My first year here has been anything but forgettable. Mostly because, on day one, I found out he was here too.
Mezza. Of all people.
The last person I ever expected to see again. The love of my life. And he was exactly as I left him: dark, devastatingly beautiful, carrying a quiet storm of pain and allure, dangerous in the way fire is--too bright, too intense, and impossible not to stare into. Yet I walked away...
From that very first day learning he was here he even acted as if he still wanted me. And fuck... he did. I didn't deserve him. Back at our old school, we were wildfire; friends, lovers, a force of nature wrapped in heat and hunger. We couldn't keep our hands off each other, couldn't stop exploring all the ways we fit together. The kind of connection that makes you lose sleep, lose track of where you end and they begin. A fated soul-deep kind of pairing. We were special.
But I panicked. I convinced myself what we had was fake, because we didn't clearly define what we were, he never spoke of bonding either. Most in our realm who find that level of connection, go through what we call bonding. Humans have something close to it called marriage, but for us it was much more involved than that. Bonding never came up between us, in fact we shied away from being open with one another and discussing anything at all having to do with our relationship, outside of dirty talk that is.
I came to believe that what we had was a situationship, one where I grew to love him deeply, but where he didn't return it. So, I vanished. I left without a word, telling myself I was protecting my heart at best, and protecting us from burning out, at worst. As they say, the ones that burn the brightest often end up ash the quickest. I thought I was saving us from ruining something perfect before it had the chance to destroy anyone. And I thought I was right too, because if he didn't think me bond worthy, he'd find it with someone else, and I couldn't bear to see that happen.
In truth, I was just a selfish coward.
And soon after leaving, when I had plenty of time to sit and reflect on my actions, I truly regretted it. Actually, I hated myself for it, because I didn't even give him the chance to confirm or deny my assumptions. I just listened to my over thoughts and ran with them. I hated myself for being too scared to stay and communicate with any kind of honesty, of being terrified of the depth of what we had to trust it and him... I hurt myself by doing that, but what's worse is how much I must have hurt him. I loved him too much to want to cause him any pain, so I even convinced myself to stay away to spare him anymore once I came to my senses.
When I came here a little more than a year later, having taken that time to confront my past, to acknowledge my mistakes, and to make a solemn promise with myself to never again run if I ever found something as incredible as what I had with Mezza, to instead, face my fears with honesty, openness, and trust. I truly believed the past was behind me. Including any chance of running into him. Especially in a place where we can never leave.
Fuck, I was wrong.
Seeing him again stirred up everything I'd buried; fear, guilt... and longing. I missed him. Not just the way he touched me, but the way he saw me. The way he made me feel like I was his world. I was certain that he'd be too angry, to hurt to ever want anything to do with me again, but then he sent me a gift. A message, really. Something darkly playful, and unmistakably him.
A severed hand.
Not just any hand, one that knew exactly how to find my G-spot and make me cry out begging for more, desperate and shaking in awe, rekindling the love that still burned inside me for him. A bold, twisted little token that said: I'm not angry. I'm not hurt, I'm in love and I'm coming for you. Still.
He's always known how to speak my language.
At first, I was afraid. Not of the gift, not even of him, but of myself. Of trusting that I won't mess it up, again. So, we took it slow. Now, seven months later... we're back to being inseparable. Stronger. Wilder. Better. Our days are filled with teasing threats of filth, of demanding and claiming kisses and grabs, and our nights? Naked, sweaty, and absolutely ardent in all of the best ways.
He wants me for life this time. And I'm not running anymore.
But regardless of our reconciliation, of the passion growing between us and continued commitment we practice daily, there's a new challenge testing us now. Mezza's brother, Fester. He vanished. So, Mezza has been taking little trips over the last four months to try and search for him. He suspects Fester might have gotten into something dangerous, something that made him choose to take a huge risk and enter the portal located at the Bermuda Triangle. The one that stranded each of us here. There are two portals on Earth, one transporting to and one transporting away, only the one transporting away, the Bermuda one, is broken. All realms know that coming to Earth is a one-way trip, now, because the ancients who created these portals are no longer around to repair them when one goes faulty, like Bermuda.
