Tiaras and Tricorns: Angelina Tarrant vs Madeleine Citronelle (Apex Qualifier)

[Malkavia]

Madeleine felt a pang of regret that the audience would never get the view she was now enjoying. As Codswaddle slid aside, Madeleine got her first glimpse of her face, with the puffy eyelids and tear-trails. At first, she tried to look away, then her eyes wandered down, guilty and sad, at the cock, and she curled up like a dead leaf and choked.

Her face for those five or ten seconds hit Madeleine like a punch in her tummy. Angelina's eyes were huge, round, and frightened. She was nude, shivering, and had an expression with her open mouth and curled lips that seemed to beg for kindness.

When she finally unclasped her lips and slid the cock inside her mouth, Madeleine bit her lip. One hand settled on Angelina's head, weaving into her hair so she could feel her bob. Up, down. Her fingers curled without thinking around one of the girl's horns, and as she stared, the Countess parted her lips. The tender motion of Angelina's lips, the quick slips of her tongue, her little kitten kisses—they were dangerously sweet. She had expected to be safe behind a rubber strap, where Angelina could play whatever tricks she wanted with her lips and it would all be numb to the Countess.

Where had this soft little creature between her thighs come from? When she finally slurped the whole long girth of the strap down her throat, it jostled against Madeleine's pussy and her hand clenched on Angelina's hair. Madeleine's breath was suddenly tight in her chest. She had long been slick with sweat, but she became aware of the way it dripped, oily, down her thighs towards the girl. She was looking up at at Madeleine, stuffed to the hilt, cheeks bulging and flattening with her breath, with eyes soft enough to made Madeleine's heart pound in her ears.

For a beat, the cameras ran in silence while Madeleine watched her kitten and savored the sweet ache between her hips. Then, Madeleine's lips curled into a smirk and her grip on her hair tightened. "Is that all you can do?" With her free hand, she reached out, over her head, and lazily snagged her tiara. "The way you look right now...It's like. The moment after I slapped you. Clarity hits, and you know how I see you. And you just want so badly..."

Then she rocked her hips and flipped the two of the, over, Angelina on her back, Madeleine straddling her shoulders. The motion nearly yanked the strap free with a wet plop, but at the last moment, Madeleine used the grip on her head to shove her between her legs and to force the silicone length back into her face. The tug craned Angelina's neck and lifted her shoulders partway off the mat she she could read between the Countess's legs. "To show me that you're better."

The Countess paused, Angelina's face warm and damp and tight against her navel, as she used her free hand to don and straighten her crown. Then, she went soft, and both hands curled around Angelina's head. She began to hump, slowly at first, but with growing speed. "As if it's not your own filthy toy you're choking on."

[Monsy]

Her insides had two running voices. One was simmered, dancing with squeaky shoes to put together thoughts. It wanted her smile, hand on her head, whether soft, loving or hateful -- and in a way, she melted into the canvas. She did it well, right? This voice begged for the answer, to the point where she saw Madeleine’s smirk and felt whole for the moment. The other voice, much quieter, loaded a gun. Don’t even fuckin’ look at me, you fuckin--. Bite the dick. Bite it off and fuck them with the leftovers.

Of course, she couldn’t do it.

Her arms were busy holding Codswaddle. He placed across Angelina’s sweaty tummy, face-up, with her claws deeply embedded but not piercing. Angelina glanced, and had warmth double in her face as the blood rushed and soared. She felt lightheaded. Madeleine in her tiara was another loss that Angelina soaked in, with shame, her own suck -- but also, relishing the view. For Angelina, Madeleine started to glow. A goldish aura around her whole form, with skin, clear and bright, eyes of crystal, turning her over, sitting and making her breath light.

Codswaddle remained on her tummy as Angelina shot up doe eyes. A membrane of need blocked out the crowd and its fevering pitch, listening to Madeleine’s comments drag a knife across her soul. It made her thighs press together and quiver. She nodded and agreed to everything they said, and felt disgusting doing so. About herself, being watched, the virginity of her throat whisked away in a scenario far from what she pictured. It made her sweat cold, but she couldn’t stop staring up, needing, nodding with a mouthful. She had gratitude fed from being grabbed, pulled and forced between Madeleine’s legs, taking in her length like it was the real thing, from lips to throat.

