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

[Malkavia]

Each snip set something free: Her legs came loose; her wrists could flex; her back unbent. As she unwound, Madeleine's breath shuddered and hitched. Theeeeeeere we are. Yes, kitten, that's very good. Very good. It feels lovely, thank you.

She was spinning on a carnival ride, jerking up, falling down, aching as muscles loosened, except it was a pleasant ache. A nice ache. A post-twin-orgasm shimmer.

BAM!!

Angelina's fist slammed Madeleine's undefended belly. She half moaned, half screamed. But why? She rolled up into a ball, like a sad little pillbug, nursing her poor throbbing tummy, cut before, now bruised.

Look at me. But where are you, sweet? The world was so confusing in this nasty throbbing fuzzy darkness. Madeleine sniffed, cracked one eye, wandered around the blues and purples dancing among the stuffies, and managed to find Angelina's glinting purple irises. Kitten has a tiger's eyes she realized dimly in the quiet.

Angelina handled Madeleine's legs and bent them back, over her head, folding her. The stretch felt lovely in her thighs, squeezing endorphins out of the already buzzing muscle. Madeleine breathed in through her nose and the breath whistled at the back of her throat as her chin twitched and her lips parted.

She was so unbearably sore. Not just from the muscle and the punching and the cutting. Deep in her core. Her pussy. Her mind. Like she was chafed all over.

"I th-think I'm quite fff...finished, AnggggSSSSSS..."

And there were Angelina's teeth against her butt. Nip! A shock of pain, wet, like an ice cube pressed into the skin. Madeleine's clenched every orifice as she squeezed her fists and looked up at the girl who had her folded for the ten-count.

"Glughhh..."

Her hands reached out, found a stuffy at the edge of the bed. A mouse. Henrietta—The name bounced through her mind alongside the squat image of the gray little meesus with huge black marble eyes and a spot of beige fur under her snout. She grabbed Henrietta's paw, and although sweetums couldn't squeeze back, it helped.

"God—" Lips and face pressed warm and wet between Madeleine's face, and her eyes rolled up and her head crooked back, and she stared at the ceiling, but then she remembered—look at me. Her eyes sloped down, but Angelina had no mercy. Each stroke from Angelina made Madeleine heave, shoving her legs against Angelina's shoulders, but never enough to escape the pin. Madeleine moaned and growled and flexed her feet and squeezed her stuffy. Even drunk, she could see the possessiveness in Angelina's eyes, the aggression in her face, the heat and anger and triumph as her mouth worked over her pussy.

A part of Madeleine wanted to lock her legs around Angelina's throat and SQUEEZE until she rolled over, drooling and unconscious. Instead, she thrust into Angelina's rhythm, reluctant at first, then faster, trembly, needy. Her moans became high-pitched, desperate. She tried to suppress them, but they came out all the same as a third orgasm built inside her with ballooning humiliation.

Except—it wouldn't burst. Even the finger inside her didn't push her to crest. She squeaked when Angelina first thrust inside her wrong hole—squeaked and squirmed and PUSHED until Angelina shoved her back down. Then she squeezed Angelina back—her butt clenched around a lovely, pale finger that penetrated her to her core.

Madeleine threw her arms and Henrietta around Angelina's head and ground her pussy against her face. She trembled and heaved into the furious non-rhythm, cold all over with sweat, buzzing with cresting. But she still couldn't cum.

She couldn't do it. The bar was too high, and she was too weak. The realization stung like a slap to the face. She pulled Angelina into her and thrust wantonly.

"Pleeeeeeease—Please kittennnn—"

[Monsy]

Ange was not the name.

And it changed by the minute. Still, Madeleine paid it all back by offering her belly for a fist and a knife, her lips for a kiss and glassy red eyes like bottles of wine. She could do anything she wanted to and with Madeleine. Her body was magic and gold, the taste stuck to her tongue was a buried treasure. X marks the spot.

But she was dizzy. Running short of breath. She held herself together with ropes and plywood, drool slipped at the corners of her mouth. She was getting hot all over and didn’t even feel the composure slip.

