
“Rather unfortunate, I must admit,” Annabel says, a giggle light in her throat as she carefully thumbs Lenore’s cheek, fingers cold. The warmth on her face persists. “They were beautiful, albeit ill-fitting.”
Lenore ghosts the dark tips of her claws over Annabel’s thigh, chuckling at the shiver and scoff she elicits from her love above her. “I'd like to say the same about this.” She grasps the fake cock settled on Annabel’s hips, giving it an experimental pump.
“Pretty, is it not? I bought it just for you, pet.”
A snort. “And where on Earth could a creature who hasn't left her house in millenia acquire cash?”
“From… guests.”
The silence lingers in the air, broken only when Annabel tuts and tenderly redirects her gaze to meet hers, brows knitted together.
“Will you let me take you?” she asks.
“... A little lubrication would be ideal,” Lenore says, faintly amused. “I don't exactly have that feature myself.”
Lenore glances to the sound of the bedside drawer rattling open. She looks back to Annabel, questioningly, only to be met with a teasing little smile as she slides off her stomach and settles between her legs.
“Fetch it,” she says.
And so Lenore does.
She manages to retrieve a small glass bottle after a second of searching. She moves it closer to the lantern, brows furrowing as she reads its label.
Massage oil. Flax and jasmine.
She tosses the vial over to Annabel and relaxes on top of the pillows. All that's left is to leave it to her and enjoy the view.
And god, what a view.
The harness secured around her hips contours itself to the curves of Annabel’s goddess-esque body, and it altogether just makes it seem natural of her to wear it. Like it's merely another accessory—a bracelet to emphasize her lithe wrist, a lariat to lead eyes down the swell of her breasts—with the express purpose of fucking Lenore into the mattress.
It's obscene, watching Annabel pull off the cork and dribble the oil down the tip of her faux cock. She strokes it cleanly, pumping over the thick silicone with dutiful fingers until it's glistening.
Then, she pushes Lenore’s thigh to the side and drips some of the oil over her hole.
“A-Ah…” she hisses through clenched teeth. It’s warm. Warmer than she thought it'd be. “Should I—?”
Shadows drag her further down the bed by her ankles, apathetic to how she yelps and claws the sheets in shock. “Just be good.”
Annabel slings one of Lenore’s legs over her shoulder and presses her oil-slicked fingers in, eliciting a sharp curse from her lips.
“Look at me, pet. Yes, yes, just like that…” she croons.
Lenore inhales sharply, lips pursing in slight discomfort as she feels her walls hesitantly give in to Annabel’s finger. “Hh…”
It sinks in, pushing against every ridge as she clenches around it instinctively. “It’s only a finger. Much more forgiving than what you usually give me, isn't it?” Annabel says, voice melodic and face so gentle it's seraphic.
Lenore’s breath hitches, face flushing as she winds her claws into the sheet.
“Too much?”
“It's—just a finger,” Lenore exhales, lashes drooping. “A-Annabel—mistress…” The heel of her foot presses into Annabel’s back, her leg pressing tighter to her lace-covered chest.
She shifts her hips, trying to help Annabel find anything worth pressing into—only for the collar around her neck to tighten a little in warning. “Ack—!”
“Stay still,” is all Annabel instructs as she rubs the oil deeper into her walls, plying her obedience with each press.
A soft moan slips from Lenore’s lips. Her cock twitches on top of her stomach.
It takes a bit of coaxing and a few pumps to her cock for the discomfort to melt away completely. Now all it leaves is this odd haze making it too difficult to lift her head off the silk pillows, her lashes fluttering as she drifts atop the heady feeling of knowing what Annabel’s preparing her for—what Lenore's going to let her do with zero consideration of what this means.
Before this night, getting fucked sounded like some sort of cruel jab at her pride. Omegas were the ones who tilted their hips for their alphas, relaxing beneath them, letting themselves be prepared, whining for cock—that’s the crude interpretation of what her family had been passed down from past generations. An alpha being reduced to doing an omega’s job was deplorable. An embarrassment. A waste.
Those values had been deeply intertwined into Lenore’s psyche for as long as she could remember. She may have been a disgraceful daughter, but she was an alpha and proud of it. She protected that pride.
(She should be ashamed, really. How could her pride fail her here in the bed of a vampire? Has she truly fallen from grace? Forgot shame? Dignity?)
Lenore’s gaze drifts up.
Annabel’s looking down at her, backlit, pink eyes aglow so clearly in mirth. “Hm?”
And Lenore belatedly remembers that disappointing her family has been one of her born talents.
