Wonderfully Wicked Things Ch. 02bypoisonbaby©
Our eyes twinkle in each other's sights, reflecting a peaceful enjoyment of another that few will ever know. Alas, our time is fleeting, for as one hand cradles my head the other raises the phone to your ear. Absently spoken one worded responses and a lingering glance, pregnant with hunger, and the sweetness ends in the reluctant push of a button.
With one fluid move you pull me up towards you and kiss my sore lips bruisingly hard. I feed them to you along with painful whimpers and feel your cock straining, rock hard against my hip. You pull off my mouth hard and before I can even wince I'm on my knees. Your hands grip my hair on either side of my head crushing your dolly's tender face against your groin.
"Well? Take out the cell phone ma petite. Someone needs to make a phone call."
I can feel and hear the mounting need inside you. You speak in a tone that sounds far too calm and controlled to be real. Your grip on the back of my head doesn't tighten or change but your hands are quivering and I know your forearms are as tense as they could ever become. It's as if, at any moment, desire could break through your straining arms and overcome us both. That quiver makes my mouth water. It makes me ache to free your cock and be fed. Instead, I blindly fumble for my pocket, and retrieve our mouse's phone.
You gather up my hair and yank my head back, giving me one more terrible smile that disappears suddenly, as if my surroundings have gone crashing out of place. The sound of your laughter comes into focus well before I've had the chance to register that the world around me is still in tact. It's your dolly who has been knocked down on her ass. I cock my head to the side and look up at you from where I've landed, letting my eyes roll in playful little circles to your mad delight.
I do so very much love how we play. It's no surprise we enact our parts so well. They are, after all, who we are. All it takes to start the show is the simple way you hold your hand up over your mouth, pretending to fan yourself like the mad French Dandy of the courts.
My vision is still filled with stars like pretty sparkling stage lights floating up all around me. I wish you could see them. Can't you just picture us, arm in arm, weaving through the crowds in our finest? Lace at your throat and your blue silk breeches, your white powdered wig and satin shoes. Your dolly decked out in chiffon confection with a dilapidated ribbon accenting each deliberate bounce and toss of moppet-like hair. We'd turn heads, don't you think, my dear Dandy? A sweet little girl and a bad bad man. What a show stopper.
Speaking of show stoppers. I swing one leg up and over framing mousy's splotched red face between my thighs. I look down and feel my agitation returning. I think I just figured out what it is that riles me so.
"I don't understand why she bothers to open them so widely. It's not like she sees any more or less that way, the stupid girl." I comment to you with a scowl.
I try. I really do. I'll admit its more of a compulsion on my part than a choice, but I have to give her every reasonable chance to do the right thing. If this goes wrong you'd damned well better believe its going to be on her head and in that case I'll need to know she had the opportunity to do the right thing, but its more than that really. To be honest? I secretly harbor the hope that somewhere behind those clueless bulging eyes there is something wonderful I can discover. Something I can pet and reward. Something perfectly lovely.
Now you know my little secret ... the real reason all brevity ends as I place the phone in her hands. The real reason I pause to look deeply into her eyes. I try to anyway, but oh its just no use. An exercise in futility that ends in a teeth gritting hiss.
"If you care", I pause one last time for emphasis, if only on principle, "If you care about what happens to you, then you do just as I say. You call your dear sweet grandmother, and you tell her that you have sent your friend Jasper over with her medicine. You are also to tell her that you thought you saw someone prowling around the house so you'd like her to let Jasper in to sit with her tonight, that you're working late."
Every word out of her mouth makes my knuckles whiten as I dig my fingernails into my knees. I look up at you, shaking my head, the rage building as you hold your hands out in resigned understanding. As she ends the call I leap to my feet.
My foot comes down hard atop of yours, still pinning the knife firmly between her breasts. The petulant child frees herself from all constraint and stomps in wounded frustration again and again as I shriek in outrage at the loathsome creature beneath me.
"You pathetic, awful, stupid mouse ... HOW COULD YOU?", I scream out in horror. "That man shouldn't be near anyone's sweet grandma. I should have known better than to give you the chance to care about anyone other than yourself."
I press the sole of my boot to her cheek, twisting the toe into the side of her mouth as I continue to rage at her. My entire body vibrates with tension in an effort to restrain this ravenous appetite I find myself consumed by.
There is a courtship taking place between my self control and the notion that there is a time and a place for everything ... and this is the time and the place to let go and luxuriate in righteous indignation. I'm finding I can be far too easily seduced.
"You stupid fucking mouse. If you weren't such a mindless, pathetic excuse for a human being your grandma would be safe right now. If you had bothered to actually look at me with those stupid bug eyes of yours, you would know that I had every hope of telling Jasper to come on back. Now your grandma is going to be in a lot of danger ... just how much depends on you, you disgusting pig!"
From time to time, I dream that I've jumped up into the air and much to my surprise there seems to be no constraint on how high I can soar. It's a very successful feeling at first as I register that this is not something I can ordinarily do. Inevitably, reality comes crashing in as I reach the height of my ascent and begin to plummet to the ground in an out of control free fall.
My disappointment and frustration, my rage and my disdain for something so ugly leap from my being with similar success. I can't account for what my body's doing or what I'm saying. I'm free of all constraint. Now there's a feeling not ordinarily available to me.
I'll have to assume that my rage has reached the height of it's ascent the moment my foot has raised itself over her face with every intention of driving down with everything I have on my target. Unlike my dreams, however, I find myself being denied the out of control free fall. My foot swings down full force and keeps extending as I feel myself lifted off the ground by my waist.
You pull me back to your side and once you've set me on my feet I crumple to the ground, burying my face against my knees. I'm instantly overcome with exhaustion. My muscles burn. My throat burns. My eyes burn and its then that I hear someone crying. It takes me a moment to realize that its me.
I can hear the sound of her body dragging across the ground. I muster up the courage to peek over my arm and to my relief I watch as you secure her to the bumper of an old car. Your belt is around her throat holding her upright to the hitch and I can now see just why it is you chose to intervene.
I shiver violently at the sight of the trickle of blood on her throat. Just a scratch, but my mind plays the alternative outcomes over and over in graphic detail.
'Had my foot landed...'
That's all I can think, all I can see and I'm not even sure what it is that has me so disturbed except perhaps the ugliness of it all. Yes, I think that's what it comes down to. Oh how I hate her for that and even now, as I sit here, filled with self reproach, I can feel the urge to lash out once again. Instead, I bury my face into my arm and weep.