The Plague Doctor held his knife to her throat.
"Oh! Of course! You're here to brutalize me and stuff!" Elvira cocked her head to the side bashfully. "I am so flattered! You probably want me to keep, heh, entertaining myself, huh?" Elvira glanced down, seeing at least one break in the featureless sweep of the Plague Doctor's robe. "Yeah! Talk about an appreciative audience--a standing ovation only halfway through the show!"
The Plague Doctor moved the knife closer, nicking a tender vein in Elvira's neck. She cooed as a thin thread of blood shimmied down her throat and then was lost in the hail of droplets from the showerhead. The slow bleed was quickly reduced to a pink mist clinging to Elvira's jubilant curves.
"And giving me plenty of material to work with, big guy--here I thought I'd have to pretend the Addams kids went off to boarding school and Mom and Dad invited me over for weekly key parties. Does it still count as a key party if everyone has
your
key? And is it class-conscious if the butler gets one or just condescending? I'm not complaining, the guy was hung, but when it came to pillow talk..."
The Plague Doctor was out of patience. He reached out with his free hand, seizing Elvira's wrist, and directed her fingers down between her legs.
"I tried to light a cigarette and he never let me hear the end of it! 'Fire bad!' Yeah, I get it, buddy, stop trauma-dumping!" Then Elvira gasped at the feel of her own digits unexpectedly touching the feverish warmth down in her cunt. It wasn't just that she was hot. It was that, at being forced into it by the killer, she got
hotter.
"Okay, babe, I can take a hint. No need for rough stuff." Elvira flashed a sultry smile. "But then, I don't need sprinkles on my ice cream either. They just make it taste better."
She bowed her legs and slid her middle finger up into the blooming warmth of her opening. The moment she'd touched herself, she went into a paroxysm of jerking hips and wobbling curves, shoving herself upon her finger and hilting it inside her cunt.
More shakes, more quivers. Elvira's naked body was a symphony of ripe sexuality, fleshy movement, ecstasy written in naked skin. She backed into the tiled wall, bracing her shoulders against it as she surrendered to the jerky undulations of her pleasure and her lust. She couldn't control her body and she didn't want to--doubted the Doctor wanted her to either.
She hissed loudly through gritted teeth, further broadcasting her lasciviousness to her audience. As if proof of her pleasure were needed when she kept writhing, twisting, her liquid bosom sloshing to the left and to the right. Elvira threw her head back, only her protective mane protecting the tiles from cracking with the force of the impact, and let out a banshee's wail (her being part-banshee on her mother's side).
"That's goooood sprinkles!" Elvira crooned, her eyes crossing.
A boiling charge, a burst of scalding heat ripped through her loins as a jolt of involuntary motion smashed her well-padded derriere against the tile wall, hitting hard enough to send a few sputters through the spray of the shower... then Elvira was over her peak.
She sagged against the tiles, gasping for air. Her body still spasmed, but slower and fuller--the tremors sampling all of her voluptuous curves, bouncing from the fullest swell of her hips to the tiniest motion of her jewel-hard nipples. Elvira cooed while her innermost muscles slithered and pulled, gaping and then clenching together, all sensual milking but with nothing to work their well-trained motions on but her own slender finger.
"Oh, I feel all sweaty..." Elvira minced now, returning her attention to the Doctor under the proviso that if that didn't get him in the mood, nothing would. "You know, down in my cooch... and under my arms, but that's not important right now. How about you be a dear and lend a hand? I'd wash myself like a big girl, only my legs are a little rubbery at the moment. I can barely keep it up!"
Her arms were holding her in place, bridged from one side of the shower stall to the other. But her eyes were free to slant downwards and come to where there was a growing hardness in the otherwise smooth surface of the killer's robe.
"Not that you'd know what that's like. Oh wow... ready to make a house call?"
The Plague Doctor raised his knife high, then brought it down on the bar of soap in its dish. Then, with the soap embedded on the tip of his knife, he began washing Elvira.