“That's a sweet look, pet.”
Annabel sadistically curls her fingers into a sensitive bundle of nerves that has Lenore jerking off the bed with a cry. “Ah, sorry… I'm getting carried away.” She simpers.
Lenore’s knees knock into her sides in trembling desperation. “F-Fu—hah—!” she chokes out.
“Oh? Did you like that?” she croons, “spoiled thing, sucking on my fingers now. Had you listened to those instincts of yours earlier, you wouldn't be feeling this full.”
“Mm—Mmh—Mis—stress—”
“Handsome from above, now so lovely on your back… I should make you finish like this.”
A tendril cold as ice slithers up Lenore’s chest, under her bra, caressing goosebumps over her flushed skin so adoringly as if soothing her over the tides. It pinches.
“Ngh!” Lenore gasps.
The pain thrumming over her breast latches onto the pleasure racking up and down her quivering hole with each gleeful thrust of Annabel’s fingers—when did it become two?
They shove in with wet little squelches, quicker than earlier. Quicker than Lenore ever thought Annabel could go. Her lips fall open around restless little ah, ah, ah’s, tongue and canines peeking out as she bucks her hips closer, closer, closer—
“Nnh—y-yes—yes, fuck—!”
Lips slam into Lenore’s as Annabel’s knuckles push deep into her ass, collar tightening and dragging her into Annabel’s orbit as she chokes up and hiccups into the kiss.
Her hackles lock around Annabel’s waist as the pads of her fingers gently caress her tight insides. If she could glance down now, she'd see her cock swollen and spurting pathetically between them despite the neglect.
The embarrassment, the throb of her pulse looking for air, and the fatigue settling in from her orgasm all feel worryingly identical.
It's humiliating in that it doesn't kill her arousal. Worse, it fuels it. And judging by the look in Annabel’s eyes when they part, she knows.
No rest for the wicked.
The collar loosens just enough to finally let Lenore slump back onto the bed, winded and dead as Annabel leans back.
“Caught your breath, pet?” she muses as she brushes her hair back over her shoulders before grasping Lenore’s lithe waist.
Lenore weakly pushes her hips up just to shove a pillow beneath them before giving out. She's flustered but not enough to care about how she really has lost all care for her biology’s dictations. The way she's presenting her slick hole and hugging Annabel’s waist with her legs feel like the only truths that matter. Instead of feeling shame, all that's left in her is need and a sick curiosity.
“I shudder to imagine what you're going to do to me,” she murmurs, her expression finally relaxing as she exhales deep.
Annabel presses the thick, blunt tip of her cock to her tight entrance like a little greeting kiss. “Squirm to your heart’s content,” she smiles, “bark if you think it'll help.”
She slowly sinks inside her heat like a stream led into a babbling brook, the sensation of the toy stretching her slick walls open satisfying the neglected desire she never even knew she had. She fills her with molten bliss, warmed by the oil and the bouquet of Annabel’s scent pressing down at her.
Lenore almost forgets about her weeping cock hanging heavy and hot between her legs, almost forgets just how badly she had wanted to knot her earlier. Her breath comes out in stressed little bursts, incisors peeking as she grasps Annabel’s wrists like a beast pandering to be spared—even while her hole is steadily breached by a stiff pink cock.
“Your ears are trembling…” Annabel coos, delighted. “You've never been this full before, have you? All that teeth, all that pride, all for what?”
Her hand slides up her quivering stomach, raising goosebumps in her wake. Her fingers stop to play with the shadows tingling around her neck, twisting the dark arcane to constrict her swallowing.
“Do tell, pet,” she whispers.
A strangled gasp chases after the words Lenore tries to pry from her throat, claws wound tight in her hair. “For what else…?” she whispers past the strain, the suffocation falling like a velvet curtain over her spotting vision, speaking for devotion, “who else but you?”
Annabel lays her body over Lenore’s, pushing down on her, voice dripping with sweetness as she finally loosens the collar to allow her a breath.
“You truly know how to undo a lady's restraint,” she muses, and pushes their hips together, burying the last inches into her stuffed hole.
Lenore curses sharply into Annabel’s hair, squeezing around her length as tears sting her eyes. The friction of the thrust is left as a nonsensical fear when she realizes how every inch had been coated and fed into her with care. And here she is, trembling from it, spread open as her hackles tighten around Annabel’s waist like it's too soon for her to let go.
“It's—gh… You were certainly more than generous with the size,” she grits out.
