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You’re rare. You’re precious. You’re mine.
Mortricia lost count of how many times those sweetly scary words wafted by her ears as her grandmother held her gently, her face pressed tight into the cloud of her brown wavy hair. The older she got, the less adventures Rita took her on, the more she began to look apprehensive when Mortricia sat in the passenger seat next to her, and the more she began to slip out alone for errands when Mortricia was asleep.
There’s no other M-Morty like you. No other. You’re s-so precious, Morty. Like a secret t-treasure.
She’s drunk beyond reason again. Rita always became so stubbornly clingy when she drank to this point, and she only became like this when something was really upsetting her, which was more often than not recently. Mortricia is lucky if she can get a few days where Rita is close enough to sober that she’s back to her snarky selfish persona, but lately is seems like all day she’s alone until her grandmother stumbles into her bedroom and pulls her into those lanky warm arms and whispers sweet nothings and gentle possessions to her.
Those other R-Ricks, they’re the worst. T-they’ll hurt you. I can’t let a-anyone hurt you. Even m-myself.
Right, the real reason behind this. A past adventure, the last real adventure Rita had taken her on, they had been confronted by another Rick and his Morty from the citadel. Mortricia remembers with a shudder how the Rick’s hungry eyes had raked down her body in appreciation, despite his cool tone as he spoke to Rita about business matters. She remembers his Morty looking at her with jealousy at the unwanted attention and wanting to scream before Rita tightly grabbed her side and practically carried her through the portal and far away from them.
Once on the other side, and safely back into their own garage, Rita had pulled Mortricia tight against her, bony hand shakily combing through her hair, and muttering curses of murder under her breath.
I’ll k-kill them all. I’ll kill a-any other Rick, any other M-Morty. I’ll do it if anyone ever l-looks at you like that a-again. If anyone even t-thinks like that, or lays a f-finger on you, t-they’re dead. They’re f-fucking dead, M-Morty.
“M-M-Morty…m-my sweet, d-dear Morty…” She mumbles, her face slipping from Mortricia’s hair, who recognizes the sign and lets her head fall back against the bed, giving her grandmother more room as her wet sour lips came down to mouth gently at her neck.
This is normal lately too. The first time Rita had been far gone enough to give Mortricia the smallest peck she’d ever received only to nearly make a break for the door if Mortricia hadn’t grabbed her and pulled her back in for a real kiss. She’d spent enough time battling her own disgusting interest in her grandmother, and she wasn’t going to let Rita show similar feelings and just walk away.
After months of gentle, small kisses that were only given in the private of either’s room or in the shuttle far from home, the last adventure incident unleashed a possessive starving lover in Rita that Mortricia was almost completely unprepared for. It was only mere hours after returning home did Mortricia lose her virginity in the suffocating cramped space of her grandmother’s bedroom with three fingers plunged deep inside her while a mantra of protection and ownership clouded her head and her body was assaulted with every love bite and hicky Rita could place before they both lost themselves in their orgasms.
Y-You’re a rare treasure, M-Morty. There’s no o-other M-Morty quite like you out t-there. And t-that’s why you’re mine, a-and mine only. I won’t let anyone take you from m-me.
Fat chance Mortricia would ever willingly leave. Like she’d ever give up the one thing she’d ever so desperately wanted. She’d long lost interest in any boys at school, no longer cared if her parents truly loved her or each other at all. The one thing she had always been able to count on was her grandmother’s need for her. The need for a companion, for someone who understood, who could hold all the secrets like a diary and know they won’t ever escape. Rita was that for Mortricia, and judging by all the run-around ways her aloof grandmother said “I love you”, Mortricia was that for Rita.
A need, not just a want. Rita needed her here, needed to have her frail granddaughter open and ready underneath her, and needed her here to receive all the dirt, love, hate, secrets, and any other possible things Rita kept locked up inside that iron-caste heart of hers.
Mortricia never felt more loved and appreciated in her entire life than when her grandmother showered her in praises no one else ever spoke while she stripped her of all her clothes and went down on her like it was a privilege.
Mortricia didn’t need any man, Rick or Morty or other, when Rita lacked any outward protruding genetalia but brought her to completion in ways Mortricia never even dreamed was possible. Using just her mouth or her hands, Mortricia became putty beneath Rita and was reduced to nothing but a vessel of adoration.
Even now in the too early hours of the morning and Rita only finally beginning to sober up, Mortricia feels like she’s experiencing her first time all over again as Rita hikes Mortricia’s body upwards with her ass pressed tight to Rita’s chest as the most awful but skilled tongue laves at her cunt in a way that makes Mortricia believe she truly is as precious as Rita says she is.
She cums hard against her grandmother’s eager mouth and in the midst of her recovery she happily opens her arms for Rita to crawl between so she can wrap herself tight around her dear granddaughter, wet face pressed snug against small soft breasts.
“You’re rare. You’re precious. You’re mine.”
“I-I love you too, R-Rita.”
And she lets her eyes close as the morning light finally pours in.