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

[Malkavia]

"Um—"

Images hit Madeleine’s inner eye like an unexpectedly pornographic webpage. She imagined Angelina in white, silky panties, a golden collar around her neck. Madeleine held the scarlet leash, while the sweet pet tended to her feet while she gazed up at The Countess.

Back in the shower, Madeleine swallowed, then looped her arms over Angelina’s shoulders. She smiled, and adjusted her weight. "—Of course. Trust me when I say I could use a bite myself. First thing on the agenda will be to take my kitten somewhere…" Madeleine pursed her lips and clicked her tongue. Yes, she knew just the place. "Memorable."

"I guess, though…" Mentally, Madeleine caught her breath and brought herself back to ground level. The room was warm and safe, and she had her schedules in place. Among these was a checklist her mind was already flitting through: Condition the hair, apply soap to the face, neck, armpits, breasts, belly… "That’s really priority two. One and a half, let’s call it. The first priority will be to get you dressed after this. I have a lovely outfit for you. I think you’ll find it quite to your style. A bit silky for you, perhaps, but. Black."

…And then she was at the end of the checklist. Angelina was clean. Madeleine took one more moment to let her eyes flit over her body, then nodded. A job well done.

"As for me…"

By now, the air around Angelina was rich with floral and fruity smells, so thick that Madeleine could taste it as she leaned in and tried to press her lips to Angelina’s. She rotated, stepping into the hot downpour and nudging Angelina out. As she did, however, Angelina shifted her face, and the kiss landed on her cheek. Madeleine’s body stiffened, fingers clenching—then she relaxed. Madeleine pressed her forehead to Angelina’s. Her eyes twinkled. Then, she let go.

"It would make my heart soar, Angelina, if you’d be so good as to help me wash."

[Monsy]

Two delicate yearns balanced inside her. One wanted to push her body onto Madeleine the more she heard the term ‘my’ before a title. She wanted to hear it again, sweeter, longer, and then again. Then the other wanted to grab Madeleine’s blonde hair, wet, dry, flaky or sweaty, and yank clumps until she squealed how many people that title was for…

Then if that answer was more than one...

Angelina curled her fingers into soft fists, safely out of view. “Memorable…” Her brows lifted for a tick. And before she can ponder what that means, Madeleine moved on.

“Huh? You did?? That’s kinda insane…” Her chin tucked in, breath mildly stolen. Just what are you up to was her main thought, and something she wanted to ask this momma from the books. Just how did she know her size, anyway? Is this a mockery type outfit? Was this always the plan? A tradition?

Angelina’s lips went narrow, then her head turned away. She came back to the moment, foreheads kissed like her cheek. Her eyelids froze and smile lukewarm.

“Your wish is my dream come true.”

She started by walking, arms around each other, step, step and right towards the stall wall where the water’s stream arced behind Angelina and the steam was thick. “Wait here, please.” Angelina said, dabbing Madeleine on her forehead.

Pivoting, Angelina stepped twice to go under the water and then out, bent over, finger-hooked the basket and slid it over to the opposite wall where Madeleine was — not before grabbing the sulphate free citrus shampoo. She made damn well to fill her hand with a glob of it, humming, then re-appeared before her majesty, eager to get started. Kinda. The humming stopped. “Claws, or no claws?” Her mouth curled into bunches after she said that. “It’s… my first time doin’ this. How do ya want to be treated? I mean, washed.”

[Malkavia]

The first few seconds in the stream of water always felt lovely as it washed over her skin, scraping away the day's exhaustion. The water tickled as it drizzled down her scalp. Madeleine closed her eyes and let her mind run over every lovely, silky detail of the moment.

Angelina was impressed with the gift Madeleine prepped for her kitten. Insane? No, sweet. Just foresight and a clear eye for what she wanted. Angelina Tarrant. The name felt softer in Madeleine's mind every moment, as if the name were soaking up the sweet taste of pale young girl in front of her, who slipped so quickly out of the shower. Eager, perhaps? Eager to please? The Countess imagined her curled in her lap. "Don't be long, kitten."

