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As much as Rosie appreciated the folks under her purview, her responsibilities as an Overlord, and her longstanding friendship with Alastor – she couldn't deny that sometimes it was rather nice to have a quiet evening in.
Tonight was one of those nights. Alastor was tearing things up (quite literally, most likely) with that gentleman he'd been spending so much time with, that boxy headed fellow Rosie personally thought rather odd – but, well, if Alastor liked him, she'd bite her tongue.
Franklin had quietly shooed her from the Emporium, giving her that steady, no-nonsense sort of stare that told Rosie he would not be argued with. He was more than capable of seeing out the last of their customers, and if anyone thought to question him – well. They'd find out that Rosie wasn't the only one who's bite was worse than her bark.
So it was that she was curled up on her bed, having exchanged her tightly laced dress for a flowing silk robe and a rather sheer nightgown. It wasn't her usual sort of outfit for bed, but a lady could be forgiven for getting her hopes up, now couldn't she? Rosie and Franklin hadn't had much time alone, as of late. There'd been an influx of new sinners arriving thanks to some war in the world of the living, and new sinners meant new customers – or new produce.
The lights in her room were dimmed – again, a lady could be forgiven her vanities. She ran a clothing business, she knew well how light could flatter – or not – a person. And she intended for her person to be extremely flattered, thank you very much. She'd chosen a book at random from her shelves, one of the bodice rippers she kept only in her private quarters, and was quite comfortably curled against her pillows.
Deeply engrossed in the deep explorations of the pirate captain and his busty wench.
She couldn't stop herself from listening out for the soft tread of footsteps on the stairs outside her room, though. The quiet creak of the floorboard in the hall. A secretive smile crept onto her face as she bit into her lip, adjusting her robe around her legs to cover up her near-nakedness, feeling all over again the thrill of a young woman.
Her first husband had never evoked such excitement. He was a selfish man, an even more selfish lover. Rosie would never regret biting off his cock when he'd demanded she suck him off. The only thing she might have changed about that situation was the fact that it had ruined some of her best sheets. It served him right, really – a pity she wasn't able to serve him, as foul-tasting as he'd been foul-tempered.
The floorboard outside her door creaked – and Rosie let out a breath of disappointment when the doorknob remained silent, Franklin heading straight past her rooms to his own. She could call out, of course – could go and visit him herself.
But she rather wanted him to come to her.
Ah, well. Perhaps he was tired. She flipped a page in her book, her eyes skimming over the passages about peaked nipples and heated cores, even as her own skin pebbled under her nightgown. At least somebody was getting some attention paid to the apex of their thighs, and–
The soft snick of a door closing down the hall cut into her attention – and Rosie's heartbeat sped up, her playful smile returning. Perhaps she'd been wrong in her assumptions, because those were certainly familiar footsteps. The floorboard outside her room creaked again. A moment later, there was a soft rap on her door, and her smile spread slightly wider.
Such a gentleman.
“Come on in, honey,” Rosie called, her eyes still glued to her book as the heroine unlaced the pirate captain's pantaloons, gasping in surprise at the size of his throbbing member. The doorknob squeaked as Franklin turned it – she needed to fix that – and the door opened on silent hinges, the very edge of its corner whispering over the rug spread over her floor.
Rosie glanced up, pleased to see Franklin's dark eyes glinting with a sort of mischievous suggestion, his moustache twitching over his smile. Affection for her dear husband bloomed warm in Rosie's chest. Not the kind of raging inferno that the busty wench in her book was describing, that fervid excitement of meeting a new lover – but a comfortable, simmering heat, as of a kitchen well used and loved.
“Well now. I was wondering what a lady had to do to get a little attention from a gentleman caller around here. Thought you might've been planning to leave me high and dry,” Rosie smirked, deliberately not setting aside her book as Franklin softly closed the door behind him.
He lifted one brow, scoffing quietly as he shot her a glance. His implication was quite plain, and Rosie stifled a giggle at his offence. She flipped a wrist and tinkled a laugh, lazily holding her book in one hand as she set her arm above her head.
