Elvira Gets Meddled With 8 (Patreon)

Her cunt exploded, sucking tightly at Fred’s pounding erection, seeming to pull it right to her womb. Velma came for almost a full minute, groaning and gasping as indescribable sensations had their way with her. She raked Fred’s back with her fingernails, neither noticing nor caring how hairy his back was, and she bucked in a frenzy of lustful need. Tirelessly satisfying herself with Fred’s fat prick.

Fred howled as he hammered down between her thighs, forcing his full length into her orgasmic sex like he was trying to get his balls inside her too. Velma squealed as she felt his hot cum fill her—a profuse eruption that emptied out his balls while totally stuffing Velma’s inner walls. Shot after shot of his creamy seed made her fuller and fuller.

“Oh, Freddy!” Locking her legs around his waist, barely registering the mane that tickled her from ankles to inner thigh, Velma kept pursuing this addictive pleasure. Fucking herself on a cock that seemed like it would never go soft. All thoughts of ethics or consent were set aside now. All Velma could think of was Fred’s fat cock.

“Keep fucking me, Freddy! Don’t stop until you’ve broken my little pussy!”

***

Daphne’s eyes opened. She felt numb, misty, still stuffed with sleep. Like when she sat a little too close to Shaggy while he smoked his special cigarettes.

Drugs! She bolted upright. The sudden shift in positioning sent her mind whirling. She yawned, which didn’t quite fit with her image of herself leaping into action, but by the time she was done, some of the cobwebs were loose.

She sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her temples. Thoughts of what she had done bubbled up into her eyeballs like day-late mail.

“Oh gosh,” she said to herself. “Fred… Velma… where is everyone?”

She looked around. The room was in was beautifully appointed. She stood, bare feet sinking into the lush carpet. She was touched by cool air that seemed just as supple, chilled to perfection by the air condition. Daphne realized she was naked and she let out a whimper. It wasn’t a question of what had happened last night—it was how much had happened.

Her eyes flew about, looking for her clothes. She didn’t see a single stitch. Panic gripped her. Daphne ran to the closet and threw the door open. It was bare. She opened the dresser. Empty as well. She went to the door and tried the knob, preemptively pressing herself behind the door so no one on the other side of the doorway could see her naked body. It didn’t matter. The knob didn’t turn.

Fear gripped her heart. Her throat tightened. She was a prisoner! And all those things that had happened to her of her own free will… who knew what would happen now that she was trapped!?

“Freddy! Shaggy! Someone help me!”

She vibrated, every nerve in her body helping her fear along.

“I see you’re awake,” Elvira’s husky voice floated to Daphne’s ears. “I hope the bedbugs didn’t bite. Unless you’re into that.”

Daphne spun, seeing Elvira emerging from another door, painted the same color as the wall so it disappeared into the overall room except for the doorknob. She froze, feet cemented to the ground, before hastily covering herself with her hands.

“What are you doing here?”

“Looking in on you,” Elvira purred. “And there’s a lot to look in on. To think all it took was a little scotch. You know, I would never encourage day-drinking, but what say we have a few whiskey sours and see what happens? Sure, we might end up alcoholics… or married… but I’ve always had a thing for redheads. I think I was a ginger in a past life. Maybe that’s why it feels so right when I’m inside one.”

Daphne gasped, the depraved memories of what they’d done hitting her mind full force. Every detail of their time together was crisp and clear, with a kind of grandeur to just how torrid it had been.

“I was drunk!” Daphne cried.

“Oh, do you always screw other girls when you’re drunk? No wonder you keep that little school librarian in training around.”

“No, Velma and I are just friends!” Daphne insisted.

“Then I guess you don’t drink too often.”

“Well… Fred and I sometimes have a few beers… I have champagne with Velma sometimes…”

“So I suppose it’s just me,” Elvira said, batting her eyelashes. “Don’t worry, I’d have trouble believing my luck if I were you too. But rest assured, you were positively delectable. I hope you don’t mind if I have seconds. And if we do it with no alcohol this time, maybe it’ll be like I’m popping your cherry all over again!”

