Marti's nails dug into Christopher's broad shoulders, her youthful body arching beneath him on the creaking wooden bed that had borne witness to their eternal passion for centuries. His cock, thick and veined, plunged deep into her slick cunt with a deliberate, unhurried rhythm, each thrust stretching her tight walls to their limit. She gasped, her tits bouncing with every impact, the hard nipples brushing against his chest hair as he leaned in, his breath hot and ragged against her neck. "Fuck me harder, you ancient bastard," she whispered, her voice a mix of desperate need and the weight of seven hundred years of shared secrets, her pussy clenching around his shaft like it was trying to milk every drop from him. Christopher groaned, his balls slapping wetly against her ass with each downward stroke, the sound echoing in the dim candlelit room of their modest home in Black Hollow. He obliged, gripping her hips tighter, driving his dick in at a punishing angle that hit that sweet spot deep inside, making her cunt gush with fresh wetness that soaked the sheets beneath them.

Sweat beaded on Christopher's forehead, his middle-aged facade belying the raw power of his immortal frame as he pounded into her, the head of his cock throbbing with every inch it claimed. Marti's legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, her fingers tangling in his graying hair as she moaned, "Oh, fuck, yes—feel that you blessed fool, feel how your dick stretches me wide." The air was thick with the musky scent of their arousal, a heady mix of her dripping pussy and his precum-slicked length, each withdrawal leaving a trail of sticky fluid that glistened in the flickering light. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, licking the salt from her skin, his thrusts growing more forceful, the wet squelching sounds of their fucking filling the room like a sinful symphony. Her cunt was a vise, hot and pulsating, every ridge and vein of his shaft rubbing against her inner walls in a way that made her cry out, her body trembling on the edge of release. "Take it all, Marti," he growled, his voice laced with the sorrow of ages, "take every fucking inch like you always do, like we're the only ones who understand this hell we've made."

He flipped her over suddenly, her body yielding to his strength as she landed on all fours, her ass high in the air, presenting her swollen, glistening pussy to him like an offering. Christopher wasted no time, grabbing her hips and slamming back into her from behind, his cock plunging even deeper now, the force making her tits sway and her moans turn into guttural screams. "That's it, scream for me," he rasped, his fingers digging into her flesh as he fucked her with long, powerful strokes, the head of his dick hitting her cervix with a sharp, pleasurable pain that sent shockwaves through her. Marti's cunt was soaking wet, juices dripping down her thighs, mixing with the sweat that coated their bodies, and she pushed back against him, meeting each thrust with a lewd slap of skin on skin. "Your cock feels so fucking good, Christopher—pounding me like this, making me forget the curse for just a goddamn minute," she panted, her words raw and filthy, her inner muscles gripping him tighter as she felt his balls tighten against her. He leaned forward, one hand snaking around to rub her clit in rough circles, his other hand spanking her ass hard, leaving red marks that would fade too quickly on their immortal skin.

As their bodies finally slowed, Christopher pulling out with a wet pop, his cock still semi-hard and coated in their combined mess, Marti collapsed onto the bed, her chest heaving. Cum leaked from her stretched pussy, a warm trickle that pooled between her legs, and she reached up to pull him down for a lingering kiss, tasting the salt and desire on his lips. But even in the afterglow, the weight of Black Hollow pressed in—the village's eternal fog seeping through the cracked window, carrying whispers of ancient bargains that neither could fully escape. Christopher's eyes, heavy with centuries of guilt, met hers as he whispered, "We can't keep pretending this changes anything." She nodded, her elegant fingers tracing the lines of his face, but the moment shattered as the distant church bell tolled, calling him to his sermon.

Rising from the bed, Christopher dressed in his simple robes, the fabric brushing against his still-sensitive cock, a reminder of their intimacy amidst the gloom. The village of Black Hollow stretched out beyond their door, a timeless enigma where time stood still under a perpetual twilight sky, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and forgotten graves. As he stepped outside, the cobblestone streets wound like veins through clusters of ivy-choked houses, their inhabitants moving with the lethargic grace of the undying. Christopher's sermon awaited in the old stone church at the village's heart, where he would address the ageless congregation, his voice carrying the burden of his 770 years. "The shadows grow longer," he murmured to himself, feeling the pull of the curse that bound them all, as Marti prepared for her teaching session in the adjacent hall.

In the quiet that followed, Marti smoothed her dress over her still-flushed skin, the aftertaste of their encounter lingering as she gathered her books for the day's lesson. Her students, including the restless Mike and the perceptive John, would soon arrive, and through subtle hints in her tales of ancient lore, she aimed to reveal fragments of the curse without shattering the fragile peace. Mike, with his bold, impulsive nature, often challenged her words, his eyes darting toward the forest outskirts as if drawn by some unseen force. Meanwhile, John sat quietly, his analytical mind picking up on the ominous whispers that slithered through the air, building a tension that promised no easy resolution. As the village stirred, the eternal cycle continued, each step forward laced with the shadows of their shared past.

