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Legacy of the Witch House (TheCorsair and Xanaphia)

Pete braced his feet as best he could on the slippery tile, fingers digging into Marta’s ass as he drove himself into her. “Like a slut?” he growled, capturing her mouth with his and drinking down her filthy words of encouragement. “You are a slut. My slut. My hot cock-hungry whore.” His hips battered hers as he pounded her against the tile, he body molding to his as she clung to him. “I’m going to fuck my cum into you, you hear. Hot and deep, right into my cunt. My cunt, you little cum slut.”

Her orgasm was a slick, silken pressure on his shaft, her nails bright stinging sparks on his back as she clung to him, moaning her ecstasy into his mouth. “Cum… oh God,” she begged, , tightening her thighs in his hips as he bucked into her, “cum… please… let me milk every drop from you….”

“Fuck I’m gonna,” he gasped out, “gonna fuckin’, gonna fuckin’ cum in, in you. Gonna, gonna...”. The words vanished in a harsh cry of triumph as he drove deep into her, his cum flooding her in a heated eruption of lust.

-*-

“Oh, oh God,” Pete groaned, stroking deep into Marta as she pushed back, taking him deeper. She painted a picture of fucking Her doppelgänger as he watched, lust slicking her thighs and coating his shaft, and he throbbed within her with each question.

“Fuck... fuck yeah, I want it,” he agreed. He tightened his grip, his fingers lacing with hers as he drove into her. “Maybe, maybe her tongue in your cunt, licking my dick while I fuck you.” He pressed against her, sighing hungrily at the feel of the smooth skin of her back sliding over his chest.

His orgasm was unexpected. Uncontrolled. One moment he was teasing her with the idea. The next, his head was thrown back as he gasped with pleasure, his hips slapping her ass as his cum coated her slick inner walls.
 
After everything was said and done, it was easy to fall asleep beside Peter, even if that meant sleeping on the sofa bed while the others settled into the bedroom. Completely satisfied, if only a touch sore, pleasant exhaustion enveloped Marta like a warm blanket, or Peter's arm wrapped around her waist.

M̴͈̪̀a̵̦͗̂̂̓͝ŗ̶͈̘̪̩̇͋͂ṫ̵̡̧̮̝͙͊̂̕á̴̧̛̳̦͆̒͜͝

Distant noise woke Marta. Distant, but demanding, a high pitched wail she couldn't easily place. Beside her, Peter was still heavily asleep, his rhythmic deep breathing verged on soft snoring.
For a moment, she lay there, wondering if she imagined the sound. Or, even if she hadn't, whether it was actually something to concern herself with.

M̴͈̪̀a̵̦͗̂̂̓͝ŗ̶͈̘̪̩̇͋͂ṫ̵̡̧̮̝͙͊̂̕á̴̧̛̳̦͆̒͜͝

Another cry pierced the night, but Peter didn't stir, so it was up to her to investigate. With a slight shiver, Marta climbed out of bed and covered herself with a robe. And while she didn't recognize the bed or her surrounds or even the house, it all felt familiar, and that was more important that pure recognition. Her feet moved towards the door and into the darkened hallway, moving by instinct alone.

M̴͈̪̀a̵̦͗̂̂̓͝ŗ̶͈̘̪̩̇͋͂ṫ̵̡̧̮̝͙͊̂̕á̴̧̛̳̦͆̒͜͝

When she opened the neighboring door, Marta found herself in a nursery. Shadow draped the room, muting the colors and gathering in the corners. Along the shared wall between the nusery and her bedroom sat the crib, and the source of the cries. She hadn't seen the baby before, but instantly recognized him. Dark eyes like Peter's look up at her, unblinking, and one small hand reached for her.

M̴͈̪̀a̵̦͗̂̂̓͝ŗ̶͈̘̪̩̇͋͂ṫ̵̡̧̮̝͙͊̂̕á̴̧̛̳̦͆̒͜͝

"Shh," she murmured, lifting the child into her arms. Her child, clearly. "It's okay, I'm here." And still, the baby cried, mouth open wide. "What's wrong?" she cooed, fully aware the child couldn't tell her. "You must be hungry..." There was no question that she would sit in the nearby rocking chair and bare her breast to the child. Her child. It didn't take much for her child to latch on to her, and it only hurt for a moment. "There there, I'm here now. You know I would never leave you..."
 
Pete woke up to a chilly bed in a darkened room. But... that wasn’t right. Was it? He and Marta had taken the hideabed in his old place, because they’d given their otherworldly counterparts the apartment, and it would have been rude to kick them out. But this wasn’t his old living room. Or Marta’s apartment, for that matter.

“I’m dreaming,” he theorized, turning on a light and picking up the book he found. It was gibberish, which made sense. He’d only been able to read in Deep Dreams, after descending the Seven Hundred..,

His mind shied away from that. It was bad enough that the other Pete had reminded him of those dreams in the waking world. He didn’t need to remember them while sleeping.

A muffled sound caught his ear, and without hesitating he dreamed a baseball bat beneath his side of the bed. There was an old leather bag next to it, one that he knew would provide any snack he wanted. He pointedly ignored it and grasped the bat, following the wet sound. The sound of walking in thick mud, or sucking.

It was emanating from an open door at the far end of a dark hallway. A hallway that got darker and longer as he stepped into it. Which meant it was going to be one of those dreams, and he lost a moment wishing Bear and his monster were with him.

It was a ridiculous thought. He was a grownup, and dreams weren’t real. He didn’t need a teddy bear.