“Alright, sailor. You don't gotta glare at me like that. 'Have I ever left you dry before, Rosie, darling' – no, you don't gotta say it, I know you were thinkin' it,” Rosie laughed, her lashes fluttering as Franklin's moustache twitched.
He was a man of few words, and that suited her just fine. She'd always said she could talk enough to fill a conversation for both of them. When he did have something to say, folks listened all the harder for how rare it was.
Rosie rolled her shoulders against the pile of pillows at her back, trying to hide a wince. She was starting to think she'd pulled something, sawing through that alligator sinner's leg. She never could hide anything from Franklin, though – he was terribly observant. Knew about who was getting divorced or having an affair before Rosie herself did, sometimes. People thought that just because he didn't talk much, meant he also didn't listen or look.
He was far from simple.
“I'm fine, honey. Just a little sore,” she muttered, dismissing his concerned glance as he shrugged off his jacket. Franklin's brows furrowed, and he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, patting the mattress with a twinkle of suggestion in his eye.
Rosie's smile widened as she finally dropped her book, letting it tumble to land somewhere amongst her pillows. It wasn't good for it, of course – but those books were a dime a dozen, and she'd read it just as many times as that anyway. She didn't need to be asked twice.
“Hmm. I had other things in mind for tonight, but if you insist,” Rosie teased, shrugging out of her robe and scooting down the bed.
Her nightgown rucked up around her thighs, and even a gentleman such as Franklin couldn't completely fight against his nature. His eyes darted down to her bare legs, his gaze caressing her hips and stomach through the sheer, lacy fabric of her barely-there nightclothes – and lingered for a moment on her tits, the embroidery around the bodice making an admirable attempt to grant her some semblance of modesty.
A flush crept into his cheeks, and he cleared his throat – glancing away while he loosened his tie, the picture of a man who'd become undeniably flustered. Rosie stifled a soft laugh, tugging down her nightgown and rolling onto her stomach. Goose-flesh pebbled along the backs of her thighs, and she balled up her robe to shove beneath her arms as she folded them under her head, aiming a coquettish glance at her husband over her shoulder.
“Alright, honey. Remind me what those clever hands can do,” Rosie murmured, sighing as Franklin swung a leg over her backside without hesitation, straddling the soft curves of her rear.
His hands were warm where they landed on her shoulders, his fingers confident and sure. She relaxed deeper into the mattress with a soft sound of appreciation as his thumbs ran up either side of her spine, fingers wrapping over her shoulders as he dug into the solid, sore knots of muscle around the base of her neck. His weight on her backside was comfortable, a barely noticeable pressure as he leant forward to push more solidly with his arms.
Franklin found a tender point almost immediately, pausing when Rosie let out a grunt. Her eyes were closed, her body sinking into the feeling, and she murmured a gentle 'keep going, honey' – before he resumed his ministrations, thumbing over that tight tendon and rolling it under the pad of his fingers.
It hurt – but in the most satisfying way imaginable. In the same way cracking one's spine hurt, or popping a particularly stubborn pimple or cyst. Rosie internally chastised herself for letting her mind wander to such unattractive comparisons, focusing instead on the heat Franklin's hands were generating as they rubbed over her skin.
When he was satisfied with his work, when the muscle he'd found no longer twanged under his touch like a poorly tuned guitar string, he moved his hands lower. Focusing on the lower muscles of Rosie's trapezius, venturing towards her lats. Franklin's fingers circled her ribs, the tips of his claws pressing up against the soft skin under her breasts – and Rosie let out a quiet sound of surprise when he ducked down to press a kiss against her nape. His moustache tickled her skin, thick and freshly combed as it was – and a tingle ran down her spine as his breath huffed over the back of her neck, curling up to skim over her ears, nerves all over her body lighting up in hopeful preparation.