She gagged again, tightened up her body and squeaked. Her lips widened over it until they suctioned, and she steadily picked up how to breathe after a whine. Tough it out, useless shit. Do better for her. And so, she was used. Pressed against the dark of Madeleine’s skin where no light shined. Thrusts, humps and hip rolls that stretched her small throat into pleasuring and jaw-loosening throes, dripping from her folded neck and into her legs, much like the slobber coming off her chin. Her legs opened, more and more with elevated knees, casually laying so the crowds saw just how worked up she’d become. Something slutty by words and cock.

It picked up. Angelina made subtle gurgle sounds on the shaft. She moaned, spat, wrapped her tongue around the whole girth and started sweating from the forehead down. The tears went freefall at increased speeds, with Angelina’s heel dragging on the mat back and forth, to steady, try harder and meet Madeleine’s expectations. And eventually, the heat became so intense that one hand came off Codswaddle -- and she started to masturbate, with two fingers, middle and ring, stroking slow needy circles on her clitoral hood. Her hips raised little bits off the canvas, and she mewled on the dick, trying to make her head as light as possible, but also move by itself, then look up when she could… And maybe… Catch that smile again.

[Malkavia]

The longer Angelina fellated Madeleine, the more imperfections she betrayed. She might nip the cock, or gag on a thrust, or forget to breathe and have to pause. The Countess noticed less for the errors themselves and more from Angelina's reaction. She might shudder, or furrow her brow, close her eyes. Huff. Or whine. Then, with a tug of encouragement from Madeleine, she got back to it with wounded determination. She wanted to do it right, like a good pet. Such a good pet, who cared so transparently, it made Madeleine's throat tighten and eyes burn. It was hard work keeping her smile dim.

When Angelina touched herself—that brought the crowd to life. A crowd enchanted by sex had a different timbre than one cheering for wrestling. They kept their voices lower, thundered with their feet instead of clapping with their hands. The air became thick with Ooooh and Mmmm, while catcalls and howls provided texture to an atmosphere otherwise quiet so they could hear Angelina's slurpy sex noises. In a moment when the tears were running freely and Angelina was imploring Madeleine with her beet-red face, Madeleine looked away from her to the stands.

There she was—the rat's heroic assistant in the third row. Gray-haired has-been with the wolf howl. She looked a less lively now, head rested on her index, middle finger, and thumb while her lips curled with disgust. Madeleine caught her eye, quirked her lip, and winked.

"That's enough of that." Madeleine reached down and plucked Angelina's hand from between her legs. Her fingers came up soppy and rich with her stink. Madeleine glanced at it, then at Angelina with her eyebrows raised — Messy. Naughty. — at the same time that she let her rubber cock slop out of the girl's mouth. For beat, Angelina lay gasping for breath under Madeleine, a line of drool unwiped on her chin, while she clung to Codswaddle like a life preserver.

Then, for a golden second, she let all her tender emotions rise to her face. Madeleine's eyes lidded. She smiled in the way her heart wanted to smile when she saw her kitten curled up with her favorite toy. She ran her thumb over a tear on Angelina's cheek, then slid down to embrace her. The strap bounced from her chin to between her tits, then drew a line between her ribs, over her belly button, slid over her navel until the tip crested over her pussy, stroked her lips, and came to rest pressed against her outside. She held her. Kissed her. Let her tongue slide between her kitten lips and curl sweetly as deep as the Countess could reach.

As kiss reached its climax, Madeleine's thumb caressed the scar along Angelina's neck. Their lips clung, then slipped apart, and a hint of derision slid into the sparkle in Madeleine's eyes.

"If you didn't have these scars, someone would have to give them to you." Her smile broadened. A delicate thrust of her hips slid the head of her strap just inside Angelina. A wet peek. "They're so perfect. So you. An indelible little touch of rat..." Madeleine placed a hard emphasis on the word rat, letting her tongue linger on the last t before she moved on. "That will always make you tremble and melt. No matter how hard you work. No matter what you bring home."

Madeleine leaned into the strawberry sweat smell. She used a grip on Angelina's horn to crane her neck open, like prying apart a pair of legs, and ran her tongue over the jagged pink outline once hidden under a collar. Her free hand cupped Angelina's shoulder, and as her teeth dug into the pirate's neck, she thrust, deep inside between her legs.