By that logic he didn’t really need the baseball bat either. But he still didn’t let it go.

“There there, I'm here now. You know I would never leave you...". The voice was Marta’s, her tones soothing and affectionate. But there was a quality to it, or to the wet sucking noise that surrounded it, that made dread crawl over his nerves with razor legs.

“Marta..?” he called, struggling to speak over a whisper. And then he was in the room, looking at her. Her, and the tarry slick that covered her chest and stomach as she mined holding and rocking an unseen child. She looked up and he could see the tarry substance covering her mouth, running up her cheeks into her nose and ears.

“M...”. Gagging, he tried again. “Marta?”
 
“Peter?” She smiled as her lover entered the room, eager to share this incredible feeling of warmth and fulfillment with him. But he didn’t return her smile. His lips were tight, twisted into a bewildering grimace

Maybe he was just scared? Parenthood was a big step, after all, as enthusiastic as he had been by the idea. But well, most of what it entailed right now was scorching hot sex. The child represented actual responsibility, an entire life in their hands.

Still, she didn’t think the look on his face was just fear. No, there was something more to it. Revulsion, and that unnerved her. How could he look upon his own child in disgust? Then she noticed the bat in his hand, knuckles white over the grip.

“Peter?” she asked again, gaze flickering from the bat back to his wide eyes. She shifted the baby in her arms, forearms wrapped protectively around him.

Was this her Peter? It was it another, one of the ones the other couple had warned them about? One of the ones who… who… who sacrificed their own children? “What are you doing?”
 
"Peter?" Marta's voice was difficult to understand through the tarry stuff as she wrapped her arms around her body protectively. "What are you doing?"

Pete idly hefted the bat, wishing the'd dreamed something else into existence. Like tar remover. Because this thing was going to be utterly useless for dealing with... with whatever the hell the thing covering her was. It was tar, right? Tar, or oil, and this was some sort of kinky sex dream. Right? Please let that be right, he thought. Kinky sex dreams would be so much better than...

An eye opened on Marta's belly. An eye in the tarry oil that coated her. A tendril lifted off, reaching towards him, and he recoiled. "Marta!" he gasped as the tendril recoiled into her once more. "Marta, what are you doing? What... what is that... that thing?"

Her expression twisted and changed at his words, becoming a mixture of disappointment and dread. The oil crept up her body, streaming into her open mouth and ears, spilling up her nose. Pete tossed the bat aside and looked around, then jumped to the wall and hefted the fire extinguisher he'd dreamed there. A CO2 fire extinguisher, which would be cold. Cold enough, maybe, to slow or even freeze the stuff that coated his fiancee's face and throat. "Hang on," he called, pulling the pin. "I'll get it off you!"
 
"Marta, what are you doing? What... what is that... that thing?"

“How can you say that? How…” The words trailed off as she recognized the extinguisher he now held in his hands. Less threatening than the bat, until he aimed it at her.

"Hang on," he called, pulling the pin. "I'll get it off you!"

She flinched, unwilling to believe that Peter would actually turn it on her, even as he aimed the nozzle at her. The icy blast struck her, solidifying over her chest and throat and face. Immediately, it sapped the warmth of holding her child, replacing it with the biting, bitter chill of emptiness.

Their child was gone, but stiff tarry substance remained, sliding through her fingers and out her mouth and nose. “The fuck?” she murmured, until more came up on her. Gagging her, it crawled up her throat, over her lips and through her nostrils and forming a pool on the floor. A pool that looked back up at her with familiar eyes.

Marta jolted up in bed, away from the chill of the dream and the shock and the unwavering stare from the strange tarry thing that had just been a baby. Despite the chill that clung to her bones, nausea won out. She darted to the kitchen, tripping over her feet and then crawling on hands and knees to reach the trashcan before she vomited all over the floor. Bile burned her throat as she retched, leaving a foul taste on her tongue.

Marta, the other Marta, rushed into the room, approaching with caution. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Oh, Mithras, fuck,” she whimpered, pulling her hair back. More nausea churned in her gut, and she dry heaved, but nothing else came up. “Did I… did I really drink that much last night?”

“Are you sure it isn’t good news?” Alt Marta asked, passing her a glass of water. It cleared the taste of bile from her mouth and settled her stomach enough she could draw away from trashcan.

“No, no, way too soon for that, unfortunately.” Another drink killed the glass of water and eased the pounding headache. She glanced over at Peter, but could hardly make him out with watering eyes. Between that and a disgusting runny nose, her best guess was a terrible allergy attack. Which didn’t make much sense this late in the season, but what else could it be? “I don’t know, maybe it’s just allergies? Ugh, I just feel like crap.”

“Maybe there is some Benadryl here somewhere?” the alt offered, glancing over to Peter. Was that her Peter, though, or the alt? And which had been in the dream with her? “If not, do one of you mind getting some for her?”
 
“Lemme go check,” Pete replied, making an awkward two-step as he simultaneously tried to go to his fiancée and the bathroom. He then stopped himself, and turned towards the closed door. “I’m pretty sure I cleared everything out when I moved out, but you never know.”

“I’ll check our stuff as well,” the alternate Pete added, reaching over the arm of the couch to dig into a box. “We tried to make sure our first aid kit was pretty thorough.”

“Why?” Marta asked, hoping the answer would take her mind off her stomach and head.

“Never know,”’ alt-Pete replied, pulling books out. “We can open the gates, but we don’t have a good way to predict exactly what conditions will be like on the other side. He moved a few more objects. “The 5th dimensional coordinates were only shifted a few decimal points, but...”. He stopped as Marta groaned and dry heaved into the trash can.

