A Doll's House (PoW: Angelina Tarrant x Madeleine Citronelle)

[Malkavia]

Madeleine carried Angelina. She held her for a walk down the black, reflective entrance ramp that split the crowd, descending from one end of the stage like a rainbow bridge to Valhalla. She held her as they passed under the electrically lit silver and blue APEX letters, huge and high as clouds. She held her as they slipped past the thick black curtain just behind the golden LAW logo. For as long as Madeleine could hold her breath, the crowd was like her cape, flowing on every side and behind her, hung on her shoulders.

And then—they were back stage, in a hall of white cinderblock walls and fluorescent light. Madeleine's legs were numb. Her back ached, and when she dumped Angelina onto her feet, the Countess's knee finally went pop.

"Aaahah. Hooo."

She collapsed back-first into the wall, hands on both her knees, and slid almost to a seat, where she stayed propped up, breathing hard and waiting for the pain in every contour of her body to recede to something manageable. She felt as if she had been smashed full of uncountable cracks and crevices, and her heartbeat was slowly filling all the fissures in with a hot liquid that burned, then turned solid like glue. Or molten gold.

When she swallowed, a dry patch in her throat seized, and she licked her lips, tasting salt, and more than once she tossed her bangs out of her face. The tiara was crooked. Then, she looked up, and her eyes slithered over Angelina.

She felt like she was having history's most delicious coronary crisis. Angelina was naked—had been naked for some time, of course, but now Madeleine opportunity to appreciate it. As her breath slowed, she drank her limb by limb. Her ankles, her knees, the spoon where her thigh became her belly. Her bare neck and pink scar.

Madeleine wanted to kiss her—to pin her, back to floor, and force her tongue deep into her mouth and ride her.

Instead, she counted to five. She breathed in. And she counted to ten. Then she reached out, took the base of the crimson silicone dildo lodged on Angelina's anus, and pulled, and pulled, and pulled, until . Pop. It slipped free and gleamed in the light. Madeleine stared at it, eyes furrowed, as if she was not quite surprised by the toy but. Certainly puzzled.

I... don't have anywhere to put this.

Well it's not going back, dear.

Get a hand on the reins, you magnificent idiot. She clicked her tongue, smiling as a degree of straightness returned to her posture. With an almost playful flourish, she tossed it to her side, where it hit the floor and rolled against the wall, leaving a wet trail in its wake.

"I suppose one must pity the janitors at this place, hm? OOOOoooohffff." She made a noise like a bear as she stood, half groan and half growl. Finally, her look made it to Angelina's eyes. "You need a shower—well. We need a shower."

A semblance of control passed over the raw nub of Madeleine's feelings, like a crab receding back into its shell. She clasped her hands behind her back and smiled. "Any requests on how you like to be washed? Do you prefer a gentle wash or. More of a scrub?"

[Monsy]

Twice the prisoner. And with both times she lost, Angelina was carried.
She had safety in a sense. Not with Madeleine personally, but that they were finished, and that Madeleine would spare her a drop while looking so powerful. It let her tuck away from everything for a while, emotionally tired and physically drained. Legs swaying, hair sticky, and an ass full of fake dick.

A shell.

When they got to the back, Angelina was freezing, especially near her ass, ribs and all the way down her thin arms. Her legs didn’t quite kick in perfectly, but instead had a delay from command to execute. They walked slightly spread to account for the dick. Her hand stopped her from going into the wall. “Ow…”

It was good to keep her hand on the wall for now.
Her knees wanted an apology, as did her head. Being conked with an axe kick, then having her knees cranked to tears was like deliberating standing on dull blades. Full bodyweight. You get used to it, if you stand still, where it can grow and grow until you sit. Angelina didn’t see a seat.

So she mostly kept one hand on the wall, pointing a shoulder at Madeleine, putting a hand over her eyes then wiping down. She looked at her captor, almost sleepily, then peered back and..