As she claimed Angelina's scar, she whispered into her ear: "I haven't heard a 'thank you,' pet."

[Monsy]

A meandering tired spread between her shoulder-blades, neck, hand and back. Battle-wounds and old bruises, tired from jumping, flipping, splatting and being beaten up. Her unpracticed jaw needed a break. But every time she wanted to quit, she peered up, for just a second -- and reminded herself who was watching. It gave her strength. On one hand, knowing Madeleine can just grab your knee in her equally tiny hands, claw, twist and she’d banshee screech. That she can take Codswaddle. And worst of all, walk away. Angelina wanted to keep her here. Needed. So her head bobbed, and reached a shaky rhythm, with hopes that the end brought a reward, and that she’d stick around to fuck her again. And again. And again. Slowly, softly, fast, rough. In the ring and out of it. All night, if she could. Whispering to her sweetly with a mouthful of venom.

That’s what had her fucking herself. She just… couldn’t stop.
But one grab of her wrist turned her arm to puddy. Angelina flopped flat, open mouth, first gasping then panting, tongue lulled on the bottom lip and making quiet wet throat sounds like she never stopped sucking Madeleine’s dick. They stopped after she swallowed, but some built up spit inevitably leaked. She closed her eyes for a long moment, and they opened at half-mast again, with her pupils having dilated like a cat. Wide and circular for a change and slow blinking.

The thumb, smile and warmth made it all worth it. A sturdy weight pinned her clean, and had her own drool trace down her body from the strap she sucked. Her belly sucked in, but she heaved out. Its stroke on her folds had her needing, moving her hips, curling her toes and whirling them around in circles, anticipating -- but also feeling. Was it going to hurt? … This was the point that sucked, right?

She had Madeleine to distract. Her tongue wrestled, submitted, then went for round two and submitted again, attaching her lips, letting herself dizzy, falter and feel her taste to become one with it. Breathy -- hot, from the back of her throat. A quiet rumble inside her naked chest. Knees brought up, went to Madeleine’s hips, and pressed. “M-Madeleine….” Angelina let her head sag towards the side, with the saliva bridge having landed on her chin. She tightened up with her body and teeth. The thumb on her scar made her squirm, mostly in her hips and back. She visibly convulsed and had her colour drain.


The crowd had a voice of their own.
Impatient, needy. Chanting, ‘Fuck her! Fuck her! Fuck her! Fuck her!’
More than ever, Angelina focused on Madeleine. Only her. She was kinder than them. Horrible dorksticks. Better than everyone too. She’d keep them at bay.

“!!” Her eyes went wide for a click. Delicate, but mortifying signal. Her walls spread at the entrance, and made a small wet sound. She arced, bit her lip and had throat tighten. “Go... E-Easy..!..” And her head craned. A choked squeak, drew as her feet stomped on the canvas, three times, and she arced further into Madeleine’s tummy as she bit. Codswaddle went to her side, still gripped, but mimicked in the motion of clawing the mat. Angelina threw her head back and muttered out incoherent pleads for gentleness. She locked up, stiffened to stone. Her blush having reached her collar. Then…

“H-Hahh…” A honey-pitched, middle-volume and comfortable moan seeped, like a button pressed. Her walls shaped around the large dick, in a way they never had and squeezed her inside, deeper until she was full. Her rump clapped as the hilt and thigh smacked into her hips. The sensation was a hypnotic full-body eclipse, to calm… simmer… And melt. The crowd went quiet, to lap up every word and minute sound. She turned her head aside, turning up the ear Madeleine whispered into, and replied, breathlessly. “T…Thank you… Thankyou-Thankyou… T-Thank you…” She’d keep talking in that same tone, getting quieter each time.

[Malkavia]

Go E-easy.

Some in the audience laughed, and Madeleine couldn't help but think less of them. Look at Angelina, her mouth hanging open, eyes lidded as her face curled with need. Her hands clasped Codswaddle and the mat. Her thighs flexed. She was waiting for Madeleine. Who wouldn't be nervous?

Madeleine pulled back on her bite, kissed the scar, combed her fingers through Angelina's hair, and slipped in and out of her like the girl had eggshell skin. As Angelina thanked her over and over, each gentle thrust made her voice hitch. Madeleine lifted her head over the rat's, pressed her forehead into her hers, closed her eyes and breathed.

Let me call you sweetheart...