“Nothing,” Pete called, stepping back out. “Just a bottle of Tylenol, with two tablets in it. Any luck?”

Alt-Pete shook his head. “Nope. It doesn’t say much for our organizational skills, but I can’t find the first aid kit.”

Pete nodded, then looked around for his shoes. “Right. Let’s go get some, then. And maybe some pepto-bismol while we’re at it.”
 
Marta could have told Peter to wait, not to worry about it. She probably should have, to be honest. Already she was feel better, a little better, better enough. That being such a bother made her feel really guilty, far worse than the nausea and runny nose. But she couldn't shake the look of disgust he'd worn in the dream, looking upon her and their child, so she said nothing as both Peters headed out.

The alt helped her up, but gasped as her touched her hand. “Oh God, your hands are so cold. Too cold. And look, they’re turning purple!”

Marta blinked away blurriness, and turned her hands before her eyes. They were turning purple. Were they cold? Not really, but she realized that was just as bad. The nerves could already be dying. She was still looking at her hands, turning them over, trying to make logical sense of the evidence before her eyes, while the other Marta helped her up, leading her towards the bathroom. The shower started, a low, lukewarm stream, and the alt helped her undress and urged her into the stall.

“It’s not hot yet, but you don’t want to shock your system. You can turn it up as you adjust."

With a hiss, she stood under the spray, forcing herself to endure the cool water. But sensation returned to her hands, and the color followed close behind. Chill still clung to her, but it wasn’t a physical impression, she began to realize. It was discordant thoughts and feelings, an unease between the dream and her reality.

“Did… did something happen in the dream?” Marta asked after a while, seeming to put together the same facts as her.

“Yes, but… well, I guess it’s hard to explain." A grim chuckle left her lips, realizing it was her turn to use the phrase, wondering if inexplicable events were her new normal. "I was in this house, I… I didn’t recognize it, but I knew it was mine. Ours, that is, Peter and me. And, well, there was a baby, our baby. The baby I want to have.” Guilt accompanied the realization, as if she were failing the child. She had an obligation to him, a promise to care for him and she’d failed.

R̷̯̜̕e̴̢̍m̴̨̧͐̃ȇ̶̛̫͚m̷̦̘͠b̸̙̣͋͆è̸͇̌ṟ̶̨͂̇

Shaking away the inexplicable guilty conscience, she continued, “Peter was there too, but it wasn’t right. He, he acted weird. He came into the nursery carrying a bat, and then… He sprayed me with a fire extinguisher.”

“That… is weird,” her alt agreed. After a few moments of quiet between them, separated by the low shush of the shower, before she continued, "Was that it then? That's when you woke up?"

Now that her hands were pink again and tingling, she turned up the hot water. "Yeah, basically. It's sorta fuzzy, but I think the baby disappeared and..." Familiar eyes stared back at her, from the puddle of sludge at her feet. "Yeah, that's when I woke up."

Marta didn't spend much longer in the shower, just long enough to rinse out her hair. The other Marta must have left at some point, because she was returning with a robe once she stepped out of the stall. "Thanks, feeling a lot better already."

Her alt offered a smile and a squeeze, and once more turned to leave the bathroom, but Marta stopped her, “How would I know if a Peter is my Peter?"

The alt shook her head, “I don’t know. We’ve developed some little signs, between us, so we can identify each other. Like, I squeeze his hand a certain way, and he squeezes it back a certain way, and we know it’s each other. But that doesn’t sound like it would have helped you then.”

SHe waiting a moment, unable willing to believe the next question she wanted to asked. As if speaking the words out loud could make it real. “Do you think it’s possible it was another Peter, in the dream? One who attacked me and our baby?”

“It’s possible,” the alt started, not sounding very sure of herself. “You won’t know for certain unless you talk it over with your Peter. Maybe you two can come up with your own system, to identify each other.”

Marta nodding her head slowly, “Yeah, right.” But she didn’t want to talk it over with Peter. Didn’t know if she could trust him, or if he hadn’t already been swapped out with an infanticidal monster wearing her fiance's skin.
 
"Man," Pete said. "Last night was... weird."

Pete glanced curiously at his doppelganger. "That's not the word I would have used."

Pete chuckled. "No, no, not the sex. That was wild. I mean..." He frowned. "Did you have any sort of, uhm, dreams?"

"Not really, no," Pete replied, then hesitated. "By dream, you don't mean...?"

"Lucid dream," Pete confirmed, flipping on the wipers as misting rain began to coat the windshield. "That kind of lucid dream. The kind that..."

"Shit! You didn't go down.?" Pete interrupted.

"No! Mithras, no!" Pete shuddered. "Not since the last time, you know? But I had this batshit weird dream, with Marta in it. I..."

"Oh..." Pete said with a knowing smile. “One of those dreams? I’ve...”

“Dreamed of Marta nursing a blob of tar with eyeballs bubbling out of it?” Pete finished.

Pete stared at his doppelgänger for a long moment. “...no.”

“Yeah. Didn’t think so.” Pete sighed, then flipped on the turn signal. “Man. It was creepy as fuck.” He turned into the complex’s parking lot. “Think it means anything?”

“God, I hope not,” Pete replied. “I mean, Marta and I have had some strange dreams. But nothing that’s followed us home.” He hesitated. “I mean, I don’t think anything has.”

“Fucking great,” Pete sighed as he parked. “Well, let’s go see how Marta’s doing.”
 