Annabel's scent coils thread-thin through the air between their flushed bodies as she kisses over Lenore's blushing chest like a dove nuzzling its nest. “Wasn't I?” she sighs dreamily, her free hand squeezing her hip. “But this is nothing compared to what you give me.”
She languidly fans her hand out on top of Lenore’s breast, idly squeezing the soft dollop beneath the black Chantilly. A shudder pulls from chest as her thumb smooths over a rough lace flower where she knew her nipple was.
“Breathe in,” she instructs.
Obediently, Lenore purses her lips before gathering a strangled inhale.
“Exhale, exhale, exhale… Just like that.”
The tension in her body ebbs out as Annabel strokes her gently, a patient smile so very amused coaxing her to try again.
It's oddly gentle considering it's Annabel.
“Good dog.”
Lenore flinches and keens. Her legs hesitantly loosen just enough to allow movement.
Annabel soothes her to lay perfectly like she's plating her dinner, caressing her thigh as her fingers sink into her fur.
“Handsome thing, don't look at me so. You know I have every right to be mean should the mood strike me,” she teases, golden lashes dipped smugly. “Aw, you're taking me so well that I almost forgot this is your first time too.”
“I have room for improvement,” Lenore murmurs, hiding her fluster into her arm as she grips the pillows behind her, gingerly rocking her hips to grind the smooth toy over her sensitive walls. “I-It…” She bites her lip, a groan and a growl merging into one in her throat as she feels a warmth around her cock.
“Mis—?”
“To help you take better,” Annabel says, dragging her thumb over the leaking head of Lenore’s cock. “Apologies if it's a little too fast for your liking, pet. This isn't the star of tonight’s show, after all,” she coos.
The moment she squeezes and tightly jerks Lenore’s twitching cock is the very same as she pulls out and slams back in.
“Hah—!” Lenore’s eyes squeeze shut as ecstasy floods her from both ends, running up and down her spine and pulling her into a sweet, trembling arch that gives her sweat-matted tail all the room to thrash.
She fucks into Annabel’s fist, desperate to chase that salivating bliss, sliding the toy out her quivering hole before Annabel shoves back in, quick and efficient.
For a moment Annabel leans back and her gaze trails lower than Lenore can see.
“There you are…” she whispers, tone praising and delighted as she lays back over Lenore to kiss her flushed cheek. “Loosening around me like a good girl. Only needed me to entertain this needy thing—” she squeezes her cock— “just to relax. You're a glutton for pleasure, pet. I don't remember training you to be this greedy.”
The faux cock pressing up against her tight, oiled walls feels less foreboding when the pleasure felt in her own dick drags her mind far from the scene. It feels manageable even as Annabel grinds the toy along her sensitive ridges.
No matter how she bucks or grasps for control, Annabel’s shadows hold her pinned and vulnerable. Incisors bared, yes, though they mean nothing when the collar heavy around her throat and the makeshift bonds dangling her twitching legs in the air make her look like a feast and a centerpiece.
“Remember when you had held me just like this, pet?” Annabel whispers, her head elegantly inclined as her smile reflects the adrenaline hammering in Lenore’s chest. “My legs on your shoulders, your lips worshipping my neck, your hands—oh, they were everywhere. You were relentless,” she breathes out. “Whoever says vampires were the tempters and temptresses have clearly never met a werewolf in rut.”
Lenore pants, head lolling in the sheets as her eyes struggle to focus on her beloved’s face.
Does she remember? Lenore would die before forgetting such a moment. It’d been arduous, rapturous, passionate—they had recreated Eden in bed and never escaped since.
It's clear that Annabel’s own pride can't let it go, and even clearer that this is supposed to be a mode of humiliation. Yet—
“You looked beautiful,” she croaks out.
Annabel’s eyes widen.
The collar only has so much give, so when Lenore tries to lean up and is predictably yanked back—she grabs Annabel’s face and wrenches her down instead like hellfire reaching for an angel.
The first thing she tastes, interestingly enough, is the Godiva they had shared earlier. And isn't that adorable? Somewhere there's a human that'll meet death at Annabel’s fangs later at midnight, and there's no doubt she'll be right at home becoming the spectre of their nightmares with perfectly curled ringlets and ironed finery.
But right now she's here, laying above Lenore and fucking her so good with a damn strap covered balls-to-tip in massage oil, their lips locked and hot breaths exchanged in fevered huffs as Annabel’s stamina inches ever closer to empty and Lenore’s body grapples with her soon-to-be third orgasm of the evening. Right now, Annabel Lee is Lenore’s, and god forbid she becomes anything less than that.