"Pleeeeeeease—Please kittennnn—"

Her chest squeezed like her ribs momentarily tried to strangle. And her ears felt ticklish, with the feeling doing backflips in her gut, making her feel something almost as good as sex. That voice, that need. She couldn’t collar Madeleine, but the rattish collar on her neck felt less horrible. Henrietta though, the soft texture around her neck, was a thorny, awful and ill-timed creature. Her toes curled, wanting to somehow think of the words to say *she* wanted to be the only thing held, seen or heard. But who would admit to feeling challenged by a mouse.

Suppose a rat, which she was not by Madeleine's pleading. Angelina’s tongue was coming off the top of Madeleine’s swollen sex. She planted a mwah! to her meal, pulling out of Madeleine’s ass likewise. The next moment, she snatched Madeleine’s wrists and forcefully pinned them to the bed, then slipped her hand beneath Henrietta.

And off you go.
She flicked it away.

Her shoulders heaved, looking at Madeleine from down below, her last squirt on Angelina’s lower face, chin and lips in a clear sheen. Her stare showed wear, distanced by alcohol, but holding a sense of animal that wanted to bite. She looked at her hungry, a red blush under big stalking eyes, reaching her ears and over the nose. “Drained already? How many have you had? One? Two?” Angelina’s tone was breathy, but cold.

She reached for the vibrator, then rose towards her knees and leaned against Madeleine so if she unfurled, then her knees would hook over Angelina’s shoulders. When she got her answer, finally, she snickered, “That’s it? Heh~ Pathetic.” She let Madeleine’s hands go free, then combed Madeleine’s hair back, pinching the cheek on the retreat. “Turns out, I’m not done with you.” Said Angelina, having finally lined up the top of her wand against Madeleine’s anus. She started pushing the vibrator against her back-door, slowly, training it and breaking it in to absorb the wand’s full circumference, then penetrate.

“Eyes here, Madsy.”

Angelina grabbed Madeleine’s chin, then covered her mouth, pressing her into the bed as Angelina flicked the vibrator on, then demanded with a more lasting shit-eating grin… “Now scream.”

[Malkavia]

One? Two?

Madeleine felt a flash of irritation when Henrietta slipped from her grip. I decide whom to cuddle! But the feeling couldn't get its claws into the slippery world.

Focus, sweet. Your public is asking you a question.

"Thhhhree?" She didn't like that question mark at the end of her response. Audiences wanted confidence, said papa—she was good at confidence. And it had been three. Twice for Angelina's tongue. Bang! Bang! A double barreled shotgun, one right after the other. And once with— byark.

...What did our dearest kitten say? Madeleine's eyes focused. She blinked, her lips curling? Pathetic? A snarl gurgled at the back of her throat. She could feel and hear her pulse in her head.

"Pathetic?!" She hissed the word. She had not been called a word like that—in her own room...

Plans formed in her head like flickering battle scenes from a movie projected on a screen blowing in a fierce wind, but she could have seen them through if it hadn't been for the wand. The first touch to her anus made jump. It was cold, then painful as it forced its rough way through the circle of muscle, tearing her open wider and wider until she was digging her heels into the mattress, grasping at handfuls of sheets. Then it turned on.

She didn't scream—not at first. Her mouth worked, opening as her eyes clenched shut. Lines full of pain formed on her forehead. The sensation rumbled through her lower body, vibrating one thigh against the other along the small band of skin where they touched, knocking her knees, jiggling her ass. She could feel the vibrations in her pussy, could feel it rocking her violated anus.

Then she screamed, throaty, bridging her stomach, until the wail turned into a groan, and she grabbed fistfuls of Angelina's hair—desperate to squeeze the only pet in range. Squeeze her. Pull her tight and close. Shower her in kisses.

[Monsy]

The vibrator was in, making her ass move from a low-frequency hum.
Madeleine’s face twisted up. She even screamed, just from the first setting, making Angelina brim with butterfly feelings in her chest. Pulling her in at that point was like tugging air.

A slew of affection awaited her from bow to stern. Warm, and getting warmer on her red cheek. She gave it all back, then more in excess, grunting and letting her belly move with Madeleine’s rhythm, flattening her into the bed, then rising as she arched again. After a sharp intake, she moved her hips back, lifted a leg over to straddle one of Madeleine’s thighs and sit, then paused to pant. She glanced down her body with Madeleine’s arms still tangled in Angelina’s hair, pulling strands from the squeeze of her unkind fingers. A leash, almost, for our dearest, shaking boss-bitch Toy Progenitor--

“That was… Very unbecoming.” Angelina toned a whisper. She grinned with all the absent guilt and pride swimming in her ethanol-flavoured system. “Can’t help but obey, can you?”

