How Dirty Women Can Be

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Mabel's fragile eyes could only catch glimpses of what was happening around her lethargic body.

It seemed she was still wearing her red hoodie, as she could feel that the bright, artificial light hitting her eyes was muted by the shadow it cast over her head. She blinked many times, trying to create a clear image of her surroundings. It was futile however, as she could only visualize metal snakes slithering through an ocher ceiling.

To make things worse, she could see how the tubes moved and twisted while feeling a cold surface against her back, meaning that her body was being carried away. The situation she was facing- her body not being able to move even though she was conscious and awake-brought her old memories, memories of blood-scented dark woods, memories she has been desperately trying to forget by any means. For a moment the idea to scream passed through her mind, but she was too weak and aware of the consequences it might bring.

She, ever so slightly, moved her head around, trying to catch clues or glimpses of the place she was. Instead, she saw a tall figure who she recognized as the man who had kidnapped her. He was giving her his back as he dragged her, so he was unable to see she was already awake. Mabel tried to even her respiration and closed her eyes, trying to look asleep, waiting for an opportunity to do something.

Not much time passed until the man stopped walking. The girl blinked for a second, catching the sight of a door and the man trying to open it. She heard the clicking of the key as it successfully unlocked it and him turning around to push her inside. However, it did not happen instantly, something that made Mabel hyper-aware of her surroundings. Her hair bristled as she felt his shadow right above her, how his eyes stared intensely at her, almost undressing her with his look. She heard his breathing accelerating and his dubious steps around the metal table, and yet she remained calm.

Mabel was in control-after all, she had faced worse situations before.

It all changed when one of his fingers caressed lightly, almost dearly, one of her cheeks. The eerie muttering inside her head, which was likely as asleep as her body, was starting to make sense.

He's mad at you. He's angry, He's furious.

He wants to punish you. A rough, pleasurable punishment.

The them? not so much. But the he? He longs for a warm feeling.

HahahaHA!

Wishes and words sprouting from the same seed.

The man grew bolder, and what was a lingering touch became a needy contact, pressing his big hand against her face. Because of it, the twitching of her eye went unnoticed.

"So cold..." his thick and rough voice echoed in the girl's ears, sending disgusting shivers through her spine. It was the first time she heard it, and it was as menacing as she had pictured.

Shall we cook his hand with oil or butter?

Let's make the tallow from the fat of a hangman.

Dennis' fingers touched the girl's lips, dazzled. He has never seen someone like her-so pale and, in appearance, so fragile, so pure. Only the lower part of her face was visible, her hair scattering around her like a heavenly halo. Because of it, a bead of sweat ran through her forehead as he started to feel that deep, dark need he had been dealing with ever since he reached manhood. It crawled and grew in his belly, making he realize that it was time to stop. Placing a hand on his forehead and rubbing it over his head, Dennis shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Clearing his throat, she finally placed the surface where the girl was lying inside the room.

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