While Angelina Tarrant was outside the stall, Madeleine breathed. In. Out. Warm and, she thought, safe, which made it easy to get drowsy, to start to nod—to put too much weight on her knee. Her bad knee, and that meant a shoot of pain up her thigh. Her teeth clenched, and she stumbled to her side. She had the presence of mind to keep her mouth shut and quiet as her palm pushed flat against the cold tile wall.

Angelina stood outside the shower stall, hunched over something out of sight — the shower basket most likely. Carefully, Madeleine pushed away from the wall. She regained her balance, mindful now to keep her weight on her good knee. Her heart pounded, but when she closed her eyes to breathe and re-center her feelings, she felt, or imagined, another spike of pain. Her anus, dilating. Intruded on while the audience watched and...

Madeleine's jaw clenched in anger. An image rose from inside her of Angelina naked on her knees with a throat full of the strap between Madeleine's legs. Loops of scarlet rope strapped the rat's arms together, pulled so tight it made the skin in the gaps turn purple. Madeleine's hands formed fists, and she imagined cuffs around the rat's wrists. Ankles. Throat. The cuffs were cold, iron. Not gold. The rat whined, shivering as The Countess thrust inside her again and again.

“Claws or no claws?”

Madeleine caught her breath. When she peeked through her eyelids, and she saw Angelina standing there, hands covered in suds, she imagined the iron ring around her throat. A wave of desire curled between her legs, and she shut her eyes.

"I think..." Breathe in... She smiled. Breathe out. Mentally, she imagined herself unlocking the collar and letting it dissolve. Blub blub. "Right now, I'd like to be washed gently, if you would." She opened her eyes and looked into Angelina's sweet kitten face. "I'd like to be...caressed." She reached out with her hand, brushed her fingertips across Angelina's cheek, and cupped her jaw. "Can you do that for me, sweet pea?"

[Monsy]

When do we get her back? Was a thought she had. It seemed to be a prerequisite. At least, she should want that right now. Be petty or throw up a fuss. Strangle her blue or hang her upside from a ceiling, bat in hand, pinata style. Her eye would twitch if she let things stand for too long. Something would come out sooner or later, right?

She wasn’t certain. This whole experience has been a re-fuckin'-evaluation of herself. And what she wanted was something else she had trouble fathoming. So she canned it for now. The soap and suds and returning to Madeleine becoming a top priority -- as quickly as her swollen knees allowed. Madeleine's request was loud and clear. An insistent permission to lather her in soapy fragrance until Angelina wanted the smell for herself. With pleasure, she'd tell herself internally.

Externally, something else comes out. Her cheek lifts into a crease. “Is it Sweat Pea or Kitten?” A visible attitude and judging squint reflexed. Being this tired had its drawbacks. Her already short sightings of consequences swamped by diluted thinking. But. She tries to recover it. “Sure.”

Then, she plops her hand full of suds onto The Countess's beautiful head, a little rougher than intended. “My bad.”

She moves on, using two hands on Madeleine's scalp with feather pressure on her fingerpads. No nails. She took time finger combing Madeleine’s golden blonde tresses in bunches, with precious attention to clean each with care until free of stink and built-up ugly oils. Then, it was bending over for citrus-scented body wash. A similar product that squeezed perfection from the first squirt and glob in her hand.

She starts at the collar. “Ya… nevah ansah’d my question,” Angelina said.
Her hands worked loose. Her fingers hook and grab, feeling Madeleine’s body, gently, spreading across to map it and remember it. She got to the arms, and felt strength; a tinge of pink blush over as she went over Madeleine’s hands. Her fingers slip between Madeleine's, palm-to-palm, squeeze, then sift over to the back of the hand. Then do the other side.