Rosie shifted, pressing her thighs together as Franklin's hands wandered lower. Until he was kneading the skin just above her rear, smoothing out any tightness around her tailbone. The knowledge of how close he was to giving Rosie what she really wanted out of this evening was driving her a little bit mad, heat fluttering over her legs and circling her ribs – as though it were following the path Franklin's hands had already taken.
She wasn't even wearing any undergarments. Had Franklin realised? Did he know that all he needed to do was to hike the hem of Rosie's nightgown up, slip his hand between her thighs – and find for himself an entirely different sort of heat?
Her thoughts were running away with her again, and Franklin seemed to realise it. His hands drifted even lower, cupping the flesh of her backside and continuing his massage there. With every squeeze of his hands, he parted her cheeks – just slightly. Just enough that the threat of exposure had her face reddening further, the heat drifting over her skin trickling down to settle between her thighs. Her nipples were peaked against the mattress, her body nothing more firm than putty under her husband's skilled hands.
If anyone else saw her like this – Rosie, the Overlord of Cannibal Town, face down and ass up on her bed, her breath misting the pillows under her head – why, she'd have to turn them into tomorrow's special dish. This was a sight reserved for very few people. She and Franklin had entertained... guests, of course. At their age, it would have been rather unusual to have never done so – but this?
This was for the two of them alone.
With Franklin, Rosie didn't mind being stripped down. Not just of her clothing; but of her title, her responsibilities. Of everything that was layered atop the woman she was, at her core.
A woman who liked her indulgences, loved her husband – and wanted him to get on with things.
“Alright, honey. I think that's enough of that for now. Come on – ain't you hungry?” Rosie asked, shooting a coy look over her shoulder as she lifted her head from the bed. Franklin arched a brow at her – before sliding one hand down to the hem of her nightgown.
Rosie's breath hitched as his fingers grazed the bare skin of her thigh, tantalisingly teasing in the lightness of their touch. He pressed his fingers between her closed thighs, and Rosie automatically tried to part them for him – but his weight on her legs was limiting her movement. She could only moan, her lids fluttering shut again, as he twisted his hand and ran a single finger through her already slick folds.
His touch was so casual. As casual as an Overlord surveying her territory, knowing everything within it was under her control. Franklin held no territory of his own, but he had Rosie. To him, that was worth more than the entire Pentagram. It was the touch of a lover so familiar with her body that he didn't need to explore it – but delighted in retracing familiar steps and pathways all the same.
“Franklin...” Rosie mumbled, her voice husky and a little bit breathless, forcing her eyes open just to watch the way he lifted his hand to his mouth and ran his finger over his tongue. Obscene, really – and his eyes flashed with a hunger Rosie was intimately acquainted with.
Of all the things a cannibal could have a taste for, she had to thank her lucky stars that Franklin's palate tended towards pussy. She stifled a giggle as he eased himself from her behind, wrapping a hand over her hip and pushing – until she rolled over, something he could no more force her to do than sinners could ever hope to cross the pearly gates.
Rosie settled onto her back, sliding her own hands down her body – over her tits, her nipples denting the sheer fabric of her nightgown. Over her stomach and hips, their softness something so often hidden under her tightly laced corsets. Until her hands settled on her thighs, and Franklin watched with rapt attention as she curled her claws into her nightgown and hiked it up, shameless in how she exposed herself.
Her clit was throbbing, pulsing with an ache that demanded attention. Heat thrummed through her veins, every inch of her skin taut and terribly sensitive. Her stomach jolted as Franklin swung around her legs, his hands pressing insistently against the backs of her thighs as he pushed them upwards, her knees crooking towards the ceiling as he – rather demandingly – pushed her legs open.
Rosie might have complained at the forcefulness of his actions, but she was too busy slapping a hand over her mouth, her other flying up to grab at a pillow.
Franklin descended on her like a starved man, the sharp press of his teeth against her folds no barrier at all to her pleasure. His tongue ran up her slit, greedy in its quest to taste her, to lave over the slick coating her outer folds. When that was done, when Franklin found no more – he plunged his tongue into her, his face pressed up as close as it could go to her cunt, his hands wrapped almost bruisingly tight around her thighs. Rosie let out a cry, her back arching at the onslaught of pleasure he was wrenching from her, that dexterous tongue working wonders as it stroked over her inner walls.