Still, with Bermuda being so risky, there is a small chance, a one in ten thousand chances that when Fester walked through, he landed somewhere instead of perishing into a void. So, Mezza remains dedicated to being available if Fester should return. Because of this, and my never-ending support, we've had to at times explore more ways to connect and sate one another's needs long distance. We've been spending countless hours on video calls and relying on Thing to bridge some of that connection more physically.
It's amplified our hunger for sure, making our reunions incredibly intense and carnal, just the way I love it most. When he's at home, at the academy with me and his friends, we make sure we have plenty of bonding time and varying types of it, for him to release some of the negative energies that get bottled up inside when he's away.
One night Mezza introduced me to one of his friends from another class he's had to partner up with in projects. His name is Garrett Gates. He's a tall, lean man with jet black hair, dark sunken eyes, and a serious Lancelot vibe about him. If Lancelot had a dose of Jafar from Aladdin mixed into his personality. I wasn't very into him, except for physically. Thankfully it wasn't important for me to get to know him much and form a friendship, which I preferred because he wasn't my type, but he sure can fuck. Mezza only wants Garrett in my life for play, once in a while, not for friendship, and that suits me perfectly.
Our first romp was in Mezza's dorm, where he had Garrett take me on his bed. Garrett had very little going for him with me, except the way that man touched my body. He had this tender violence about him that just made me welcome him into my arms when Mezza was really jonesing for some cuck play. He did that often. Mezza liked to watch from his comfortable, padded black armchair. Naked, stroking himself, while directing Garrett on how to position me, how to hold me, how to go rough and fuck me in ways that had Mezza drooling all over himself. I particularly enjoyed it when Garrett held my hands up and behind my head, his hands holding at my elbows, bent, making my breasts push out and bounce freely with each thrust as Garrett pounded into me from behind. My back; arched. My breasts; loud and center staged, wildly dancing for Mezza's eyes. And a large cock sliding in and out fervently from behind, through my slit, as Garrett teased my clit and made my cheeks clap against his hips. My eyes were locked on Mezza the whole time Garrett fucked me, watching him pleasure himself, and wishing he were in my mouth instead of his own fist.
After another one of Mezza's trips to find Fester, making his needs ramp up after the frustrations of brick walls and cold cases, he arranged for me to meet another of his friends, Sonny. But everyone called him Lurch, because of his last name and his demeanor. I really like Sonny; we get along very well and seem to have an ease with each other. Mezza, Sonny, and I quickly grew into a fierce protective and caring friendship. Sonny was even growing a bond with Thing, their mutual silence brought a sort of respect and understanding between them that worked well. He was a moody, silent type of man, who cared deeply and loved strongly. The biggest man I've ever seen at seven feet tall, too. But he's sweet and deeply intelligent, but you'd never know it unless he allowed you too. Sonny is a distant relative to the Addams lineage, which is how Mezza knew him, though he's not truly related to Mezza. Lurch was created, not born.
Dr. Frankenstein used some parts of Miguel Enriquez Addams, a privateer of the Caribbean, to make Sonny Lurchfield. It was actually Miguel's member and tongue, specifically, that caused Lurch to be the silent yet dominating presence that he is today.
Miguel rose to infamy in the early 18th century as a famous Spanish pirate, but few know that he was cursed before his demise. A voodoo priestess, whom he had spurned when she caught him dick deep inside her sister. She gathered some of Miguel's saliva and semen after a night of drunken intimacy and manipulation, then cursed his tongue and cock, ensuring that he could never speak without his words sounding incredibly sexual and explicit, surely to ruin his chances of finding peace or love. The curse also heightened his desire and stamina for sex and pleasure to an insatiable, almost harmful and demonic level, not considering that her curse would make him an ideal match for satisfying my succubus side. It's a classic case of one person's trash being another's treasure, and he is a treasure.
"Sonny, meet Tish. But be careful, if given the chance, she'll bite, then seduce you into biting her back. She's a devious little sex demon." Mezza introduces me, so proudly.
Sonny doesn't answer, instead he looks me up and down, the dark and hungry look in his eyes causing my whole body to flush and shiver, Sonny then sniffs the air,