She released it, but kept the hand between her legs. Her middle and ring finger combed over Madeleine’s folds from the bottom to the top, the index and pinky flat. In or out, she contemplated. In the loose crucible of her waging thoughts, trying to keep together through the rye. At the top, she touched Madeleine’s clitoral hood, the finger-pads of her two fingers, then treated it gently, riding it around in circles as Angelina scissored the leg she sat on.

“Like I said, pa-the-tic.”

And finally moved into the kiss. Her free hand grabbed onto Madeleine’s hair in return, pulled her into the bed and rocked with her. When her lips touched down, she made no secret with her tongue poking at the gates, seeking to penetrate and wrestle with Madeleine’s tongue like it was the rubber match in a long… long feud.

Hers to beat, claim and keep.

[Malkavia]

Madeleine's mind was a bit of flotsam churning on the oceanic surface of her mind. It made her angry how hard it was to focus. Her attention spanned maybe fifteen seconds before she submerged again in the spinning currents of sensation.

Unbecoming. The word hit her ear, then echoed in her mind. Unnnnbecoming. Unbecoming. Un...becoming.

I'm drooling.

"Aaahaaaah—" And there's Angelina's fingers again. Rumbling, buzzing pleasure was a near-constant in her mind.

“Pa-.”

It was like being penetrated. Madeleine groaned.

“-the-.”

Her face burned, slick and bright red, the whites of her eyes flashing. How dare you. How—

“-tic.”

You— You—

Madeleine's chin trembled. An idea coalesced in her mind's eye—an arm pressed against a throat. Wrenching in the dark, squeezing until all the horrid, humiliating bile slunk back down Angelina's throat.

Angelina's kiss was a conquest. Madeleine could tell from way it surprised her—the spark she felt from Angelina's carelessly brutal grip on her shoulders and waist, the way her tongue slipped easily inside Madeleine. The smells and tastes were overwhelming—an almost nauseatingly sweet medley of strawberry rye and salty sweat. Angelina kissed her deeply, emphatically, and Madeleine's response was sloppy and desperate. She whimpered when Angelina pressed into her, then leaned after when she pulled away. She found herself clawing at Angelina to drag her back in, to hold her. Her hips bucked against her hand—

Then her fists balled up, trembling, and she felt like a walnut being pried open. Crick. Crack. Her hard shell splintered, then split, like her legs split open for her conqueror. The blonde, exhausted body who wasn't Madeleine clenched, and she choked, filled with Angelina's tongue as she squirted once, then twice, then collapsed into her sheets—shaking so hard it made her breath hitch.

"I can't—" she whimpered, ripping her lips from Angelina's. But she just had. Her body, spent and exhausted, collapsed. She felt weaker — more full of ache and burn and buzz — than after the most demanding training.

She stared past Angelina at the slowly spinning ceiling. A feeling was sprouting inside her, strange. Tender. Green. In all her days, she had never been adored like this. As the thought formed in her mind, she lifted her hands to Angelina's head and let her fingers nestle through her red locks. She breathed, then pulled the kitten — her kitten — into her shoulder.

"Nnnnnone of those collars..." Her tongue was cotten. She smacked her lips. Swallowed. Tried again. "None of them. Were good enough for you kitty." The bed lurched, and a tinge of nausea slopped in her stomach. She tightened her grip. "But doooooon't yooou worry your sweet head. Sweet. I'll find one that is."

[Monsy]

And in the moment, between cry, whine and whimper, the Madeleine that was broke into the bed, a shivering queen of rope and gold, still wearing that tiara sitting crooked on her head. It only took a glance, then she pulled the vibrator from her ass and cut Madeleine free while The Countess stared off into wonderland. One hand on the rope, tug, then slide the knife underneath and pull. Snap. Snap-snap-snap. And Madeleine was free. Then still with the blade in her hand, she was hugged close. Angelina put that hand onto the bed, then relaxed into the shoulder, sweaty, but warm, very warm.

None of them. Yes. Were good enough for you kitty. Yes, correct. Finally, she works.

