You awaken to natural sunlight slipping through a crack in your curtains. You groan and shift away, but you fail. There's a weight on your arm preventing you moving.

It's Chompy of course. She's sleeping soundly in your arms, facing away from you. You press your face into the fluff of her hair, earning a soft, loving yawn from your sleepy lover. You remember cuddling up to her when you finally drifted off to sleep, which was difficult after the ordeal last night.

That's right, you remember. Your home was invaded by your neighbor, a perverted booette with a voyeurism kink. You realize you should get up soon, so you can catch up to your landlady Spora before she disappears until the late afternoon. Now that you think about it, you don't know at all what she does when she goes missing during the day – is it work? Does she visit friends? Whatever it is, it takes up eight hours of her day, from nine o' clock in the morning to five o’clock clock in the afternoon. You'll want to catch her before then, otherwise you'll have to wait until the evening to tell her about the problem.

Chompy turns to nuzzle into your bare chest, and you hug her as you look at the clock – 7:02. You have lots of time. Perfect for a quick shower and a hearty breakfast, and dressing up nic--

A tight grip finds itself on your loins, taking you by surprise. Before you can look down to confirm your suspicions, Chompy attacks, sinking her teeth into your shoulder – the same shoulder as always.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts! It also makes all the blood in your body rush into your erogenous zones, but that's beside the point. You yell at her to stop, but it seems she’s too sleepy to understand. Or maybe she doesn't care. Either way, she pushes you into your back and throws the sheets off of you both. She straddles your hips, still latched to your shoulder with her mouth as she guides your erect length into her welcoming warmth.

You should be used to it by now, honestly. You try to think of how 'not all relationships need sex all the time' and 'she doesn't need to do this for you’, but let's be real with ourselves here. You enjoy it. And So does she. It's that simple. A little section in your brain accepts this truth, and you let yourself give in.

Chompy breathes heavily, slobbering on your shoulder as she begins forcing her hips down onto yours, her movements just as frantic and hungry as the other times she's done this. The cold metal of her collar presses onto your exposed chest, a reminder of what happened last night. You place a hand on her bottom as she rides you, and the other on her own hand holding the bed for support. She twitches at your touch, and the moan that escapes her let you know it was a good move.

You slowly push her onto her back, and she lets you. Now on top of her, you manage to detach her from your shoulder, though not without her whimpering sadly. You touch the wet, sore spot she loves biting and wince from the sensation. You look down at Chompy to see her looking into your eyes, a puppy stare of adoration on her face. You ignore the pain and smile, and you begin rocking your hips. You hold her hands and kiss, and she wraps her legs around your waist and groans into your mouth.

You're not just having sex anymore. You're making love. You love each other. You don't stop thinking about it. You love her, so much. Is that pathetic or something, falling in love with a less-than-cognitive woman that might not have been a girl at all, or even humanoid, last week? Is it bad that you've only known her for less than forty-eight hours? The nagging voice goes away when Chompy, on the verge of tears of joy, presses her face into the side of your neck. She doesn't bite, and instead places a kiss against your hot skin and beating pulse. She loves you. She loves you and you love her and it doesn't matter she was a chain chomp or that you met her just yesterday. All that matters is that love, and you focus on that love as you reach your peak, shoving your thick rod into her and spilling your seed within.

You hold her close, hugging and squeezing and whispering declarations of love in her ear as you shoot your load into her quivering, clamping hole. As you ride your last wave of pleasure, you place your lips on Chompy’s and give her a deep kiss, to which she happily, if a little sloppily, returns. Even when you’re done, you just hold her, kissing and embracing.

You’re completely spent. You lay on the bed, catching your breath, just holding your princess tight in your arms. Even Chompy is exhausted – the princess lays on you like a dead weight, panting and heaving for air. After spending some time in each other’s arms, and having finally caught your breath, you gently move Chompy beside you, laying her on the bed. You give her one last kiss before turning to sit up on the edge of the mattress.

Glancing at the clock, you see it’s now 7:38. Not bad. You begin mapping out your morning routine as you get off the bed and make way for the bathroom, carefully accounting for the time you just spent getting intimate with Chompy. You'd have to take a good shower to get the heavy scent of sex off of you, leaving you with just enough time to eat a quick breakfast so that you’d still have time to look decent when you talk to Spora. You tell Chompy to stay where she is and be good as you take a bath.

Chompy barks and jumps off the bed, then races to squeeze herself through the bathroom door. She's still quite fast, despite her pajama pants pooling at her ankles, and manages to crash into you in the shower. You laugh and ask if she wants a bath too, to which she yips happily in response.

---

You suck in air through clenched teeth as you pump your hips into Chompy's. Chest to chest, her face pressed against your neck, her on her tiptoes and you on slightly bent knees, and your arms wrapped around one another. You place your hands on her buttocks and squeeze, and the delightful gasp Chompy lets out only drives you to pound her harder. You're deep inside her again, once more fucking her senseless in the shower. Cold water washes over the both of you as hot sweat and sex fluids run down your bodies.

You place your hands on her butt and squeeze – the gasp Chompy let’s out only driving you to move your hips faster. She holds you close, pressing her body against yours as you pound away. She grasps onto your back and slowly pulls you so she can lean her back on the wall. All the while she breathes hot and heavy on your nape. Cold water runs down and cools you, only for her to heat you up again, and so on.

You keep going at it, fucking her against the wall, to the steadily quickening beat of her breath in your ear. Faster, faster, until all Chompy can utter is moans and yips with only the splashing of water and slapping of skin to accompany her. And then, release. You bury yourself in her burning folds and drop rope after rope of your cum into her waiting womb. She quivers and cries out, trembling in your embrace as she feels you fill her up again. You wait for a few seconds, letting her inner walls milk you to the last drop before pulling out. A mix of her cum and yours floods out of her now unplugged pussy.