“I feel a little bit better, but I think I am just going to cancel my classes today. Give my student some extra time to work on their term papers,” Marta explained to the other Marta, gathering up her things from last night.

“It's too bad the histories in our worlds are so different, otherwise I could go in for you,” the alt joked, starting the coffee maker.

“Good to know I am not so easily replaceable,” Marta joked, but paranoia tinted the thought. More humor pushed it down, “Though, maybe it would be funny to let you go in for me, teach them your version of history for a day. That ought to confuse the hell out of them.”

The other Marta laughed as she started up breakfast, but the scent of cooking eggs still made Marta’s stomach lurch, just a little. So, she lingered in the “living room,” glancing over the unpacked boxes the alts had brought in. The notebook covered with her own familiar penmanship caught her eyes. “You were trying to translate this notebook, right? You, uh, mind if I take a look at it?”

“Oh, sure, if you want. I think I hit a wall on trying to figure it out, so a different set of eyes might be a good idea.”

“Well, it’s not clear yet how different my eyes are, but it may help anyways,” she laughed, dropping it in her purse as Pete and Pete returned. She flashed her fiancé a smile, pushing away from the dream and its lingering worries. His eyes were guarded, but he returned her smile quickly, and she felt almost silly about thinking he could be an imposter. Though, if he was, it would be better if he didn’t know that she suspected him.

Marta didn’t bring up the dream during the car ride, and neither did Peter. Mostly he seemed really concerned about her, and didn’t prod as she assured him was just tired.

Marta settled into bed while Peter showered and dressed for his day, leaving her with a forehead kiss. Once the Benadryl kicked in, she fell into a dreamless sleep, like gentle waves of darkness washing over her. Enveloping her in a warm cocoon that pulsed in time with her heartbeat and breathing. When she woke up a few hours later, she felt refreshed. And inspired.

After a light lunch, Marta dug into the notebook she’d gotten from her alt. Before long, it didn’t feel like a different language at all, not as she got a hang of the prefixes and suffixes, mostly separated by apostrophes. It was elegant, once she’d gotten a hang of it. Very well organized, with clear hierarchies. Hours passed, and she had a dozen pages with possible translations written out.

Marta worked through sunset, heedless of the time, and was caught off guard as Peter steeped through the door. “Oh, you’re home…” she noted absently, not looking up as she turned the page in the notebook. “Would you, uh, take care of dinner?”

She tried to settle back into her work, but Peter didn’t let that happen. He kept asking how she felt, or what she’d done that day, or what she wanted to do about dinner and she tried not to be annoyed with the constant interruptions. Couldn’t he see what she was doing was more important that insipid small talk? She was trying to help him unlock the mysteries of the gates and the greater multiverse. But he started rattling off suggestions for dinner, and she couldn’t concentrate on the translations any more.

“I don’t know. Sushi, I guess,” she snapped, sighing as shoved the notebook aside. Finally, she looked up and nodded, “Actually, yeah, sushi sounds really good. Squid, especially. Can you get raw squid in the states?”
 
"Damn straight you can get raw squid here in the States," Pete laughed. "Particularly in this state. Let me run out and grab some, and I'll make up dad's gimbap recipe for you. One taste, and you'll never want the inferior Japanese version instead." He grabbed his coat and pulled it on, then leaned over and kissed her cheek. "I'll be back soon. Why don't you take a break until I get back? Just, you know, rest a bit. Then tell me all about this, while I'm making dinner. I can't wait to find out what you've figured out from the alternate's notes."

Zipping up his coat, he opened the door and grabbed a small cooler. "Love you. Be back soon!" Locking the door, he dug his phone out of his pocket as he jogged down the stairs. "Hey, bro," he said as the phone connected. "How are you?" He listened for a moment, nodding along. "Good, good. Hey, question for you. Has, uhm," he glanced around, "your Marta. Does she get obsessed with this stuff you're working on?" A pause. "No, I mean really obsessed. Like, not stopping for meals obsessed."

He listened again, chuckling as he opened the complex door. "Yeah, yeah, like we do. But, seriously. She's working on trying to figure out that language in the notes you gave her, and she hasn't stopped for anything. I mean, it looks like the time we spent playing World of Starcraft back in... what? Hang on. You did World of Warcraft? I mean, those weren't bad games, but I can't imaging trading out my Alliance Ghost for some sort of bow-shooting..."

It was sheer force of will that made him stop as he climbed into his car. "You'll have to tell me about this later. For now, should I be worried about Marta? This is some weird shit you've shown us, and... uh huh. Uh huh." The car rumbled to life and he shifted into reverse. "No, you're probably right. It's just her really getting something complex to sink her teeth into. I guess she did get like that, when she wrote that book about Sebelah Brown."

Another pause as he eased out into traffic. "Yeah, no, I'm glad you understand. Thanks for reassuring me, bro. Enjoy your dinner!" Silence. "Oh. I'm making gimbap for Marta. She's got a hankering for raw squid, and with all the work she's put in I'm not going to serve her some crappy Japanese takeout."

The first stop was Marsh's Seafood, where he bought three wild-caught loligol squid brought in fresh from Innsmouth that morning. They went in the cooler, tentacles still groping at the sides, and he could still hear them moving by the time he pulled up to Nu Qua Taedanhan Sijangimnida. The little grocery store was run by a Morean wife and a Japanese husband, catering to the small but wealthy executives who worked at the Nissan plant outside of town. They had fresh kimchi and dried nori, and he picked up a bottle of makgeolli to go with them. "I'm treating my fiancee to the best," he told Nu Qua. "Which reminds me. I need some dried jujubes, because she doesn't know it but I'm going to make yaksik for dessert."