“Ngh…” Lenore gasps as Annabel jerks back, inches apart once more. “W-What—?”
“You're insane.” Annabel purses her lips. Eyes narrowed. Brows knitted together.
Amidst the sweltering pleasure, Lenore manages a coy albeit wobbly smile, incisors on display as she twirls Annabel’s slipping curls with her claws. “Doesn’t it make me an—mmf—ah—ah… an… interesting bed partner?”
Flecks of warmth melt in Annabel’s eyes and twists her expression into something exasperated.
“Incorrigible,” she hisses, glaring away from her. “There's no sense in talking to you.”
Lenore laughs, mottled with breathy pleasure that makes it sound obnoxiously audacious.
“Maybe you'll find your sense at the foot of the bed with our clothes,” she taunts.
Which is a perilous and stupid thing to do considering she's immobile, collared, and spread open.
Lenore feels herself airborne for a moment before she slams face-first onto the pillows. She’s dragged up by collar until her vision blots, her head lolled back just far enough to see Annabel’s blurry silhouette in the corner of her eyes.
“Fh—hck—!”
Her knees drag down the bed as Annabel’s shadows snag her thighs and fuck her back onto her cock. Deeper. Fuller than she was before.
Annabel pistons harder, unfettered and confident as Lenore's keens hit an octave higher—which is humiliating despite her ass tightening around her. Her heart’s just racing a millisecond faster, she thinks, even while it's hard to think with her face rubbing saliva into the peony-blood sheets.
“I'll sate your heat just like this,” Annabel pants as she presses her chest against Lenore’s back. Her fangs graze her pulse point in a way that feels deadly and exciting all at once as she pulls the leash taut. “I'll do the same during the next,” she murmurs, warm breath fanning against her clammy skin. “And the next…”
Lenore gasps sharply, black spots dancing in her eyes as sensations dull and sharpen where heat trounces sense above all else—her cock twitches between her and the puddle of precum she's dribbling. The Chantilly had been pushed up her chest and now her pert and sensitive buds rub across the soft, silk sheets with each shove over the bed.
She's being bitched.
She's being mounted, bred, and claimed like it's second nature. The pleasure is slamming into her so aggressively it's all her mind can focus on in its glassy state, unfazed by how she’s limp like a ragdoll where she isn’t being supported by the tendrils, only barely conscious of the teeth on her pulse where Annabel could and should sink her fangs into.
“Mm—mh—mistress, mistress, mistress,” Lenore pants into the sheets, ears pressed down flat against her ruffled hair. “God, yes—hah—so good, ffuh—hck—! N-Nhn—Neck—!”
“You know, it's usually a standard to prefer not being bitten by a vampire. Have some dignity,” Annabel absentmindedly mutters, yanking at her leash again. “Moreover, you spoke out of turn. What do you say?”
“I-I’m—” stars freckle her dimming vision— “I’m sorry—”
The collar loosens and oxygen rushes back into Lenore’s lungs.
“I’d honestly expected the possibility that your pride wouldn't allow this. Werewolves need their hierarchy, don't they? And you ever found yourself the leader of your own little motley crew. I had thought that at the very least you'd argue with me for even suggesting this.”
The frenzied blush rises higher on Lenore’s face right before she drops back onto the sheets like a well-fucked tangle of limbs, legs trembling as she barely manages a moan before Annabel punctuates her next sentence with a stern grip around her thrashing tail.
“Then again, even someone like you who has little to no regard for authority likes attention. You're truly no greater than a mutt made anxious with no job to do.” Her hips slap against her ass. Faster, faster, faster— “Isn't that right?”
“Mhng… mh—!”
“Raise that head and answer me properly!”
Lenore gasps, claws desperately hugging a pillow as she angles her hips up higher, pushes her chest flatter onto bed, forces her tail to jerk up and out of the way. Offering herself even more. The tightness in her stomach concentrates on the new depth that lets Annabel hit something euphoric.
“Yes, yes—!” she chokes out.
The collar tightens, then loosens.
“Hm…” Annabel sighs, burying her face in Lenore’s neck. She mumbles something, incoherent.
“Hwuh…?”
“You'll come just from this,” she says, “and… say my name while at it, won't you? The novelty of being called mistress has worn off.”
With that, Annabel slows down.
Lenore rips a pillow between her teeth and sends feathers flying.