And now she didn’t want to get up. She didn’t want Madeleine to get up either. When has anyone done this for me? and the list would be extremely small. Not that she was bothered at all by that, but the pitter-patter of a heartbeat that she made race, being wanted past their orgasm, or being worth given a prize instead of ripping it from clutches. It was new. It didn't feel exactly like winning, as even that didn't make her chest tight or head flutter. And so she purred, hand in her hair, a coldness to fix, and laid content.

With her head turned to Madeleine’s face, she watched with slow blinks and flat lips. At least, until she said the magic words. And so Angelina smiled, let her hand come up and rest on Madeleine’s other shoulder, caressing down her arm and watching. “I didn’t go too far, did I?” She asked, taking a breath. Then awaited her answer. After she got it, she continued, “Can it be white? Like pearls, with a golden tag. And a leash, if you want." Before melting into Madeleine's shoulder, listening as her buzz started to really rise. Where the limbs feel like air, and you control them from your joints like robotic joysticks. And in that drunken headspace, something still made her bite her inner cheek. "Madsy. Can we... deal with the problem? I want to toss her out on the street, head-first. After she spent the whole night lyin' to you about that rabbit, making us fight, using your shoulder to cry on... She deserves the worst.”

[Malkavia]

As Angelina sloughed the ropes off Madeleine, she felt her body expand like pancake batter on the pan. She sank into the sheets of her bed, toes and fingers and legs and neck all tingling, then burning as blood rushed back into their vessels.

When Angelina asked if she had crossed any red lines, only a fraction of Madeleine was listening. Most of her was at the back of her head, staring at the ceiling, quietly gurgling.

"Mmm~? Pardon?" She squinted. The concept of too much felt impenetrable. Was she asking forgiveness? Permission? Madeleine shook her head, which rocked her insides like her brain was fluff in a snowglobe. She waved her hand. "...You're fine, sweet."

Would you please be quiet? Not that she wanted Angelina gone. Just—quiet for a bit. "Of course—Of course. Pearls. Gold. Yes."

Madeleine's consciousness expanded like a high, pleasant tower, and she was tumbling off its edge. I'm falling asleep, she realized. The thought made her rub her head into her pillow and, contentedly, sigh.

Which is why, when Angelina mentioned their "problem," she whined — "Mmmmrrrr~" — knit her hands through Angelina's hair, and pulled her close.

She took her time responding. They were breathing together, Angelina on top. In. out. But Madeleine could feel how tight Angelina had become after that question—like a trap sprung to spring. Can't we talk about it tomorrow, Kitten?

No, she sensed. They could not.

Madeleine drew her hand along the back of Angelina's head, then along her back. "It's sweet that you...want to fight for me like that. To..." She made a swiping motion with her hand. "Batter my enemies for me." Images of Thistledown hopped around at the edge of Madeleine's vision. Hop. Hop. The hopping made Madeleine feel dizzy, so she closed her eyes, but the rabbit was there too, chewing celery in the dark. She grunted and forced her head to stop spinning, imagining instead the way Angelina's tongue had felt between her legs. "But...Kitten. Really." Madeleine squeezed Angelina's head lightly. "Wouldn't you rather watch me deal with her?"

—

No matter how many times Shimmerlace used this room, walking in was always a pleasant shock. Even after all this time, Madeleine kept it just as it used to be.

Of course it would have been different if Shimmerlace herself had been in charge of decoration. She would have had live plants, for one thing, and the ballerina fairies would have given way to more alien designs on Feykind—but even when they'd been a couple, Shimmerlace's aesthetic had needed to fly within the boundaries Madeleine traced.

Still.

The walls were pink.

The bed curtains were gossammer and shimmered like stars.

There was a lovely mobile hanging from the ceiling with at least three dozen different species of butterfly, which would flap their wings when activated by a button.

And the thing that really grabbed her and shook her and made her want to cry was a plush of herself—Shimmerlace the wrestler—placed at the center of the bed when she stepped inside.

She picked up the plush and held it in front of her, one eye cocked, her mouth quirked in a grin. "She'll really do fuckin' anything to make a guest welcome, huh?" She knew, of course, the depth of Madeleine's contempt for...the things pink. But that somehow made the gesture all the sweeter.