The cooler was still rocking, just a little, as he made his way back up the stairs and into the apartment. "I'm home!" he called, frowning just a little to see Marta still at the table. Then he shrugged, and hung up his coat. "Marsh's had live squid, so this'll be the freshest gimbap you've ever had." He dragged his cutting board out, then tested the edge of his chef's knife. "Can you take a break long enough to get the rice cooker going?"
 
"I'll be back soon. Why don't you take a break until I get back? Just, you know, rest a bit. Then tell me all about this, while I'm making dinner. I can't wait to find out what you've figured out from the alternate's notes."

“Okay, that sounds good.”

Peter’s patience and enthusiasm for dinner made Marta feel guilty, especially after she’d snapped at him. He left her with a kiss, sweeping away ang lingering annoyance. He is going to be a good dad. A great dad, she assured herself, pushing last night’s dream far away. Maybe she should take a break. At least change out of her pajamas, and maybe change into something easy to slip out of. Or, maybe easy for Pete to slip into?

Giggling to herself, her gaze went back to the open notebook. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to just finish up the page she was on, would it? Otherwise, she’d have to waste 10 minutes next time, trying to find the place where she’d left off. Pete would be gone for a while yet, he’d never know.

Marta wasn’t sure how long Pete ended up being gone, but she’d finished up five more pages before he came back in. This time, she had the sense to be sheepish, rather than annoyed, and closed the notebook completely, to help Pete bring in his groceries. “Live squid? Really?”

Marta peaked into the cooler, and gasped as a single tentacle flapped about. “They look amazing.” Her mouth watered, and she fantasized about picking one up and sinking her teeth into it. Devouring it whole, fresh, while it wriggled and died. Instead, she closed the cooler and pulled down the rice cooker.

“I don’t think I’ve had gimbap before. It’s similar to sushi, though?” Once the rice started cooking, she unloaded the rest of the groceries he’d picked up. He really had gone all out for her, hadn’t he? Warmth swelled in her chest, affection and desire washing away any lingering doubts or concerns.

“You spoil me.” Her arms went around his waist, and pulled his close, until her breasts flattened on his back. Her lips teased his ear, before trailing down to his neck. “I hope you’re going to spoil me more tonight. I hope you’re going to give me every last drop.” Her hands went lower now, over the top of his slacks and then down to his crotch. Groping for his cock.

She kissed his neck, soft, lightly, just a little tongue, and then bit. Bit hard. Not at first, but the salty taste of his skin mixed with the scent of his aftershave, and she hungered for her fiancé. Her man. One hand stroked his cock through his trousers, his hardening length encouraging her, and the other slid up his abs and chest, keeping him pressed close to her.

Once she finally pulled off, he had a livid red mark on his neck, right where it met his delicious firm shoulders. Part of her knew she should be embarrassed, but it turned her instead. He was hers. One last kiss, gentle on the mark, and she pulled away. “Maybe I should leave you alone, while you make dinner. I’ll go get changed, okay?”

Marta knew exactly what she was going to wear. She had been saving it for a special occasion, but if Peter was going to go all out in making a special dinner, then she could meet him half way and look smoking hot. Digging out a box hidden in the closet, Marta pulled out a fine black lace baby doll lingerie, complete with tiny black panties. She paired it with shiny leather stilettos –five-inch heel, so she and Peter would be eye to eye. Then she pulled her hair out of the messy bun she’d worn all day, teased it into a wild mane. After going back and forth with herself about it, she decided to put on some make up too. Not a lot, just a dark red lipstick, glossy like wet blood, and heavy black eyeliner.

Stepping out, the scent of raw squid mingled with sesame oil and dried seaweed, reminding Marta just how hungry she was. Then Peter turned to face her, eyes wide and lips parted, and that also reminded her of how hungry she was. “Hmm, that smells delicious.”
 
“Maybe I should leave you alone, while you make dinner,” Marta said, stepping away. “I’ll go get changed, okay?”

“Uhm... okay.” Although, to tell the truth, he was suddenly a lot less interested in making gimbap and a whole lot more interested in continuing where she’d left off. But she’d been working hard all day, and probably needed to get some food in her before he tried working her hard all night. So he focused on dismembering the squid (after severing the brain with his knife) and getting the rest of the ingredients laid out. And then he heard the sound of shoes on tile. “Hey, he said, knife still in his hand as he turned. “Are you...”

All the blood seemed to drain away from his brain when he saw his fiancée. “Uhm, uh... wow.” Blinking a few times, he tried to restart his thoughts. “Yeah. That’s, uhm... that’s... uh... you... you got changed.”

After a moment, he successfully rebooted. “Wow. I should probably finish making dinner,” he said, gesturing at the rolling mats with his knife. “I mean, I’m not really thinking about eating gimbap any more. But I’ve got ideas that need calories.” After a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed the bottle of makgeolli and poured two glasses.

“Here,” he said, handing her one of them. “Let’s work on lowering our inhibitions. You know, for later.”
 
“Sure, we can try, but I don’t think my inhibitions are getting in the way right now.” Marta took the glass, and sipped at the rice wine, “Though, I suppose they could always get a little lower.” One more drink, deeper, and she placed the glass on the counter, beside the unassembled ingredients.

“But I am still thinking about gimbap,” she murmured, looming in closer to Pete, but not quite kissing him. Just letting her breath waft over his face. Close enough to brush her lips against his ear. “I am thinking about eating gimbap off your chest.”