Another bend over. Another bit of body wash. Angelina stood up, slower this time. Her eyes dip down, staring casually at Madeleine’s chest and all-around form, as she reached around and caressed her back in descending circles, repositioning herself to Madeleine’s flank.

“I asked if ya treat a lot of girls like this. Showahs. Dinnah. House tours and all the pretty nicknames and collahs.” -- Angelina leans against Madeleine for a moment, her chest against Madeleine’s arm, chin just over the shoulder, her smaller arms wrapping around Madeleine's waist, stroking, but also groping her belly, and some palm pressure with a tracing index in the spreading soap. The foam being shared between them.

Strawberry. Lemon.

Angelina steps to the front again. One last time, she bent over, then let herself slip to her knees. “shit!” And the pinch inside both knees suddenly spiked. She was reminded how much she hated not being carried at this point. So she sat, underneath the shower stream, then scooched. One leg between Madeleine's legs, and one leg on the outside. Sighing, she reaches up and grabs handfuls of Madeleine’s leg, then fondles down. Being so close to the basket, Angelina was very liberal on the soap here. From the hips to behind the knees, over them, the good one, the bad one, then down the shins.

She lifted Madeleine’s foot. Her palm and fingertips massaged the sole, squeezed with a clamp over the top, then weaved her fingers between the toes and over. She did it twice for each foot, holding them just over her tits, staring down. “If we’re gonna play the Mastah Madsy game, I should at least get a consistent nametag.”

[Malkavia]

It would have been easy to become fixated on this or that defect in Madeleine's experience — the shower facilities, for example, and the many ways they fell short compared to those in her home. The water was just a bit too harsh, the tile a bit too hard, and there was no red infrared bulb in the ceiling she could flip on to gently bake her skin.

But—It was easy to find fault. Following a stress management routine well-practiced over the years, Madeleine let her mind slip from one dissatisfaction to the next, until she landed on something sweet.

As her eyes lidded, she felt Angelina's hands on her body. She cringed when Angelina asked a stupid question about her name — It's which ever one I want it to be was a thought she indulged before setting it loose — but that too she unclenched and allowed to dissolve into the lather. She had asked to be caressed, but Angelina tugged at her hair and scraped into her skin, and maybe Madeleine should have been angry, but she could sense how tired her kitten was. How had she been so angry just a moment before?

Madeleine felt like the man in Ratatouille, a big silly lummox who had a little silly rat nestled in her hair. Tug tug went the rat, and Madeleine breathed in sharply through her mouth. As Angelina stroked and curled and washed, warm sensations fluttered in Madeleine's cheeks. She was accustomed to being taken care of, and the sensation of being washed was not new, but Angelina was without a doubt...different. She was tender when she held Madeleine's hand in a way money couldn't purchase, which was all the stranger because it was her.

And then she asked her whether Angelina was special.

Then she got to the Countess's feet.
She kneeled.
She slipped her fingers between her toes, slid her palms along the soles.
It tickled, made Madeleine want to start—and then her cheeks flushed and jaw went slack. She wanted to moan.

A shiver ran from the base of Madeleine's spine, up past her back, through her shoulders. She leaned her head back, letting the shower's water roll over her face, and smiled. When Angelina released her, she settled, squatting so her arms wrapped around the shorter girl's neck and her chin rested on her scalp.

"You're the first girl I've taken home, Angelina." The shower water, landing on Angelina's shoulders, bounced and moistened Madeleine's face with a hundred wet little pinpricks. She closed her eyes and swayed on the balls of her feet. She was so tired, she could imagine going to sleep like this, the water drumming her back raw while her face melted into her warm pet. "You won't be the last, I'm sure. But you will be special. Isn't the first time always special?"

Angelina wouldn't be able to see it, but Madeleine's face had broken into an almost beatific smile. Her eyes slid open, water hanging from her eyelashes like dewdrops. When Angelina had asked, in so many words, am I special, Madeleine sensed something she prized more than almost anything else: Need.