Daphne trembled, frightened out of her skull. “I want my clothes back!”

“I had Loom wash them. They’re in the dryer now. I even used one of those dryer sheets, not that they do anything. But if you’re feeling underdressed, I could always go a little more casual.” She plucked one of the cords holding her décolletage together.

“That’s alright!” Daphne assured her, quickly fleeing under the covers. “I’ll just catch up on some sleep!”

“Want some help catching it?” Elvira flexed her hands. “I have some very fast fingers…”

A scream rang out. Fear covered Daphne’s face.

“What was that!?”

“The front door,” Elvira moaned. “Who is it at this hour—” She checked a wall clock. “Two PM! The middle of the afternoon! Some people have no consideration…” She smiled at Daphne. “Hold that thought—and anything else you’d like to grip—I’ll be right back. And if your clothes aren’t ready by then, you can have mine. Right off my back…”

***

Dressed in a paisley robe, Elvira answered the front door. The first thing that happened was that Kitty the Werewolf landed on her welcome mat, dead as a doornail. He’d been lifted by a massive, towering figure… face covered by a gas mask, while overalls and a bursting, threadbare sweater held the rest of his hulking frame. He was covered in blood. Literally dripping with it.

The other person there was a girl, wearing so little and so covered in blood herself that Elvira’s first impression was that she was wearing nothing but blood. But a closer examination revealed hot pants, stockings, and a mesh tanktop over a skimpy bra. The few patches of unpainted skin were pale and her hair was dark—her piercing eyes were the brightest color on her that wasn’t red.

“What up?” the woman barked. “We’re monster hunters.” She pointed at the hairy carcass on the floor. “Dead monster.”

“I thought you might’ve been rug salesman,” Elvira quipped, looking over the girl. “I know I’d pay top dollar for any rug of yours.”

The girl snorted disdainfully. “Got somewhere we can wash up? Least you can do after we took care of your werewolf problem.”

The man spoke in a deep, rumbling voice that sounded apologetic despite its bass. “I am Vlad. This is Cassie. We are not… mean.”

“Never thought you were, big guy. Not that I don’t like mean.” She glanced down at the dead werewolf. Shame to lose out on a perfectly good werewolf, but she had a feeling there was a replacement on the way. “Why don’t you dump that on the compost heap and then—I’m assuming you don’t want to take turns in the shower—we’ve got one in the east wing and one in the west wing.” Elvira flashed Vlad a smile. “I have another guest in the west wing, Velma. She’ll tell you where it is if you can’t find it. Cassie, I’ll give you a hand getting the furbaby to the compost heap and then you can wash up in the east wing.”

“I can… handle corpse,” Vlad said.

“No offense, high-pockets, but the bigger you are, the more blood is on you. Cassie’s a little slip of a thing. She’s barely dripping.”

“Thanks for noticing,” Cassie snarled, moving to step over the carcass.

Vlad restrained her with a baseball mitt sized hand on her shoulder. “Cassie… she is being very kind…”

Cassie pouted and mustered what little sincerity she could manage to look Elvira in the eye. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“And… her carpet…” Vlad reminded her.

“Ugh! Fine!” Cassie stooped to unlace her Doc Martens. “I probably have more blood soaked into my stockings than I do in my treads, but whatever.”

***

Velma woke up again. She was covered in cum that only seemed to have mildly cooled after it was roped all over her. The fire in her pussy had barely guttered at all.

Groping around, she looked for her glasses… and her clothes. She no longer thought it was Fred who had, well, fucked her… it wasn’t his style to come on so strong, and anyway, everyone knew that he and Daphne had a thing. But then who? Elvira with a strap-on? That didn’t explain her looking like the closing credits in a Japanese cartoon. Maybe that creepy butler of Elvira’s, Loom?

If it was him, and he could fuck like that, there was no way Elvira was paying him enough…

The door creaked open. Velma stiffened. Someone was about to get a good look at her on all fours, naked, and covered in cum.