The only thing that could make it any better was if he could pay her poor, neglected clit any attention. But he was determined to draw things out tonight, it seemed, one hand releasing her thigh and reaching up around her leg – skimming over her side until it found what it was searching for.
Franklin cupped her tit in his hand, briefly giving it a gentle squeeze – before he zeroed in on her nipple, pinching it rather roughly between thumb and forefinger. Rosie moaned, her cunt clenching around his tongue, her breath coming in quick, desperate little pants.
A low keen broke from her throat as heat raced out from his touch, pulsing along her flesh and dragging her attention from her cunt to her nipple. She pushed her chest up, encouraging him to do that again. Franklin was all too happy to oblige, and his other hand circled up outside her thigh, his shoulders pressing into the backs of them as he hunched down to continue fucking his tongue into her. Just as his other hand found her other nipple, the combined shock of that pleasure almost too much to bear – his tongue flicked out, darting over her clit with just enough pressure that Rose had stars sparking behind her lids.
“F-Franklin,” she warned, feeling her pleasure cresting, knowing she wasn't going to be able to hold out much longer. Her voice was high and breathless, her cheeks flushed as dark as if she'd run a marathon.
Without warning, Franklin drew back.
The heat of his mouth leaving her cunt left her twitching, wriggling on the bed. He squeezed her tits again, flicked his thumbs over her nipples, but her climax trembled just out of reach. Rosie let out a sound none other would have the privilege to hear; a soft, wordless entreaty too close to a whimper to be anything less than humiliating. Franklin sat back on his haunches and wiped his sleeve over his mouth, drying the ends of his moustache as best he could as Rosie replaced his hands with her own, her fingers on her tits not sparking nearly the same kind of excitement.
Her pussy clenched at the air, achingly hot, her clit tingling with that abandonment – and she sighed as Franklin unbuttoned his shirt, sliding over to the edge of the bed to slip out of both it and his slacks. Rosie pushed her shoulders into the bed, dragging her flimsy nightgown up her body, sitting up only enough to tug it over her head. It left her hair a wispy mess, fallen from its bun and probably getting terribly tangled with her thrashing, but she had not the wherewithal to care.
Nude, now, her tits a soft spill over her chest, nipples peaked and hard and the heat within her still demanding a release, she welcomed the press of Franklin's mouth against hers as he swung back around. The slight cling of her own slick on his moustache didn't bother her, a tart sweetness she was more than a little familiar with. She let her teeth scrape his lips as his weight settled back between her legs, jolting slightly when fingers probed at her entrance, rubbing slick over her folds – plunging inside of her for a moment, the pressure not nearly enough – but enough to have her huffing a desperate noise against his face.
Franklin broke their kiss, and Rosie let her hands snake under the pillows at her head, her eyes closing as she stretched her neck out.
“You can take me tonight, honey. I ain't liftin' a damn finger to help you out, I'm exhausted. Alright with you?” Rosie murmured, rolling her hips in suggestive invitation.
The only answer she got came in the form of Franklin lowering his head to her chest, his teeth skimming one of her peaked nipples as his tongue flicked over it, swirls of sensation racing away from the touch. Rosie panted, her hand twitching under the pillow, wanting nothing more than to press his head back down between her legs and demand that he finish the job.
But she'd already said he could do what he wanted. She just hadn't thought she'd find herself doubting that statement so soon.
“Franklin – please. Stop makin' me wait, huh? You dreadful man,” Rosie complained.
She earned herself a snort, a faint chuckle – and Franklin lifted his head to raise one eyebrow at her with a self-assured smirk. She shook her head, despairing at his cocksuredness – but it wasn't like he hadn't earned it, now was it?