Music often came to Madeleine when she made love, like the energy rose to cusp and overflowed with the notes. She felt lithe, slick, bright, beautiful. Everything was right, and she wanted to share it. Angelina was vermin, but when Madeleine opened her eyes and peered into Angelina's violet eyes, she found that didn't matter. She was her kitten, and kissing her was right.

In...

She wanted to know what every inch of Angelina was like. Her hands slid up both sides of her throat, as they kissed and tasted each other again. She squeezed, just harsh enough to feel her pulse under her fingers...

Squeeze to hilt...tremble...and slide out...

...Then her fingers relaxed. Her lips smacked against Angelina's, one hand cupped her chin, while the other slid down her chest, over her ribs, rested on the left breast. She squeezed.

And in...

She was beginning to pick up speed now, clasping Angelina's tit harder, twisting while she bit the girl's lip—

and out...

—And kissed her sweetly while her thumb brushed over nipple, then worked its way down her body.

She continued not to fuck, but to love every inch of Angelina, her smooth cheeks and soft arms. She caressed every tender corner, feeling her navel now, cupping her hips then. The thrusts inside each moment came a little more insistently, more forcefully. She was never violent, responding to Angelina's need as she felt it in her exposed body, heard it in her gasps and hitches and whines, tasted it on her sweat-drenched skin. It was slow sex, sensitive sex. Sex that listened.

Until, that is, Angelina was on her shuddering, mouth-trembling, eye-rolling melting point, when her grip began to spasm and her core started to tighten and the moans became high and loud sobs. Then, Madeleine stopped. Left her choking against a ledge that turned out to have a glass wall. Her hands slid around Angelina's back, peeling her from the mat as she pulled her into a hug that buried her face in Madeleine's shoulder. She cradled the poor girl, humming as she kissed the crown of her head. Angelina's legs hung off Madeleine's hips, as she shifted to sit on her calves, and looked down with all the affection that could fill a woman with a heart as exquisite as Madeleine's.

Let me call you sweetheart...

"If you don't want to be a rat," she asked, "then what do you want to be?"

[Monsy]

The four roped corners became something of a private bedroom.
Velvet, with a cosmic backdrop of distant phones, reflected eyes and made white noise. Laughing. You can forgive her for almost tearing the mat’s top fabric. Slid into, taken, and explored. She followed as her body suggested, through subtle claps of their hips, dense and wet. Throat, eased, opened and her heart-rate steadied, so every time Madeleine reached her deepest sections, there was a thump, shiver, groan and a high-pitched thank you. Then, when pulled out, she timed her inhale. Like exercise, with form and proper breathing.

The bed they lied on was stiff. And Angelina’s sweat made them slide, just tiny bits, with Madeleine laying on her, hands in her thick red hair and knees pinching her hip, the motions were throes of calm tide, sloshing back and forth as she picked up confidence to moan against Madeleine’s cheek. Then, with a breathiness, she cursed quietly… “..F-Fuck.” And groaned again.

No matter the volume, the eavesdropping crowds had their ears full of Angelina’s noise. Sounds of her sopping sex being filled. Clapping hips. Sighs, groans and increasingly frequent moans, which grew ever more needy as she climbed. A pulse inside her hips, climbing steadily, much like the one Madeleine squeezed in her scarred neck.

They also heard their kissing.
Ingressing clicks, where the pop timed to an intimate metronome. Whining.
The only squeak was the grab. A full chest inside Madeleine’s hand, accented by a little twist, thumb-brush, then another back-arch as Angelina’s hand snapped off the canvas and placed to Madeleine’s mid-back, over the spine, palm-flat. A dainty middle digit traced, and she started to map the Countess with touch alone. The strength and movement in her shoulders, to her ribs and side, a silk-smooth gloss that rested on Madeleine’s waist — roughly when Madeleine did the same. A weak point.

Frankly, that was where she had the most shape. A curve, ribs, in, then out to the hips. On her back, her small weight put another small curve down her belly and made her breathing animated, where a small indent trailed down the navel to show definition. Core strength. Something she used in their final act, where two legs went around Madeleine’s waist, drew her in, then flexed her beaten abdominals to meet Madeleine’s fuck. Right on her sweet-point. What got her jaw loose, to grow in pitch and volume as her mouth went wet, drooled, and she cried freely, twitched with her legs, clawed with her hand, then enveloped her twice with Codswaddle and held her tight.