"I told you in the ring how easy it is to deal with a rat—to dump them in a cage and forget about them. But not you. No, you I want to put in a special collar, to dress up like my special doll, to show you special food and special music and special toys. You are Angelina, you are kitten, you are sweet pea."

Madeleine hugged Angelina. A quick, hard squeeze, like flexing a submission. Then, she pulled herself back, disentangled her arms, settled back on her butt, sighed, and looked her in the eye. "But if you don't like those, or you want to be just one, then just tell me Angelina. What name would you prefer?"

[Monsy]

First times…
Angelina had a lot of those tonight. In all of them, she envisioned it would’ve been a cognitive choice with a picked setting, likely a bed as big as this shower, with smooth and colourful comforters. Red to compliment her hair and to contrast the white she wore underneath.

The shower…. Being washed and washing. She imagined a similar scenario with a partner. Except in a homey shower, of course. Warm tiles and a steaming glass door. She was rich in this world. Lots of fun and games for a lighter mood, rather than this silence. Angelina explored Madeleine’s firm but small body. She wanted to squeeze more than once. But her brain told her to cherish Madeleine’s skin, familiarize, map, listen and remember.

Especially when it came to her feet. She spotted a loose jaw.
Her instincts told her to push her luck and kiss the top.
But again, she held that back. Madeleine’s foot returned, and it seemed like her job was done.
Her arms flopped to her lap. Embraced, Angelina kept still to avoid poking Madeleine with a horn. She stared into Madeleine’s naked chest, flat, then glancing down when she began speaking. 'You won’t be the last'

Angelina’s nose crinkled. Eyelids drooped.

She virtually hated just everything that came afterwards. It didn’t matter how sweet the words dialled in and tried to pierce her inward heart into something that skips and dances. Angelina poisoned it and spun it into her own story of what she heard. There will be another girl just like herself who gets a special collar, dress-up game, food, music, toys and probably much more when she goes. She was the experiment for someone newer to come along.

Angelina, Kitten, Sweat Pea. Angelina grimaced, then took in the hug, letting herself be squished into a light curve from Madeleine’s squeeze. Her exhale hit Madeleine’s ear. Their heartbeats kissed. “A-ah-..” Her voice squeaked.

Her expression seemed saddened, although this wasn’t true internally. She wanted sympathy and equal sadness when Madeleine looked her in the eye. In reality, Angelina was annoyed as hell. “Um…” Yes, she preferred to be just one. And the fact that one didn’t quite stand out for her meant that none of those names were special yet. So Angelina couldn’t latch onto anything. “I don’t know.”

Angelina brought her knees up and leaned her cheek onto the kneecap. She knew what she said wouldn’t be good enough, so she added.. “Somethin’ will stand out eventually, I’m sure” Said solemnly. It fuckin’ better.

She picked up Madeleine’s hand afterwards, then tried to press her palm against theirs, fingers against fingers, and spread. They were roughly the exact same size. Soft and now soapy.

That made her smile again. “Ya hands are tiny. I like em.” Then giggle.

[Malkavia]

I like 'em.

My my, Angelina, that almost sounded like a compliment. Madeleine's fingers had started to prune — a sure sign that the shower was nearing its end — but it was true. Their fingers did look lovely intertwined, gleaming and pale and clean.

Now pay it back. Pay it back was one of her therapist's core mantras, repeated so many times it was etched into Madeleine's mind like a streambed against a mountainside. Compliments, gifts, touch, favors, time. There wasn't a gift in the world people could give that you shouldn't pay back, preferably with interest.

"I like your hands, too. They're very soft. Mmm, you know. It would be difficult to pick a favorite part." Madeleine cocked her head five degrees clockwise, as she considered their hands with lidded eyes. "I like your neck. I like your face. I love your eyes. A little friend of mine had so much to say about your singular violet eyes..." Her fingers flexed against Angelina's, bending like spiderlegs, as Madeleine's own eyes traced the path she described. When their eyes met, Madeleine's cheeks creased in a smile. "Happily, that's one bit of hype that survived contact with reality."