To that end, she began unbuttoning his shirt and peeling it away from his shoulders. But she couldn’t get it off while he still held a knife in one hand. So she took it, letting him take his shirt completely off, and noticed the blue blood dripping from the knife. Her tongue ran along the blade, savoring the lingering squid blood. “Hmmm, that’s good. Really good.”

Still pressed against Peter, she leaned back to put down the knife. She picked up a loose tentacle and wrapped her lips around one end. Slurping it like a spaghetti noodle, it disappeared between glossy red lips. “Damn, I don’t know if I want to wait for you to finish dinner…”
 
Was it weird that watching his fiancee lick squid blood off a knife was turning him on? He'd never thought it would. Hell, if you had asked him if it would turn him on, he'd have laughed at the idea. But now? Well, hell. Now he was into 'watch a hot babe lick a knife" porn. Would using an incognito browser be enough to keep him off a watch list, if he punched that into PornHub? "Damn," she breathed, echoing his own mood as she swallowed a raw tentacle, "I don’t know if I want to wait for you to finish dinner…”

His response was to grip her ass, feeling the delicious contrast between smooth skin and smooth silk, dragging her tight against him. "I know I don't want to wait," he breathed, capturing her lips with his. He could taste the squid on her, the sharp salty flavor an amazing contrast with her natural taste. "I want you right now." One hand slid back, finding the cutting board, soaking his palm, and then he was pulling her down to her knees as he sank down on his own. Again, he'd never thought he'd be into this, but now he was leaning back and letting her watch him run his hand over his bare chest. Cerulean squid blood streaked his skin, and his cock throbbed at the hunger he saw in her eyes. Damn. They were both into it. Was Food Network going to replace PornHub for them?

"Tell me how good it is," he breathed, cupping her face and kissing her. Squid blood streaked her chin and cheek, and he painted her lips with his thumb. She sucked greedily at him, and then he was sucking the taste from her mouth. "God damn, I want you," he gasped. "I want you fucking me, right here. Right now."
 
Marta’s eyes focused on the blood, intense like a predator closing in on her prey. She closed the distance between them, resisting only for a moment when he pulled her into a kiss. He savored of squid, salty and strong and she craved more. Needed more.

He leaned back on his heels, rippling muscles glistening with squid blood. One hand gripped his shoulder as she leaned in, her tongue starting at his abs and sliding up to his pectorals. There, at the indent of hard muscles, she bit him, teeth digging into tensing sinews, only to be soothed by her lips and tongue. A red mark remained, a symbol of her enduring hunger for him.

Part of her, however, wanted to bite harder. Wanted to taste his blood, and his flesh, his essence. Her mind revolted against the intrusive thought, chasing it away as quickly as it arrived. She could never hurt Peter; she didn’t want to.

She could, however, still be aggressive with him, pushing Peter back again, until he lost balance and landed back first on the cool kitchen tile. “Right here?” she taunted pinning him beneath before he could get up again, “Right now? Once more she licked him, downward this time, savoring the last traces of squid from his skin, mixed with the salty tang of his sweat. Once she reached his pants, she tugged them off, not bothering to undo or even unzip the slacks. Not even the screech of cloth could dissuade Marta. No, it excited her further, feeding into the mad hunger growing with in her.

“You wanted this,” she reminded him, pulling his pants and boxers free of his legs. His cock jutted up now, proud and eager and oh so enticing. “You still want this…”
 
“Fuck yeah, I want this,” Pete husked, staring up at his fiancée. His chest ached where she’d bit him, and the tile was cold against his naked ass and back, and h was rock hard. Although some of that was, no doubt, also due to her half-naked silk-clad body straddling him. “Looks like you do too.”

Then something struck him, inspired by her dominant position and the aggressive, hungry desire in her expression. “But it looks like you don’t want me to want it, do you?” He rocked his hips in a mock attempt to throw him off her. “You planned this, didn’t you? Lured me here, so you could take advantage of me.” A moment’s mad inspiration struck him, and then he shoved her off his lap. “Well, I’m not that kind of guy, Dr. Rubelo-Perez. I’ve got a fiancée waiting for me, and I don’t think yours would approve.”

He gathered up his clothes, looking her in the eyes. “I mean, the only thing worse you could do would be to rape me at knifepoint.”
 
At first, Pete’s defiance enraged Marta. How dare he push her away. How dare he deny her! It took a moment, a few pounding heartbeats, fueled by adrenaline, for his meaning in register beyond hunger that gnawed within her. Oh, he wanted to play at danger, at force.

Marta crooked her head, and a smile. Using the counter for leverage as she stood, her hand found the butcher knife easily. She took one wide swing with the knife, no where near the distance to even threaten Peter, but took a step to close the space between them. Another step, and the blade whistled through the air, just inches away from Peter. A flicker of genuine fear flashed in his eyes, and his defensive step back sent him into a chair.

She held the knife in front of him, close enough to catch the gleam across the razor edge, and tore his clothes from his arms with her free hand. His attention was on her, keen, focused –Aroused and terrified, and following her every movement as she pulled his belt free of his pants. The knife stayed before him as she circled around behind, pressed lightly into his chin as she pulled one arm back. “Don’t move now. I don’t want to hurt you…” Roughly, nearly painfully, she pulled his arms back, and bound them with the belt. Once he was secure, she leaned into him, breasts warm and soft on her back, lips hot and moist on his ear. “But I will, if I have to.”