“MYEEEP!!” Angelina hopped, hands on her ass and red on her face. OW, she wishes she would just say, and not this dumb noise. Her back arched and she rubbed her buttocks while wincing. “Son of a bitch…”

Angelina saw the soaked thing on the floor and widened her stare.
How the fuck did you fit in there…?
Doesn’t matter.
She saw it, then picked it up with wobbly legs and then inspected it between her two hands, unsure whether this was a momento or something to hate. It was her first time getting penetrated by anything dick-like. First time with tenderness, at least for a few fake moments… and definitely up the ass. For some reason, she thought one of these times would have sparkles to it, and that she’d glow for hours afterwards.

But. Madeleine snapped her from her thoughts. “Eh?”
And so she tied her hands behind her back, stared, then cocked her head and made a face.
“Washed?” That sounded like a mistake. So she tried correcting the sentence in her head, and came up blank. ‘Washed’

“I, uh, wash myself gently. Maybe once or twice a week I’ll use a scented body scrub like Moroccan Rose, but… That stuff hurts.” Her belly sucked in, feeling pinched and numb. She nodded three times. “Especially would today.”

If Madeleine didn’t totally cut her off, Angelina would lean to look down the hall, mostly sure of her surroundings. But, still: guess she’s strollin’ naked. “Think we can stop by my lockah first? My shit’s in there. Change a' clothes.”

[Malkavia]

"Of course, sweet. I'll need to get my things as well."

Through an effort of will, Madeleine managed to keep her face neutral, but her eyes glinted with fun. The sound Angelina made when the dildo slid out of her delicate, slender backside reminded her of the way a particularly playful violin might squeak—perhaps to musically represent a mouse scurrying to safety. Meep!

The two of them found the locker room deserted. The floor was hard tile, and their feet echoed through the cave-like acoustics—Clunck, clunck, clunck for Madeleine's heeled boots, and a softer, padded noise for Angelina's feet. Their lockers were in the same wide room as the shower stalls.

What to say?

They split for their separate lockers. As Madeleine turned the combination for her space, she hummed to herself. Hush little baby, don't say a word. Mockingbird, though her tempo was quick and the sound bright for a lullaby. She slipped off her boots first, realized with a start that she'd left her panties in the ring. Bit her lip. Pushed that coiling bit of frustration into her gut. Then grabbed her left hair ribbon between her index finger and pulled until it slipped out of her hair.

There was a mirror in the locker room, and Madeleine turned to face it.

"Hum."
Madeleine had spent many hours of her life looking into a mirror. Sometimes she might be seated, a makeup specialist seeing to the finishing touches to her presentation just prior to a public appearance on behalf of her company. Just earlier today, she had spent the better part of an hour checking over her wrestling gear, tying the bows to be perfectly symmetrical, smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt.

Soon she was undressed and could look over her naked body. Her bad knee had swollen to be noticeably larger, a red and black splotch of pain. Looking at it made it hurt much worse—and the rest of her body had its share of bruises and blemishes. She bit her upper lip, frowning. Her eyes flowed over her own skin, systematically searching for each blemish and imperfection. Though perhaps "imperfection" was the wrong word. After all, weren't there people who thought battle scars were sexy? Particularly when they were emblems of endurance. Skill. Willpower.

Soon enough she was finished. Still humming, with a towel and change of clothes under her arms, she sidled around to Angelina's locker.

What...to...say?

There was ice here—ice several feet deep. It would be tricky to crack it. Instead of saying anything, Madeleine simply slid up behind her kitten, wrapped her arms around her waist, and rested her chin on the girl's shoulder.

[Monsy]

Madeleine says Sweet.
Angelina hears Bitter.
Her ear didn’t like the taste of that word anymore. At least for now; a passive annoyance when someone says the word over fifty times in one meeting, but she also knew there was salt inside her blood, her head and just about everywhere.
It boiled much quicker, and she knew exactly why — Losin sucked dick.

So, she focused on better things. QUESTIONS! Questions. It was her fourth POW match, and she somehow tumbled into losing three of them. It didn't matter, though. She ALWAYS went to her opponent's place, and she thought of the same things...

What exactly would their home look like anyway?
Big and grand? Something compact, streamline, white and granite and high-up like a penthouse? A shit-shack?
Hotel room, because she’s too smart to let her inside the actual home?
God I hope they don't have a dog...Dogs suck.