She almost leaned forward, out of the halo of water, towards Angelina's face and into another attempt at a kiss, but—she remembered Angelina's reaction previously. The subtle way she had steered the Countess to miss. Madeleine's lips tightened, and she gave Angelina one last squeeze with her hands, sighed, and stood. Turning — placing her back perhaps a bit too casually towards her kitten — she reached for the shower dial and turned the water off. It was a shame to leave the showers, one of her favorite routines in the day, but there was a next. A next, and a next, and a next, a whole weekend of lovely, glittering new things to try with her favorite new thing. She grabbed her towel as she stepped out of the stall.

"I think it's time to show you your new outfit."

[Monsy]

A little friend…

Angelina couldn’t fathom whom that might be. Did she care? Not really. What she cared about more was the person pressing against her hand. Angelina thought of what this hand felt like when it was dry, the fingernails, the palm, the un-pruned tips and the arms the hands belonged to.

To feel them be gentle… or strangle the fuckin’ life out of her. Optionally, during intercourse.

Then when her neck was mentioned, Angelina’s second arm moved up, slowly, on instinct to cover the scar going across the side and front. She forgot it existed all this time until right now. Her hand slipped down soon after, again, slowly, then rested on the tile. Her stare kept intent. A mellowed posture with her cheek melting against her knee even more. She batted her lashes when her eyes were noted, thinking of what to say strategically.

She thought if she could get inside that head of Madeleine’s, carving out a little slice like its cake. And maybe then, she’ll have her name put there. So Angelina made herself grin to mimic that she was glowing and heart-pounding from all that was said, then batted it back. “If ya think my eyes are neat, then ya should see the ones I’m lookin’ at.”

After the last squeeze and getup, Angelina closed her eyes for a second. She thought of taking control when their back was turned -- again. Smash ‘em against the tile and shove them in the trunk of whatever vehicle was going ‘home’. -- the idea was finalized as impractical, as she quite liked their face. And by the time she finished closing her eyes, Madeleine had moved anyway.

“Hey…” Angelina said, meekly and suddenly.
Madeleine already had her towel, and was stepping out. Angelina got up, made a short limp, then almost snake-like, hastily grabbed onto Madeleine’s wrist and pulled it slightly towards her so Madeleine wouldn’t completely leave the stall.

“Did I do good?” Her eyes were bigger and attentive, awaiting an answer she suddenly valued.

[Malkavia]

“Hey…”

Angelina stood up. Madeleine froze. What are you doing? She was reaching for Madeleine, grabbing at her. Memories of the match flashed through Madeleine's mind, images of canvas in her face, her hips exposed, the camera etching her nakedly needy face into its retina—

“Did I do good?”

Madeleine's free hand had balled into a fist, and while she hadn't quite raised it, her arm was shaking. "Y-yes." Stop that. Her fist unclenched.

The feeling you're experiencing is acute anxiety. The feeling was a sharp pinch just over her stomach, a burning in her lungs, a spin to her mental space. Fight or Flight. Cortisol, flummoxing her nerves. But if she could understand an emotion, she could master that feeling—and she did, by breathing, by forcing a smile, and by listening to what Angelina actually said.

Did I do good?

Madeleine turned her hand over in Angelina's grip and squeezed her wrist. She stepped towards her, lifted her hand, and let her fingers rake through the kitten's wet, straw-like strands of hair. "You did so good. I feel clean and refreshed, all thanks to you, sugardrop. Thank you."

"Now." Madeleine raised her eyebrows, leaning in so her forehead touched Angelina's. "Let's go get you something to wear, OK?"