Stopping didn’t halt the pleasure. She came to a haze, where she had absolutely no idea how she looked. Just that she felt noticed, as undeserving as she was. Noticed. Peeled off the mat, Angelina could only assist by holding on. Her legs un-hooked to lay straight, squatting her hips limply so the dick rested inside, and she slouched into Madeleine’s shoulder, with a needy whimper here and there, but mostly, just panting…

She stared intently into Madeleine’s neck. The question itself made her look down, and she admitted. “I..am… Just a rat. That’s all I am. Call me a rat, and only that. Ok?”

[Malkavia]

Madeleine considered this. She ran her hand absently through the rat's hair and brushed her cheek. She bit her tongue and cocked her head to the side as she looked down, thinking, at where their hips met. Angelina's pussy was swollen, glistening, at the bottom of her tum, which raised. Lowered. Alive and tender. Madeleine rang her fingers down the curve of her abs, over her belly button, drawing two gentle lines with just the tips of her index and middle fingers. Finally, she closed her eyes.

"A rat, hm?"

Slowly, Madeleine resumed a gentle in and out motion. With hands clasped around Angelina's shoulders, the motion meant she was sliding up into the girl. As this happened, she pulled Angelina in tighter, pressing their bodies together a she rested her chin on the other lightweight's shoulder. She breathed in slowly, and breathed out the same, feeling her breath as she felt Angelina's. Madeleine held Angelina and Angelina clung to her back.

"I think..." Madeleine's mouth was just beside Angelina's ear, close enough that the puff of air from her words tickled her skin. "You're underselling yourself again." Madeleine was using her upper body to assist in the motion—lifting Angelina just slightly when her hips flexed back to pull the strap out, pushing her down as they pressed, wet, together. The longer they fucked, the more tightly she squeezed.

"You work very hard to be more than you are." Madeleine's hand slide upwards, sliding over Angelina's back until it reached the base of her skull, where she grabbed a fistful of hair and nudged Angelina into exposing her neck, which she kissed. "Painfully, one might even say impressively hard. But. You don't have to. I think you're precious like this. I like you soft. Seeing you small doesn't make me despise you. It makes want to hold you, treasure you." Madeleine studiously avoided Angelina's scar, kissing only where her neck was smooth, then up to her jaw, and finally her lips. She opened her eyes to meet Angelina's. "I already told you, sweet. You're my kitten."

[Monsy]

Madeleine pulled her strings, and the affection of a stroking hand nearly placed her into a dream. It was nice having a touch that wasn’t needed, grabby sex, or some plan to twist her joints, bones or muscles. She trusted the violence was over. That her knees would be ok, if she just relaxed some. Perhaps think of a plan, if Madeleine was ever-so-nice — let her win. She was willing to beg for it.

But there are, sometimes, bits and things that Madeleine does that reminds you that you’re spent. Fingers on her belly which make her shrivel, then the soft rhythmic humps as Madeleine rolls into her, and the dick stirs her insides into a whimpering bliss, squeezing out violin in whole notes. Codswaddle's head came around to Madeleine’s far shoulder, as Angelina broke her grip to spread a palms on Madeleine’s back.

Her body climbs. Breathing becomes hoarse, deep and guttural as Angelina’s forehead sticks into Madeleine’s collar. She moans sweetly, and begins to fuck back. The best in her tired ability. Hair pulled aside, kissed. A mini-spasm full of momentous fright as she expected another bite and serving of over-stimulation. Then, she takes it all and does her best to ease into them as she continues to climb.

At her core, there was a pleading soul desperately, desperately wanting to cum. You can hear it on each hump. A succulent squelch. The tremble in her thighs squeezing Madeleine’s waist. The heart-rate on Madeleine’s chest and that it was curled knuckles clinging. Breath. Faster. Moans, longer, but not too fast. Not too long. She wanted to hold it; deeply, like gold, waiting for permission. An order. A sweet command. A countdown. Madeleine just had to make it difficult, with calls of soft and treasure making her feel sheepish and frail. She looked at Madeleine skittishly, having finally been noticed and taken with open arms. Kitten. Fuck.