Then, she walked away, returning to the counter to swallow another squid tentacle. Holding Peter’s gaze as dark red lips slurped it down. “I could do whatever I wanted to you, right now. Consider yourself lucky that all I want is your cum, deep inside me.” Another smile flashed, all teeth, with her tongue tracing her incisors, imagining them much longer, and much sharper.

“I don’t need you to be willing,” she explained, thighs straddling his thighs and quivering lips soaking him in her lust, “I just need you hard.” Then, with the knife digging into his shoulder, just a bit, she claimed his swollen cock, her hungry slit swallowing his full shaft.
 
The knife was an unsettling addition to the game he’d initiated - even though he’d mentioned it, he hadn’t expected her to actually grab one. Particularly not the razor sharp chef’s knife. But it did add a certain thrill to the dark game, particularly gen she backed him into the chair and bound him with his own belt. “You don’t have to do this,” he told her, deliberately adding a pleading note to his words. “I... I won’t tell anyone, Dr. Rebello-Perez. No one at all. Just... please. Let me go.”

“I could do whatever I wanted to you, right now,” she replied, swallowing a tentacle and licking blue squid blood from her lips. She stalked towards him, knife blade lazily slapping her thigh.

“Please, no,” he begged, making a show of tugging at his belt as she straddled him. “I... I’ve got a fiancée. Please...”

“Consider yourself lucky that all I want is your cum, deep inside me,” she husked, her breasts sliding over his chest in a thin film of silk. The hilt of the knife dug into his shoulder as she but his lip and then forced her tongue into his mouth. “I don’t need you to be willing.”

“Please,” he begged again, struggling just enough to grind his shaft against her dripping slit. “Please... don’t.”

“I just need you hard,” she growled, shifting her weight. He felt her drenched lips slide over his head and then part, swallowing his length in a rush of slick friction.

“Bitch,” he gasped out as he bottomed out in her. “You sick... fucking... bitch...”. He felt her clench around him at the words and the play fear in them. “Getting... off... on this... you... you bitch? Getting... off... on... on raping... a colleague?” He made a show of struggling, making sure to drive his neat up into her as he did. “What... what’s next? My fiancée?”
 
Marta shuddered, and drove herself harder onto Peter’s hard cock. “Maybe I should fuck her. Maybe I should tie her down and use her, while you watch. Make you watch, make you listen as I make her scream.” It was a hot idea, and it was easy to imagine herself in both roles. Tied down, used mercilessly by an aggressor, forced into an unwilling orgasm. But, also, easy enough to imagine herself using another woman, much in the same way she used Peter. Easy enough to imagine the other Marta beneath her, squirming and struggling against her touch.

Would the other Marta be up for it? Would Peter –hers and the other– be up for watching? Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves last time. And fuck if the thought wasn’t making her wet right now, slick enough this precarious momentum was almost dangerous.

“Unless you want to scream for me?” One hand gripped his hair, close to the scalp, tugging his head to one side so she could reach his ear. The kitchen filled with the moist slap of skin on skin, her thighs and ass smacking against his bare legs. “I got a big strap-on I can fuck your pretty little fiancée with –maybe I should use it on you first? Maybe I should bend you over that table and fuck you up the ass with it. Bet that would make you scream.”

The hand in his hair tugged again, hard enough to make him cry out, and she shoved her tongue in his mouth. A deep, demanding kiss that wouldn’t let him refuse. When he did pull away, in a desperate need to breathe, she bit at him, biting him hard enough to savor his blood on her lips.

“So what’s it going to be, Dr. Ahn? Are you going to give me what I want?” One hand –the one with the knife– went behind his head, and her back arched, this new angle grinding his cock against her clit, all the way down. “ Are you going to shoot a load of hot seed deep inside me? Pump it right into my womb? Or am I going to have to punish first?”
 
Yes, he had been planning on being deep in Marta tonight. He just had imagined it being a romantic thing, capping off a romantic home-cooked dinner. Not a brutally rough fuck flavored with blood and dirty talk about her raping his fiancée while they played a filthy game of pretend rape. He’d have to remember this one. And maybe she’d be up for flipping the script as well?

Or maybe the nagging thought of her roughly fucking the other Marta with a strap-on was making it so hot? “No,” he groaned as she ‘threatened’ him with the strap-on as well, before giving voice to the fantasies in his head. “Please... no. I... I’ll even... bring her here. For you. Just.., not that...”

Although they might need to try the strap-on idea anyway, soon. Because damn that was hot. Not as hot as sharing the other Marta and Pete, but hot.

Her response was a deep, fierce kiss and then her teeth worrying at his lip. There was a sharp pain for a second, and then he tasted iron and salt and saw her lips smeared with blood. “So what’s it going to be, Dr. Ahn?” she snarled, licking her lips clean. “Are you going to give me what I want?” One hand –the one with the knife– went behind his head, and her back arched, and he could feel her tight around the base of his shaft as she ground herself into him. “ Are you going to shoot a load of hot seed deep inside me? Pump it right into my womb? Or am I going to have to punish first?”

“Fuck... fuck... you...” he gasped, struggling to hold out. But he was far too turned on, and god damn she felt so good on him, and suddenly he cried out as he lost control. His climax was violent, erupting deep into her as he threw his head back and his body jerked against her.
 
For several long heartbeats, Marta sat on Peter’s lap, clenching tight muscles against his every twitch and throb. She didn’t want to get up, not while his seed coursed through her body, and possibilities coursed through her mind. But this couldn’t be comfortable for him, and she was still holding the very sharp chef’s knife, so finally, she stood, and put it down gently on the counter.