And speaking of cocks – Rosie bit into her lip, sharp teeth puncturing soft skin. A faint hint of copper spread over her taste buds as she felt Franklin shift again. As she felt his hips against the insides of her thighs, the head of his cock rubbing over her entrance, pressing against her clit. She shuddered, a quiet, wordless plea echoing in her throat.
And then – then, he was pressing a hand between them, gripping his cock to steer himself true as he pushed into her, her claws puncturing holes in the pillowcases she was gripping onto for dear life. Damn – her good linens, she would have to get them repaired.
Again.
Rosie stifled a whimper, pressing the back of her head into the pillows as he slid forward, the stretch of his cock absolutely divine, the fullness of it positively delectable. A hand landed on her hips, tugging her forward – and her rear left the mattress as Franklin dragged her half up onto his thighs, grunting as he settled into her to the base.
He stayed like that – just like that – as his hands roamed up her torso once more, her cunt pulsing around the hardness of his shaft as he skimmed his fingers over the soft, sensitive skin just underneath her breasts. Rosie felt like a balloon ready to burst, a cry ripped from her throat as Franklin once more cupped her tits and squeezed her nipples between his fingers. A slow roll of his hips ground his cock inside her – less of a thrust, more of a reminder that it was there.
As if she needed such a thing, goodness.
Her thighs trembled, heels pressing into the bed as Franklin spread his own legs slightly for balance. With the angle he'd dragged her to, she could feel him rubbing up against the front of her pussy, her breath hitching when he stroked over that sensitive, swollen bundle of nerves just behind her clit. It was as if somebody had punched the wind out of her, in a far more pleasant way than the metaphor might have one thinking.
Pleasure sparked through her system, heat flaring under her skin. Her clit throbbed as Franklin pinched her nipples again, and Rosie's head span at the intensity of warmth thrumming through her veins. He was playing her body so expertly, a true master in the art. Her better half, really, level-headed where she was quick to give in to her temper, patient with even her most frustrating of customers.
She truly adored this man.
Franklin rolled his hips again, one of his hands leaving her tits to scratch faint lines down her stomach. Rosie gasped as he skimmed past the soft mound below her navel, twisting his wrist to press two long fingers either side of his cock. Like he wanted to feel it for himself, how Rosie's cunt stretched around his shaft. A bolt of pleasure shot straight up her spine at the thought, quickly followed by an almost paralysing wave of it when he shifted his hand higher, pressing a thumb against her clit and circling it gently.
Insistently.
Rosie moaned, long and low, as Franklin started to move. As he hitched his hips back just far enough to grind his cock against her inner walls, before pressing forward just as slowly. Her stomach was in knots, a hot, demanding, aching glut of pleasure pooling below her navel, her chest stuttering as he thumbed idly over her clit with just enough pressure to almost satisfy the itch under her skin.
His other hand pinched her nipple again, a startled sound leaping into the room as pleasure collided in Rosie's body, like a traffic accident wherein nobody knew which way to go. What to focus on, what to lock her mind to?
The sharp burst of pleasure that pinch on her nipple sent spearing into her nervous system? The slow, demanding slide of Franklin's shaft within her, pressing up against her G-spot until her abdomen felt like it might burst? Or that talented thumb, rubbing her until she thought her nerve endings would combust, because it was all too much?
Blindly, she reached forward, trying to grasp at his shoulders. Franklin abandoned her tit in favour of catching her hand, brushing her knuckles over his lips even as he continued to thrust. Continued to circle her clit with his thumb, and Rosie let out a soft sound as her release trembled within her, as if it were a racehorse waiting for permission to burst from the gates.
Rosie tugged at her hand, grabbing Franklin's fingers, trying to pull him down on top of her. She wanted to feel the press of his body, wanted him all over her own – not just out of reach as he was. She jolted as he adjusted himself, his cock slipping from her pussy and leaving her bereft, empty and wanting. The mattress dipped as he freed his hand and braced his elbows either side of her, her clit still tingling where he'd been touching it.
There was a moment of stillness, of waiting – of expectation.