With a satisfied bark, Chompy perks up and starts kissing you, seemingly back to full energy. You yourself feel like your knees may give out at any time. You'll want to catch your breath before talking to Spora.

Oh, right.

You turn off the water in one hand and quickly open the shower door with the other, peeking your head out to check the time on your phone. 8:06. That's enough time to take a actual bath, for real this time, and maybe grab an energy bar on your way out.

You re-enter the shower and turn on the water, shushing the excited Chompy in there with you. You pet her and tell her that you're in a rush, so no more funny business until you come back later.

Chompy barks, seemingly understanding you. She let’s you bathe her and yourself with no resistance.

---

Chompy let’s out a cry as you slap her ass again, a mix of pain and pleasure, as you tug on her chain and bend her over the kitchen table. Her face is squished against the cold surface of your bargain bin table, drool pooling at her cheeks As you passionately and rhythmically slam into her molten box, she gazes at you over her shoulder with a look of love bordering on obsession.

You can't get enough of it. The sensation, the warmth, her reactions and the ways she looks at you, it’s all too addictive. The sound of her moans and cries, the look of crazed ecstasy she makes when you treat her roughly, her heartwarming reactions of adoration, it’s all too much for you. You can't believe your luck that you found her, that she’s with you and she loves you the same way. You must be the luckiest person in the world, you think.

Or would that be her? You saved her from that abandoned dungeon, gave her clothes and food and a home. Maybe you’re just lucky to have each other.

It’s getting increasingly hard to think, as the undeniable sounds of sex and Chompy's lusty moans get louder and louder. Then you hit your peak, and it becomes completely impossible to maintain your higher faculties. You let your instincts take the reins as you reach orgasm, and your instincts tell you yank her chain one last time, bend down and bite her shoulder, and shoot your seed as far and as deep as physically possible – you’re happy to obey.

You never questioned why Chompy loved biting you – she's a chain chomp, that's what they do – but you never really wondered how she would feel if you but her instead. And as you bite down on her shoulder hard enough to leave a mark, but no more than that, you find the answer to the question you didn’t know you had. Chompy's eyes roll to the back of her head, her tongue lolls about of her mother was she screams a soundless scream. Her arms give out under her as her legs twitch rigidly, and her red hot walls clench hard on you like they've never clenched before. A torrent of her feminine fluids squirts out of her and spills all over the kitchen floor as you dump today’s third load into her. You’re left breathless and speechless as Chompy convulses on you.

After a while of this orgasmic bliss, you finally pull out your numb member, prompting Chompy to collapse on her knees with a weak bark. Feeling as though your knees could give out too, you sit your ass down on the nearest chair and try to catch your breath and think. That was loud, louder than usual. Looking down at Chompy on her knees trying to haul herself up using the table, and looking at the pool of her liquid love floor, you also realize it’s pretty messy. You didn't think she's have that kind of reaction, but you’re glad you do now. Wiping sweat off your brow, you think to yourself that you really hope your pervert neighbor didn’t see that.

Wait.

You look at the clock. 9:02.

Shit.

---

You step out of your room, shirt slightly askew and sweat hastily wiped off with a paper towel, just in time to find the elevator about to close. You yell for whoever may be in there to hold the door to no avail, as the doors shut just before you can get a look inside. You rush downstairs to catch the elevator, and from the bottom of the stairs you see Spora on her way out of the building. You run and call her name once more, and she finally turns back.

She pulls up her designer shades to regard you with a smile and quick rover eyes as you slow to a halt before her. You greet her a good morning between huff’s of breath.

“Good morning, darling,” she responds with a sultry tone. “Did you need something? I was just about to go shopping.” Before you can respond, she continues, “Oh me oh my, you’re a mess, dear. Just woke up?” she asks with a sly chuckle. She playfully pat’s down and parts your hair with one hand, and you try not to blush. “Much better!” she says, having decided she’s done with your hair. “Now, what was it you had in mind?”

She's still smiling that smile of a confident woman – not a girl, a woman. Hardly the smile she used to have before putting on the crown.

You thank her timidly before you tell her that you wanted to tell her that, and this may sound crazy, the apartment next to your own is haunted, and that you feel like the matter should be handled soon.

“Ah, I see you’ve met Therese,” Spora says. “She’s cute, isn’t she?” Spora then laughs a lady's laugh at your dumbfounded expression. She knew one of her own tenants is a ghost? “Well, she usually keeps to herself,” Spora continues. “Is she giving you a problem?”

You nod, and tell her that 'Therese' entered your apartment without your permission, and attempted to scare you in the middle of the night.

“That’s quite unlike her,” Spora comments. Does she know her well? “Did she do anything else?”

You swallow your spit and place a hand on your nape, and your neck instinctively cranes down before you explain. The ghost was. Er, well, she was. Um.

“Hmm? Speak up, darling.” Spora gets closer, the space between you no, or lack thereof, only making it hard to spit it out.

Figurative spaghetti threatens to spill out of your pockets at any moment, but then a spark in Spora’s eyes and her sudden, surprised look signal that she understands the nature of the incident.

The surprised look slowly but surely changes, as Spora’s eyelids droop down into a smug expression, and she turns her chin up as she puts a palm over her glossy blue lips. “Oooh, my,” she says in a low tone. “That’s actually something she may do, yes. Always seemed like the type.”

Spora places a tentative hand on your shoulder, prompting you to turn your head back up and make surprised eye contact. She gives you a wide, genuine smile that catches you off guard. Your heart may have skipped a beat just then.