The word hits like alcohol glow, and her legs and toes suddenly squeeze. Her hips squirm. She gasped, and nearly climaxed right then and there, but bites down on her tongue. And after saying nothing after a lull, wide-eyed, perplexed and clearly going giddy out her nose, she brought Codswaddle between their bellies, then leaned into Madeleine’s neck, rubbing and nuzzling her face into the crook. She smiled uncontrollably once she felt unseen, then licked her lips, bringing up courage to say.. “Then… Y-You’ll take me home, r-right?”

[Malkavia]

"Of course." Any moment, Angelina's body might crest. She'd shudder, squeeze like she was scared of falling. It would all be over with one last golden gush, one last picture-perfect face. Soft. Happy. Small. "I'll take you home, sweet. And I'll seat you next to my piano and play a song just for you. And when we're done? I'll get you a stuffy of your very own." Their rhythm had become so steady, so gentle that Madeleine could almost imagine falling asleep to it.

Then the crowd pierced through their bubble.

For a time, the fans had watched with an eager look to their eyes—the kind of quiet only possible with salivating anticipation. But then onlookers began to shift in their seat, and Madeleine's keen ears picked up muttered conversations. Maybe the Countess can't make out the words, but the tone is...

"Finish her off!"

Madeleine's eyes turned glassy. She glanced at Angelina.

The crowd, of course, can whip itself up in no time. One shout is the floodgate for others, and soon they don't just want Angelina finished; they want her slaughtered. They have trouble settling on one chant. Make her beg, make her cum, kiss her boot all made the rounds.

Madeleine kissed the side of Angelina's head and held her tight against her shoulder. Then, she pulled out. Angelina slid backwards, off Madeleine's lap so her butt plopped on the mat. Throughout the movement, Madeleine kept firm control of her wrists and maneuvered her onto her belly, so the Countess could straddle Angelina's back, slide her finger between her legs to keep the pirate stimulated, and wrap her hand around her chin—to present her face to the camera. Codswaddle sat tucked under one of Angelina's arms.

"I forgive you Angelina." Her voice was loud—high, clear. A battle call to match her smile and the triumphant way she tossed her hair over her shoulder. Her fingers stirred a circle between Angelina's legs, first on the swollen outside lips, then middle and ring finger deep into her soppy hungry insides. "And I don't want to punish you. But—I think even you agreed you deserve what's about to happen." Her eyes shifted from Angelina below to the crowd up above. "Doesn't she deserve it?"

The response was as thunderous as it was crude.

[Monsy]

That all sounded incredible. So much so, she deeply recognized she didn’t deserve an ounce. She was getting it anyway, and the joy made her giggle quietly with glee. She nodded. “I’d love that. A lot. Thank you.” Winning and losing slowly drifted to the back of her head, once all the gold materialized past this. Stuffies from an “enemy”. Piano, which she pictured as lavish as their opulent style. Their skill, probably more-so. A dream experience, far from being punted into the dirt, or used for whatever humiliating thing this LAW land usually abused. Madeleine was nicer than them.

So she dreamed -- and blocked out the crowds and their chants. Her hand around Madeleine’s back flipped a bird at whoever yelled, which quickly became a tide. So she kept flipping them off, and still continued to smile. She moaned sweetly into Madeleine’s neck, riding with hip-rolls as her voice became high-pitch. So close… “M-Mad…e…leine..”

But, came up short. A kiss, then a drop, with deep need tearing through her, she panted hard, pushed her arms against her chest and spread her knees as her parallel feet slipped closer. With her wrists occupied, she was quickly squished belly-down. Too aroused for physical protest, she continued panting like a dog into the mat, drooled on it and her lips dragged over the blue surface before being forced to lift.

Her mouth closed by Madeleine’s hand. Eyes, half-lid, wearing an exhausted form of shock. She had her gut twist, heart-sink, but her sex continued to periodically tighten and tremble as Madeleine teased her desperate orgasm. Her thighs squished. Her feet kicked. Codswaddle was held even tighter to her body. “H--Hey…!” Angelina stared deeply into the camera, with all the juicy bits of colour-draining terror that the audience drank into a higher roar. “I s-said sorry! I-I’ll say it again!… I’m sorry, alright?!” Not even knowing the punishment was the worst part. A different kind of heart racing kicked into gear, driving her up a wall as she heard them.

Her voice barked, guttural. “H-Haghh… You Fuckin’ DICKS! You’re all FUCKIN’ DICKS!”