Thinking about just ten minutes ago… She didn’t quite know. But it was silence well-spent, while she also focused on NOT walking like a penguin. Her everything down there was sore, but she was relieved to have the locker room empty. She didn’t want to deal with eyes, even her own. She’d remove them if she could. And when they split, Angelina opened her space and a mirror was attached to the backside. She grimaced. There was a black knapsack splattered with green, purple, red and yellow spray paint adventures. There were clothes inside the bag, within another shopping bag. Her shower kit was in there too -- along with the phone.

She grabbed the former first, then felt an embrace. Her belly reflexively sucked in. A ticklish sensation that soon became warm, and she relaxed. Right — Hello. Angelina didn’t react at first. She didn’t trust the intentions. She thought of her ear, crusted with blood at the top corner and down. Red.

Best not to start shit until I am ready…
So after a moment of closing her eyes and working up phantom energy to socialize, she grinned, then turned towards Madeleine with a hand held mirror in one hand, and wrapped arms around her neck. Her sweaty body pressed boob to boob. “Heya, Countess. Welcome to my personal space.” She glanced down. When did you get naked?

Still, she continued, her head cocked. “Think I can still wear that Tiara?” She tilted her head more to be smaller and glance up. “Puh-lease?”

[Malkavia]

Madeleine sighed, then clicked her tongue. "Tsk. Angelina, it's lovely to see your smile again. And you know. A part of me does want to let you hold on to that tiara, if it makes you happy. Buuuut." The Countess shrugged, as if rolling the idea like a ball from one shoulder to the other. Considering it. Her head, for the time being, had no Tiara; it was waiting for her in her locker. "For now, I think we'll have to say maybe."

"But! For the moment." She let her hands rise to Angelina's shoulders. "As your host, I insist you take the hot water first." A gentle shake emphasized the word insist before releasing Angelina. The showers had opaque glass doors for privacy, and Madeleine grabbed the silver handle of one and pulled it open. Inside, a mobile showerhead — the kind that can be lifted from its holster and directed by hand — waited for them. It had a wide, black face and offered a variety of power settings on a selector dial about its nozzle.

"Choose a temperature to your liking, and I'll be right behind you."

Madeleine stood by the shower stall door, naked with a towel over her shoulder and a basket of perfumed cleaning agents at her feet. If she thought anything was odd about her request, it did not show in her face. She smiled, friendly and relaxed...though perhaps there was a hint of an excited energy flickering just behind her eyes—the way she bobbed on the balls of her feet, the way her smile stretched just a little too wide.

"You are about to be the cleanest, my dear pet, you have ever been."

[Monsy]

Angelina feigned a deeper disappointment by rolling out her bottom lip. Not to comical levels, but enough that she intended it to be noticed. "Damn..." This was scratching towards her main goal — one that hadn’t formulated yet. It was a concept. For some reason, step two was obeying Madeleine perfectly, let herself shake, then looked at the open showers. Clean, more tile, with a shadow in one corner where a wall caught off the nearby light-source. A shower seat was on the left and looked to be an extension of the wall, flowing over with tile, then a steel trim to smooth it out. Angelina stared at them and scrutinized that smile for a couple seconds.

“I thought I was the dirty little rat.”

She was smug after that.
‘My dear pet’ was somethin' good though, in its own weird way, so she entered. Once she felt half-alone, she let her eyelids sag and lips fall flat. She rubbed the corners of her eyes using a stretched middle finger and thumb, then pulled the lever with her free hand. The water ran colder than Madeleine's heart. Her back arched and she shivered. “TSK!” An eye closed, then she turned it, “Showah demon.. Be…” and over to hot, then warm… “Gone.” It had a slight steam to it and she continued to make minor adjustments as Madeleine peeked. She grabbed the head and pointed it at Madeleine’s naked legs.

“How’s that? Good enough for my marvellous Mastah?”

[Malkavia]

I thought I was a dirty little rat. Madeleine's eyebrows pressed ever so slightly together, forming an almost imperceptible crease in her forehead. For three ticks along Madeleine's mental clock, Angelina looked her in the face. Thinking while Madeleine thought. The splash of water along Madeleine's calves made her blink. She did not flinch—not quite. But it was a close call.

Madeleine's dimples winked as she shook her head, hung her towel on the hook outside the stall, and slipped into the shower. The door shut with a single CLANG behind her. "I think it feels lovely, yes. Nice and warm. Now."