What Annabel had traded her speed for was devastating accuracy. Each slow drag out has Lenore’s sensitive walls clenching around nothing until not even the tip is left, her noises rising in volume as she sinks her claws into the mattress, trembling in dread. For a moment she thinks Annabel was just pulling her leg and wasn't actually going to let her come at all, some sort of sadistic power play that'd end in her begging.
But then Annabel digs her nails into Lenore’s hips and slams back in without warning, nailing the soft spongy spot inside her that has her legs failing her before her throat catches on a cry.
The pleasure slowly yet viciously mounting with each thrust that punches her fucking prostate. She grinds her oversensitive cock into the new stain on the silk sheets until the rest of her mind liquifies out of her ears.
Annabel drags her hips back up and laughs, a tone drenched in condescending glee as she squeezes Lenore’s waist. “Just like this…” she echoes, kissing her blushing shoulder before fucking into her again—properly this time.
“I've always wondered what was so fun about fucking one into submission, but I think I see the appeal now.” She yanks Lenore into an arch with the leash, back bowing as her head lolls back. Gone, utterly blissed out. “Just as you've found the appeal in taking my cock like a good—” slam— “obedient—” slam— “dog.”
Lenore fucking whimpers, lashes and ears lowering in deference as the knot in her stomach tightens. “H-Hah—Annabel!”
Annabel lets go of the leash and wrenches her head to the side.
“You'll be good for me, won't you?”
Her blush has gone from a decorative rouge to a mark of ruin.
“God—yes!”
The slightest hint of tears gathers in the corners of her eyes.
“I'll claim you in your entirety. Not an inch of fur will leave this manor. Do you understand?”
“Fucking—yes!” she growls. “Yes, yes, Annabel, what more do you—?!”
Glowing pink meets hazy blue.
Annabel simpers. “Cute.”
Her fangs sink into Lenore’s neck as her shadows stifle her jolt, and pops the fake knot into Lenore’s rim.
“Fh—Hah, ah, ah—Fuck!”
Waves of ecstacy plunders her senses, the sting in her scalp from the pulling doused in a cocktail of pleasure.
For a single, blissful moment, Lenore’s brain falls into static as her heart races at the same wavelength her ears ring. Her hole quivers around the silicone, milking it for all it's worth like she can't fathom being empty again.
Werewolf biology be damned, being railed by a vampire would have anyone struggling to keep their knees from wobbling.
Her cock lays limp between her legs, spitting cum onto the sheets until she's completely and utterly drained.
The tendrils finally let her go limp. She flomps onto the torn, sullied sheets with a groan now that she's been thoroughly rid of all her shame and is left with the warmth of Annabel’s conquest.
She feels… oddly sated. More satisfied than she had thought she'd be.
Seconds later her ears weakly twitch at the sound of Annabel unbuckling and discarding the harness. It echoes with a loud clack as it hits the floor, to be used again later.
The bed dips beside her before she's dragged to lay her head upon something soft. Lenore doesn't have to lift her head to know that Annabel’s smirking down at her as she leisurely pets her head, or at the very least brimming with pride.
“You must admit,” Annabel says, playing with the monochrome strands tousled from their tryst, “taking isn't as easy as they say.”
“Gh… I don't object,” Lenore murmurs into her soft thigh, lazily nosing at her soft floral scent.
“... You bit me.”
“And what of it? You were begging for it, last I remember.”
“I did. ‘m mean, t’wasn't a complaint…”
“... You're slurring.”
“Jus’ tired.”
A faint whoosh of shadow snaps through the air alongside Annabel’s poorly-stifled laugh. “Not too tired for another bath, I hope,” she says, voice dripping with pride and amusement.
Lenore slinks off the bed, her hackles and hips groaning with a pleasing ache as she throws down everything at Annabel's feet and hopes she can support the both of them, because Lenore certainly won't be walking in a straight line any time soon.
She stumbles past the doorway, her arm lazily slung around Annabel's waist and her face buried in her golden hair in a languid kiss.
She's bound to be sore as all hell in the morning, but the gentle throb in her neck that bleeds with love gifted by Annabel herself soothes her instincts. It hums of partnership and the tepid fate that had led them to each other one night, and decided their hands were better intertwined than at each other's throats.
“Annabel, darling…” Lenore sighs, pressing another lazy kiss to Annabel's forehead this time, just a tad damp from sweat. That gets a simper out of her, a chuckle rumbling in her hoarse throat as she loops Annabel closer.
Annabel huffs and tilts her head to nudge back her lips, but there's no mistaking that lying little pout on hers. “Yes, pet?”
“Some water would be nice.”
“Lap it up from the bath.”