The fog clung to the ancient oaks like a lover's desperate grasp, thick and unyielding, as Christopher Vale thrust deeper into Marti's welcoming heat, his timeless body moving with the relentless rhythm of centuries. Her cunt gripped him like a vise, slick and scorching, every inch of his thick cock stretching her to the point of exquisite pain, the heady scent of their sweat and her arousal mingling with the damp earth beneath them in the shadowed glade just outside Black Hollow. Marti arched her back, her youthful face—frozen in eternal elegance despite her seven hundred years—twisted in raw ecstasy, her full tits bouncing with each pounding stroke. "Fuck me harder, you ancient bastard," she gasped, her voice a husky whisper laced with the weight of shared secrets, her nails raking down his broad back, drawing beads of immortal blood that shimmered unnaturally in the dim light. Christopher's balls slapped against her ass with wet, rhythmic smacks, his girth filling her so completely that she felt every throbbing vein, every forceful push grinding against her swollen clit, building a fire that threatened to consume them both.

He slowed his pace deliberately, drawing out the agony of pleasure, his hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles that made her pussy clench and release in desperate waves, the slickness of her juices coating his shaft and trickling down to pool beneath her. "You feel this, Marti? This curse-born fire that never fades?" he growled, his voice rough with the burden of his seven centuries, his cock pulsing inside her as if alive with the village's dark magic. She moaned louder, a primal sound that echoed through the mist-shrouded trees, her body responding with fresh gushes of wetness, the kind that only their immortal union could summon. His hands roamed her curves, pinching her hardened nipples until she cried out, the pain blending seamlessly into the fullness of his invasion, his thrusts now shallow and teasing, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in with a force that made her ass cheeks jiggle and her cunt squelch audibly. "Yes, oh fuck, yes deeper, you feel so God bless it good," she pleaded, her words crude and urgent, the air thick with the musk of their coupling, her legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer, urging him to claim every inch of her quivering depths.

As the first ripples of her climax began to build, Christopher leaned in, his lips brushing her ear in a mockery of tenderness, his breath hot against her skin. "We pay for this, my love—every drop of cum, every scream," he murmured, his words laced with the sorrow of their shared eternity, even as he picked up speed, his cock pounding into her with brutal precision, the angle hitting that sweet spot deep inside that made stars burst behind her eyes. Her pussy contracted around him, milking him with rhythmic spasms, the wet sounds of their fucking growing louder, more obscene, as saliva dripped from her parted lips where she'd bitten down to stifle her cries. He could feel her tightening, her inner walls pulsing with the approach of release, and he matched it with his own, his balls drawing up tight, ready to flood her with the hot, sticky cum that marked their Blessed bond. But he held back, savoring the torture, making her beg with filthy whispers—"Fill my cunt, Christopher, make me yours again"—until the tension shattered, and she came undone beneath him, her body convulsing in waves of ecstasy that left her trembling and spent.

Only then did he allow himself to follow, his release exploding forth in thick, ropy jets that painted her insides, the warmth spreading through her like liquid fire, their mingled fluids leaking out around his still-throbbing dick as he collapsed against her. The village of Black Hollow loomed in the distance, its timeless spires piercing the eternal fog, a place where the sun never fully rose and the nights stretched into infinity, mirroring the unending desire that bound them. Christopher pulled away slowly, his cock slipping free with a wet pop, glistening with their essence, and helped Marti to her feet, their naked forms bathed in the cool mist that did little to quell the heat still radiating from their skin. "We can't linger," he said, his voice steadying as the afterglow faded, the weight of his role as the village's preacher settling back upon him like a shroud. Together, they dressed in silence, the air heavy with unspoken regrets, before making their way toward the old church, where the echoes of their passion would soon give way to the solemnity of his sermon.

In the dimly lit sanctuary, Christopher stood before the congregation, his middle-aged facade hiding the ancient storm within, as he began his address with words that carried the echo of their recent intimacy. "In this frozen realm, where time bends but never breaks, we are bound by bargains forged in shadow," he intoned, his eyes scanning the faces of the immortals gathered—Mike's restless gaze, John's perceptive frown—while Marti, ever the teacher, sat poised at the rear, her mind already turning to the lesson she would impart later. The air in the church was thick with the same fog that cloaked the village, carrying faint whispers of the curse that thrummed beneath the floorboards, a reminder of the entity they guarded. As he spoke of sacrifices and eternal costs, Marti's hand absently traced the ache between her legs, a secret smile playing on her lips, her thoughts drifting to the raw power of their coupling and the way it mirrored the village's dark allure.

Meanwhile, on the outskirts, Mike Hollow felt the pull of the forest like a siren's call, his immortal body still thrumming with unspent energy from his own solitary indulgences earlier that day. The trees whispered secrets as he ventured deeper, his senses alive to the ominous undercurrents, while back in the village, John Mercer paused in the shadows, his brooding mind tuning into the faint, haunting murmurs that foretold an awakening evil, the tension coiling tighter around them all.