She took the showerhead from Angelina and fixed it in a holder at a high point on the wall. A wide fan of water soaked them each, and as the steam fogged the door and covered Madeleine in warmth, her cheeks turned rosy, and much of the strain of the moment seemed to wash out of her. She settled, as if stepping down from an uncomfortable dais to the floor. She took Angelina by her shoulder on one side, and her hip on the other and, if she was allowed, directed her under the water.

"If you'd be so kind, dip your head back." The hand on Angelina's shoulder lifted and cupped her cheek, like a stylist. Tender, precise, and on a specific mission. She was careful not to touch the scar on Angelina's neck. Once the water ran over the thin red sheet of Angelina's hair, Madeleine began to comb her fingers through. Once the hair was soaked, she'd bend down and grab the shampoo Angelina had brought for the occasion. Madeleine dolloped the cleanser liberally into her hands and rubbed them together until a thick lather covered her hands and the rich scent of soap and fruity perfume filled the stall. Then, she began to knead the suds into Angelina's scalp.

"I want you to remember what I'm about to say, Angelina." The Marauder had requested a gentle rub—something sensitive to how sore and tired the match had left her. And at first, Madeleine touched her with an airbrush sensitivity. As she dug into Angelina's scalp, however, her movements became stronger, more insistent. She was not rough, but she dug her nails into the skin, then pulled them along her hair to the tips, determined to clean every inch.

"Master is not the right word. You lost, mhm. No denying that. But that doesn't mean I can't respect you, or find you..." She leaned in, as her efforts at applying the shampoo reached the top of Angelina's head, almost to her bangs. Madeleine's lips were close to Angelina's ears. "Sssssweet. And if you feel like a rat." The water poured from the shower in a hot arc wrapped in thick vapor, loud and rushing and as harsh as Madeleine's grip. "We'll just have to scrub until you feel clean."

[Monsy]

The showerhead left her hands and Angelina let her arms fall. A smile, weak but maintainable, propped up in a casual sense to cloak silent stress. Grabbed, she stiffened into a board, tight back and calves from holding herself docile. The water cascaded her back and she shivers at first from the temperature change. It mostly goes down her back. Her shoulders lift. A question pops, “Why?”

Soap! Is why.
It's fresh-smelling and vibrant with fruity goodness soaking scarlet strands. But the hands are invasive, feel more like tentacles and are prodding and trying to squirm into her brain. Her neck tightens and her chin shrinks. She glances downward. Her heel begins to bounce. Her hands go up and grab Madeleine. One hand on the shoulder, the other on the ribs. Tightly clasped, with claws. Almost a slow dance.

And as the foam and product trail down the long journey of hair going down her back, she grows a sense of impatience.

"I want you to remember what I'm about to say, Angelina.”
“Uh-huh?”

And she absorbed the rest. The harder scrub was making her wince. That act one axe-kick conked her shit. And it wasn’t just that. She was alert. Expecting something. Or some sort of threat when Madeleine came close to her ear and Angelina glanced away, pink on her cheeks. “Th…Thanks? I think.” Angelina bit her tongue. Words wanted out and she was curling her toes trying to settle in. That seemed like the smart option. “What… do ya get from washin’ me anyway? Ya do this to every gal?”

[Malkavia]

"What do I get from it?"

Madeleine twisted the question around in her head, considering it from several angles. It was a fair question, even if she thought the answer should be obvious. By now, the shampoo had washed out of Angelina's hair, streaming down her legs in thin, soapy lines to puddle at her feet and then slip down the wide, circular drain. Madeleine paused long enough to grab a bottle of body-wash. It was a lemon-scented formula, free of sulfates and rich with shea butter, which gave it a thick, creamy texture.

"I think. Among other things. It's a way for us to get to know each other."

By now, steam had rose to fill the shower, dense enough that it made Angelina look hazy through the fog. Warm water coated the inside of Madeleine's mouth and nose as she breathed. She had worked the body-wash into a lather. She cupped Angelina's shoulders in her hands and guided her out of the water, slipping under the stream herself. Then, Madeleine prepared to rub the soap over Angelina's body.