Then she felt the tip of his cock probing at her entrance once more, eagerly angling her hips to make it easier for him to slide home. To slip into her with an obscenely wet noise, barely heard over her gasp as Rosie's interrupted pleasure started flowing through her bloodstream once more. She wrapped her arms around Franklin's shoulders, claws digging into his back in a way that wrenched a grunt from somewhere low in his throat.
“C'mon, c'mon,” Rosie muttered breathlessly, rolling her hips under him and whining as the movement ground his cock deeper. Every inch of her was throbbing, every part of her skin too tight for her body.
It felt like a miracle, when Franklin started moving. When he rocked his hips back and ground forward, and the pressure of his body against her clit when he buried himself in her completely wasn't enough – but it could be enough. It could be enough, if he'd keep going, and Rosie's mind drifted to the idea of what they might look like. How neatly they fit together, though one wouldn't think it at first glance.
She adored the sight of her cunt stretched around his cock – she'd seen it plenty of times, of course. Thinking of it now, of how she could feel the sheets under her rear growing damp with her slick, of how Franklin's cock would be shining with it, strands breaking in the light – Rosie gasped, her orgasm catching her off guard as she tensed and arched from the bed, a sound like surprise ripped from her throat as she choked on the air.
Warmth spread through her, languid and indulgent, and she groaned as Franklin shortened his long thrusts and increased his pace, chasing his own climax. With every snap of his hips, a breathless little noise echoed up between them, Rosie tossing her head back as she floated on the gently rolling waves of her pleasure.
With a huff, Franklin stilled. His cock pulsed and twitched within her as he ground his hips forward, spurting his orgasm as deep inside of her as he could get. A human trait, that, an instinct that served no purpose down here other than enjoyment, and Rosie let out a satisfied sigh as his arms quivered at her sides. She tugged him down, encouraging him to pillow his head between her breasts as her chest rose and fell in rapid little pants, gradually slowing into something deeply content.
His moustache tickled her skin, the spill of his spend between her legs staining her bedding. She would need to change the sheets – or share his bed for the evening. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth at the idea, something they didn't often indulge in only because they had such terribly different schedules and sleeping habits.
But, perhaps – just for tonight, they could break that streak.
“I'm gonna need a shower, after that. You joinin' me, honey?” Rosie mumbled into the top of Franklin's head. He nodded, as cuddly as a teddy bear now that he'd thoroughly wrung every last drop of perverted pleasure from her senses as he could manage.
With a grunt, she pushed him up. Rosie screwed up her face as her sheets clung to the backs of her thighs, tacky and cool, and she pushed impatiently at Franklin until he rolled off her with a chuckle. For all that he'd been running the show, Rosie was ready to step back in and pick up the reins, because the sweat on her skin was starting to feel mighty unpleasant – and the slippery slide of her husband's come trickling down her inner thigh wasn't nearly so enjoyable any longer.
Rosie grabbed her ruined nightgown, hastily pressing it between her legs with a laugh as they made their awkward, hobbling way into her ensuite. When Franklin reached past her to turn on the shower, her back hit the cold tiles against the wall and she let out a high pitched yelp, slapping his pale rear for his lack of consideration.
But the water was warm, and Rosie stepped under the flow of it with a sigh. She tossed her nightgown to the laundry basket, gingerly dipping her fingers between her thighs to get herself properly cleaned up. She didn't want to leave any other stains around the house, after all. Franklin's hair was plastered over his eyes, his moustache bristling as he blew the spray of water from his nose.
Their laughter echoed loud against the tiles, trickled out into the hallway of the top floor and meandered down the stairs, as if it were a tangible thing with a mind of its own. If any visitors came calling, they might hear and reconsider their urge to knock on the door of Rosie's Emporium, deciding that whatever issue they had – it could wait.
Hell was not a place where tranquillity and love were meant to blossom. But the toughest weeds grew in the harshest climates – and just for tonight, two sinners could forget the clock above the embassy counting down the days, the petty politics and squabbles of the Overlord council.
As long as they had each other, Rosie thought things were alright by her.
~fin~