—

Madeleine's towels were white with golden embroidery. Her initials — M.C. — shone on them like medieval heraldry, with a flowing, illuminated script that bordered on calligraphy. When she fixed the towel over her chest, she was careful to arrange and fold it so that the letters appeared in the center of her chest. Precisely organized for a precise effect.

Of course, she would see Angelina dressed before taking care of herself. The outfit she had planned for Angelina had several parts. High heels with three-inch stiletto-like heels and thin straps for her toes. She had also purchased a few nylon rings to strap around Angelina's thigh and arm, as well as a silver chain necklack with a tiny sparkling diamond, to add some gleam and luxury to the look. Citronelle luxury meets Tarrant punk sensibilities.

The centerpiece, however, was a short dress woven from smooth, black silk. Somewhere between an evening gown and a slip, she had chosen it to convey both the formal richesse of a ballroom and the cocktail intimacy of a night alone in an expansive, romantic apartment. It had been tailored to the nearest fit Madeleine's resources could ascertain for her Apex opponent based on video footage and existing public data.

Madeleine held the coat hanging and the shoes like a chef presenting a fine fish. The shoes hung from her left index and middle fingers, while her arm cradled the buttocks-region of the dress.

"Well, kitten?" she said. Angelina had not chosen a new name, and kitten remained one of Madeleine's favorites. "Does it speak to you?"

[Monsy]

She wanted to mention that shaking arm. The fist tightening in Angelina's peripherals as Madeleine stumbled about affirmation. It was like an insect she wanted to stomp. Correct it, then ask, softly, ‘Could you repeat that, but nicer? And with more enthusiasm. Just: not that.’ -- And Madeleine would oblige, in her view.

What she received in reality was fairly close. Madeleine faced her. She felt her wrist squeezed, they came close and Angelina had her hair passed through. It was almost touching, even if she wanted it done right the first time. Her eyes still closed to it, head-tilted and she absorbed Madeleine’s praise with a preliminary purr.

Better, she mused. But we'll work on it.

And after touching foreheads, peeking out, Angelina nodded to the cue. “Ok.”

Then when Madeleine turned around, she pinched her nose, tightened her lips, stared deeply at Madeleine’s back before sighing with slumping shoulders. Fuckin’… Sugardrop.

—

Angelina had her things inside a knapsack. Her primary towel was pure black and simple as that, big as a beach towel to lay on, at least for her size, and fluffy at all points. She loved diving her face into it. The cushion-y fibres reminded her of a bed and her eyes slipped into a doze. She wiped down, lazy, then touched around her neck with padded, careful dabs. The towel draped her front like a curtain, with only her hips poking out the sides and the bottom of her feet.

‘Bring on the degradation’ -- Was her main thought when getting to this next part. It might be worh while if whatever outfit came had a glory hole in the back. Or some libel lettering on the tits. When she thought of winning, that was exactly what she would’ve done.

So when she absorbed this black dress and footwear, her first act as connoisseur was to squint and push her lips to the side. She wondered where the joke was. “Aahhhh…” Angelina raised a brow and leaned in close. “Looks expensive.” Was I really worth this, though? “Like a piece of black gold.”

Her spread hand brushed over the fabric. She thought of two numbers, then deliberately chose the lower one. “Six-point-six-point-six out of ten.”

Angelina tried taking it soon after. Quite swiftly, in-fact, both stilettos and dress. “I’m goin’ ta’ head ovah there.” She pointed to a wall of lockers coming out a third from the back-wall that blocked their view. A perfect changing area. “Don’t peek. K? Or I’ll throw the stiletto.” Into your eye, probably. Maybe. Who knows if I had that kinda aim.

And if Madeleine accepted these terms & conditions, then Angelina would make haste. She’d grab her bag which had all its brushes, combs, hair dryers, leave-in conditioners, a pink hand-held mirror, a pair of scissors and more for cosmetic (primarily to hide bruises), and whisk away to her ‘changing room.’ -- Not having a second thought about a thank you.