"You might think after a match like that, I'd have my fill, but it's different when I'm not maneuvering to stay on top of you, isn't it? I get to take care of you. I want to get you clean and warm and ready for whatever else today might have in store for us..."

Madeleine's lips felt loose as her eyes trailed down Angelina's back, backside, and legs. She scouted dangers—scars. Bumps. Bruises. Details to Angelina's surface she would need to touch with special care, or — in the case of the scars — perhaps not at all. Her palms pressed into Angelina's back and began to spread the soap like paint.

She did not shy from Angelina's breasts. After rubbing the suds over her shoulders, throat, and chest, she took hold of one breast and squeezed, pressing her palm over the nipple. She repeated this movement for the other side, then rubbed wide circles down her navel. Dodging the trouble spots...and nothing else.

Her hands trailed over the bellybutton, and Madeleine felt her nipples turning erect despite the heat. She bit her tongue, as pressure inside her lower belly squeezed much too hot. Much too needy. The whole end of the match had been one triumphant tease, and she still hadn't had the chance to let off all that rumbling steam. Almost subconsciously, she pulled Angelina against her, pressing her soapy back into Madeleine's chest. Her head spun, and she could feel the glow from the post-match high receding into aches and exhaustion. The support of Angelina's body felt sweet in the Countess's thighs. She swallowed, hard, as her hands spread lather further and further down the fast tapering line of Angelina's navel.

"Speaking of." Her voice had become husky in defiance of her efforts at keeping her words light and even. "Have you put any thought into how you'd like to spend our first day?"

[Monsy]

Angelina’s hair was hugging the bottom of her buttocks. More formed over her ears like a hat, with tresses also over her shoulders and onto her chest. The water falling had a faint red from hair dye. It didn’t really change the hue and mostly came off the ends. It was just one reason why she preferred a slightly cooler shower for her hair.

‘Get to know each other.’

Was one way to put it. She had thoughts about the future. She wouldn’t call it anxieties, but an ominous itch that she’d be rolling over into something perhaps less ideal. The uncertainty aspect. As a loser, sure, it was honour-bound to accept such a thing. And she listens: steps out of the water without a hitch, awaits to be padded down as she’s staring forward at the wall, confused, slightly tight at the shoulders and being talked through her first memory of care. Selfless or selfish.

Did she really need to just submit, though?

Touchdown. Hands on her back. “Easy.” Angelina said in reflex. “Ow-” Again, a reflex. She curls her back, grows an inch and tippy-toes before going down. Her chest puffs out, arms up, then massaged into a longing sensation. Pins and needles go up her spine. The same kind when she feels a threat. Her throat got a little tight. Then down her belly, sore and frightful, sucks in then pushes out against Madeleine’s hand. Her head tilts. She sighs, and feels a tingly sense that makes her want to shuffle a heel. Stomp-stomp-stomp. But the longer it went, the more she welcomed it and felt warm all over.

Inside her chest. Pit-pat. Pit-pat. Contentedness? Or just adrenaline?

She backed into Madeleine’s hold, stood there and looked down. For a while now, her grip was on those wrists, then moved to shadow her fingers. She wanted to guide them to places that would treat herself. And that was starting here, stroking her bruises, her faded V and over her core’s shape. But for a while too, her face was flat.

That was until asked. Angelina thought consciously like a chess player before her exhaustion bit her brain cells and tossed the board straight out. She held Madeleine’s hands, then delicately turned herself. Her pair mushroomed into Madeleine’s own bosom, and she can more readily feel something poking. To hell with it.

She smirked, “Nnnope.” She said with pride, lying. “I was bankin’ on my ass-kickah to have an itinerary.”

Again, a lie. She did think about an answer though. How to poke and prod something out of them. Feel the grounds of what Madeleine Citronelle was like when fun met the circus. She looked them in the eye, tilting her head. “Does ya majesty like games? We can play one like… Treat the rat to fancy food. Now that’s caregivin’, right?”

Her triceps went onto Madeleine’s collar, then extended, forearms over forearms, partially bent and lazy. Her lips pursed to one side and her tone became cheeky. “By the way. Since ya reek, what’s the washin’ plan? Solo, or can I be ya mothah teresa, and tend to ya feet again?”