When she was down to her skivvies, Shimmerlace's outfit hung in a nearby closet, she found the pink and white blankets of the bed soft. Warm. Perfumed just like the old days. She settled in, put on her mask, and hummed a happy tune, until that tune drooped, and she yawned, and pushed out to sea.

It was thus that Madeleine and Angelina found the fairy in her abode away from home.

[Monsy]

Angelina stirred after being told to stand down, responding with a slightly slurred tone.

“Mmgghh… Maybe.”

Then it went quiet. She helped Madeleine sit up and get her standing. After some small talk, Madeleine went to the bathroom and Angelina waited on the bed, holding the bottle of liquor on her thigh, trying to see straight and steady. When Madeleine came back, Angelina was sipping more and more booze, taking what she could before the burn made her retch. Then, she drank again. And after Madeleine swiped it post swig three, she went to change her cut clothes.

Angelina rolled her eyes, got up and went to the door while Madeleine had her back turned.

“Beeeee right back.” And off she went.

------------

In her hand was the knife, and she was playing hide and go seek. Duck-Duck-Fairy. Pin the blade on the stalker bitch. Door to door, turning off lights where she went. Until she found one with a fairy emblem. Angelina turned off the lamps, then placed her shoulder against the door frame and started to turn the knob slowly.

She did the best she could with her impaired motor functions. Then slipped in, a shadow in the doorway. She closed it behind her, leaving them both in pitch black. And judging by the lack of movement or sound, Shimmer was sleeping. She dragged her feet along the carpet, slow and cat-like. Around one micro-obstacle, over the other. She reached Shimmer’s bedside, placed her knee on the mattress, then hurled her leg over, straddling the fairy’s stomach.

She held the knife in a downward angle, ready to complete the game. Then she leaned over, outstretching her hand to the headboard and started to tap on Shimmer’s sleeping mask with the edge of the knife, waiting.

Tap. Tap-Tap.

[Malkavia]

One second, Charlotte's on a train, her mouth running a mile a minute. She's blushing and waving her hands and there's a whole lot of Ehs and ums, because the Japanese man beside her in the bullet train has her Mom's face, and Charlotte over here is trying to explain the concept of a Reverse Hentai Match.

Then—

"The FUCK—"

Some absolute cunt landed a butt-press on her gut, ripping Shimmer out of dreamland like an ogre uprooting fistfuls of flowers, loamy roots and all. Shimmerlace bucked, clenched, then went still. She breathed, brow knit, and rolled her tongue around in her mouth.

Christ on a bloody whiperwillow, but the air reeked. The booze was thick enough to make a girl dizzy by inhalation alone.

So... she thought, heart pounding. Madeleine's vaunted powers of negotiation have failed us, have they?

To confirm the thought, Shimmerlace felt the body astride her. Here are her thighs, so thin you can almost clench them in a fist. And there's her hips—all muscle, yet deceptively meager. She only knew for sure, though, once her hands slipped quick-like up Angelina's dress and felt the scar Shimmerlace had cut in her navel.

"'Eyyyy. If it isn't the kitten of the house herself." She couldn't see shit through the mask, but the hunch in the Marauder's body hinted at her designs on the Feychild's face. "Good feeling ya. Would love to seeeee ya, if you'd let me get the mask. That cool, Angelina?"

[Monsy]

There was a time ticker in her head, suggesting when, in a matter of minutes, her moving fort knox was going to come through that door with all the glitter and gold in the bullion depository. Minutes. Minutes. Maybe seconds, maybe not at all. Would that mean she can deal with her? Implicit permission is better than inaction. But inaction was better than a scolding. Or worse.

“Take it off and see what happens when ya look.” Angelina said, head tipped down and tilted towards her shoulder. By the feeling of breath underneath her bottom, the stomach flexing and caving in rhythm to Shimmer’s chest. She was certainly, finally, going to make something easy.

She let the hand be. A warm hand was a warm hand, even from one of your worst enemies after a bottle. She noised, “Mmgh-.” And tip-tapped on Shim’s cheek. “We’re kickin’ ya out. But yoooou didn’t hear that from me.” Having said such while adjusting the knife to sit across Shimmer’s throat, the middle of the edge comfortably and firmly on-top of Shimmer’s trachea. “So you’re gonna be a good bitchdork and listen to ma’ Madsy. Got it?”