The fog clung to the ancient oaks like a lover's desperate grasp, thick and unyielding, as Christopher Vale thrust deeper into Marti's welcoming heat, his timeless body moving with the relentless rhythm of centuries. Her cunt gripped him like a vise, slick and scorching, every inch of his thick cock stretching her to the point of exquisite pain, the heady scent of their sweat and her arousal mingling with the damp earth beneath them in the shadowed glade just outside Black Hollow. Marti arched her back, her youthful face—frozen in eternal elegance despite her seven hundred years—twisted in raw ecstasy, her full tits bouncing with each pounding stroke. "Fuck me harder, you ancient bastard," she gasped, her voice a husky whisper laced with the weight of shared secrets, her nails raking down his broad back, drawing beads of immortal blood that shimmered unnaturally in the dim light. Christopher's balls slapped against her ass with wet, rhythmic smacks, his girth filling her so completely that she felt every throbbing vein, every forceful push grinding against her swollen clit, building a fire that threatened to consume them both.

He slowed his pace deliberately, drawing out the agony of pleasure, his hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles that made her pussy clench and release in desperate waves, the slickness of her juices coating his shaft and trickling down to pool beneath her. "You feel this, Marti? This curse-born fire that never fades?" he growled, his voice rough with the burden of his seven centuries, his cock pulsing inside her as if alive with the village's dark magic. She moaned louder, a primal sound that echoed through the mist-shrouded trees, her body responding with fresh gushes of wetness, the kind that only their immortal union could summon. His hands roamed her curves, pinching her hardened nipples until she cried out, the pain blending seamlessly into the fullness of his invasion, his thrusts now shallow and teasing, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in with a force that made her ass cheeks jiggle and her cunt squelch audibly. "Yes, oh fuck, yes—deeper, you feel so goddamn good," she pleaded, her words crude and urgent, the air thick with the musk of their coupling, her legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer, urging him to claim every inch of her quivering depths.

As the first ripples of her climax began to build, Christopher leaned in, his lips brushing her ear in a mockery of tenderness, his breath hot against her skin. "We pay for this, my love—every drop of cum, every scream," he murmured, his words laced with the sorrow of their shared eternity, even as he picked up speed, his cock pounding into her with brutal precision, the angle hitting that sweet spot deep inside that made stars burst behind her eyes. Her pussy contracted around him, milking him with rhythmic spasms, the wet sounds of their fucking growing louder, more obscene, as saliva dripped from her parted lips where she'd bitten down to stifle her cries. He could feel her tightening, her inner walls pulsing with the approach of release, and he matched it with his own, his balls drawing up tight, ready to flood her with the hot, sticky cum that marked their blessed bond. But he held back, savoring the torture, making her beg with filthy whispers—"Fill my cunt, Christopher, make me yours again"—until the tension shattered, and she came undone beneath him, her body convulsing in waves of ecstasy that left her trembling and spent.

Only then did he allow himself to follow, his release exploding forth in thick, ropy jets that painted her insides, the warmth spreading through her like liquid fire, their mingled fluids leaking out around his still-throbbing dick as he collapsed against her. The village of Black Hollow loomed in the distance, its timeless spires piercing the eternal fog, a place where the sun never fully rose and the nights stretched into infinity, mirroring the unending desire that bound them. Christopher pulled away slowly, his cock slipping free with a wet pop, glistening with their essence, and helped Marti to her feet, their naked forms bathed in the cool mist that did little to quell the heat still radiating from their skin. "We can't linger," he said, his voice steadying as the afterglow faded, the weight of his role as the village's preacher settling back upon him like a shroud. Together, they dressed in silence, the air heavy with unspoken regrets, before making their way toward the old church, where the echoes of their passion would soon give way to the solemnity of his sermon.

In the dimly lit sanctuary, Christopher stood before the congregation, his middle-aged facade hiding the ancient storm within, as he began his address with words that carried the echo of their recent intimacy. "In this frozen realm, where time bends but never breaks, we are bound by bargains forged in shadow," he intoned, his eyes scanning the faces of the immortals gathered—Mike's restless gaze, John's perceptive frown—while Marti, ever the teacher, sat poised at the rear, her mind already turning to the lesson she would impart later. The air in the church was thick with the same fog that cloaked the village, carrying faint whispers of the curse that thrummed beneath the floorboards, a reminder of the entity they guarded. As he spoke of sacrifices and eternal costs, Marti's hand absently traced the ache between her legs, a secret smile playing on her lips, her thoughts drifting to the raw power of their coupling and the way it mirrored the village's dark allure.

Meanwhile, on the outskirts, Mike Hollow felt the pull of the forest like a siren's call, his immortal body still thrumming with unspent energy from his own solitary indulgences earlier that day. The trees whispered secrets as he ventured deeper, his senses alive to the ominous undercurrents, while back in the village, John Mercer paused in the shadows, his brooding mind tuning into the faint, haunting murmurs that foretold an awakening evil, the tension coiling tighter around them all.

The Eternal Curse of Black Hollow