“Sorry, did I hurt you?” she asked, unbuckling the belt and freeing his hands. “That was kinda fun, but I may have gone overboard, just a little.” Guilt drove her to rub his shoulders, but lingering lust lead her hands down his arms and onto his chest.

“I’m still hungry. Very hungry,” she admitted, wrapping her arms around him “So maybe after dinner, you can get your revenge on me. Anything you want.” She captured his lips then, still kissing him with burning desire. Her forehead rested against his as they pulled apart, the angle slightly awkward with her leaning into his back. “Anything…”

The rice cooker finished with a ding, and Marta forced herself away from Peter to tend to it. “For now, however, how can I help you finish dinner? Because I really do need some food in me.”
 
“I am a little sore,” Pete acknowledged, rubbing his wrists and examining his sore lip with his tongue. “But I enjoyed the hell out of that. It was kind of, well, kinky.”

“I’m still hungry. Very hungry,” she replied, wrapping her arms around him.

“So am I,” he laughed, feeling his stomach growl. “I…”

“So maybe after dinner, you can get your revenge on me. Anything you want.” She kissed him before he could reply, with an enthusiasm that left no doubt in his mind abiut what she meant. Then she pulled away, her forehead resting on his. “Anything…”

“Damn,” he breathed, eyes wide as he considered the possibilities. “That…”

The rice cooker dinged, drawing his attention back to the food. Reluctantly he rose from the chair, knees creaking just a little. “Yeah,” he replied to her question. “Some help would be good. It’s not how I planned this, but it’ll let us eat a little faster.”

He didn’t bother to dress. He just washed his hands and got back to work on the squid, and felt himself hardening as he remembered Marta making a show of swallowing a tentacle. But then he fell into the rhythm of chopping and mixing and rolling, until the gimbap was ready. “Dinner,” he finally declared, loading a platter onto the table, “is served.”

Pouring two glasses of makgeolli, he added them with a theatrical flourish. “Here,” he said, handing her one. “Drink up.” He winked. “After all, getting you good and drunk will be part of my revenge.”
 
Marta tried to focus on meal prep, but Peter had made it distracting, walking around the kitchen nude, and smelling of her. More than once she imagined going to her knees while he worked on the squid, and sucking her bliss off his cock. Probably not a great idea while he worked with the sharp knife, however. So she forced herself to pile rice onto pieces of seaweed, ready for the squid Peter was chopping up for them.

Peter plated a half dozen pieces for each of them, with a side of kimchi. “Here,” he said, handing her a glass of makgeolli. “Drink up.” He winked. “After all, getting you good and drunk will be part of my revenge.”

“Oh, well, I certainly don’t want to deny you,” Marta joked, sipping at her rice wine. Another sip, as she realized just how thirsty she was, after fucking Peter good and hard. “Hell, I don’t even think I am allowed to…” The comment was playful, but anticipation ached deep within her. There was something so alluring about service, after all. Being a vessel of his desire, ready and eager to be filled by him. She flashed him another smile, biting at her bottom lip as she imagined him just using her. Still smirking, still warmed by the fantasy as she took a bite of gimbap.

Maybe it was the images in her mind, but Marta couldn’t stop herself from moaning when she tasted the food. “Hmmmm, these are…” Another couple chews, and she swallowed it down. “Wow, babe, you really out did yourself. I, uh…” Whatever she was about to say was cut off as another morsel of gimbap filled her mouth. Her lust melted into a baser need, hunger roaring to the forefront. “We really need to add this to our regular rotation.” Now it was a struggle not to scarf it down, to go slow, and really savor the rich and complex flavors.

“Are you, uh, ahem, going to finish that last one?” she asked, just barely restraining herself from reaching over and plucking it from his plate. “Or perhaps you are ready to make some demands of me? “
 
“Yeah, we do,” Pete agreed, scooping one up. “Gimbap’s a little labor intensive, but it’s pretty much always worth it.” He popped it in his mouth and chewed it down. “Heck. Dad made Thanksgiving-themed gimbap at least twice. Stuffing and gravy and turkey on the rice, rolled and sliced. And ‘Southern style’ for mom once. Grits and shrimp and cheese.” He ate another piece. “What I’m saying is, be skeptical of anything he makes for you when we go visit for Saturnalia.”

“Are you, uh, ahem, going to finish that last one?” she asked, arm twitching. “Or perhaps you are ready to make some demands of me?”

He shoved the plate over. “Go ahead. After all, with any luck you’ll be eating for two soon enough. May as well practice now.” He poured her another glass of makgeoli. “And you may as well get more of this in you, before that happened.”

As she drank, he cleared up the dishes. Most of them fit in the dishwasher, and the ones that didn’t just got left in the sink. Normally, he knew, that was a sore point with Marta when he did that. Just hand wash it already! They get gross, if you let them sit. But he figured she wouldn’t be worrying about that soon enough.

“As far as demands go..?” he said slowly, wandering back towards her. “I’ve got a few ideas.” His hand slid over her bare back, fingers trailing her spine. “I mean, I know you thought you’d gotten away with what you did to me. Just another notch in your belt, right?”

He shoved her forward, careful to not actually hurt her as he pressed her face against the table. “And legally, you pretty much did. Your word against mine, right? And I’d been drinking.” He leaned into her, his chest hit and hard against her back, one hand cupping a breast roughly while the other held her against the table. “But I’ve been planning my revenge, bitch,” he hissed, voice low and hot against her ear. “Think you can fight me off?”
 
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