Kitsune-Clips

The purchased item, once hung and sheathed behind a clear plastic bag, is now stuck tight against your body like a second skin. Your makeup is done quite fittingly. Neutral and shimmering. And despite your restless nerves- nerves that knew absolutely no bounds, the sweat accumulated at your brow was only just enough to ward off with a single wipe.

'He's really going to love this'

That thought had been ruminating in the anamorphic confines of your horny little brain ever since you set foot off the train after work. You'd quite literally strapped the slutty maid's outfit on like a soldier donning his war gear the second you set foot over the mahogany threshold of Tangerine's farmhouse estate. A secluded area oozing with romance and temptation. So fitting for him, you'd forgotten that he was not actually there. Old, dark and polished wood made up the exposed struts of the manor. Bookshelves were found in almost every expansive room. It truly was difficult not to feel like you hadn't stepped into an elderly gentleman's home from the 1950s.

Your hands coast eagerly over the costume as you continue to hover before the mirror. It certainly is a daringly promiscuous choice in your otherwise reserved and private life. You'd been staring at yourself in the mirror ever since.

Your brain liked to play little tricks on you, the longer you looked. Convincing yourself that you were an absolute smoke show one moment, with the concrete guarantee that any man would and should sell his soul to the devil just to have one night with you. And Tangerine would be no different: A man, nothing but a slave to his desire.

But the very next moment, the confidence would wear off like a bad paint job, showing you every single little imperfection in the impressively large mirror. However, no amount of self deprecating marajes would ever fool you into at least admitting that you felt incredibly and undeniably… undeniable.

Your eye coast over the black and white frills stitched tightly across your breasts, and the ungodly short skirt skimming your ample thighs. Your reflection's glossy lips conjures up a wicked little smirk "Lucky bastard."

And he is.

You could be anywhere in the world by now. And with the little scraps he's been giving you, about his personal life and his job, he would soon discover that you were not only a good lay, but a trustworthy partner.

"What immaculate timing,"

The doorbell rings with a low and ancient tinny that groans throughout the entire English manor and your heart somersaults into the very pits of your stomach. As your heeled shoes clack against the polished wood, you try by all means to resist the urge to run back, change and hide, but as the door approaches, you trap yourself with the knowledge that it is far too late.

"Why's he ringing?" you ask yourself as your shoes are muffled by the foyers' Persian rug. Your brows crinkle ever so slightly as your hands reach out and turn the knob. The second your palm connects with the brass, a voice from the other side of the closed door speaks up.

"Darling, that you?" His voice alone is enough to keep you excited. You bounce on the balls of your feet as you twist the handle- but he stops you.

"Listen, yeah, I'm gonna need you to be absolutely prepared for what you see when you open the door." You stop completely. Pressing your ear to the wood.

"What are you on about?"

"Just... don't open the door yet. Maybe go run yourself a nice little bath and I'll be there in a bit."

The frown smacked across your face deepens. "You're scaring me."

"Well, it's not like I'm trying to take the piss or anything- just that," he struggles to find the words. "You know how a lot of people can't seem to make it out of the talking stage of a relationship? Well- I suppose I can't seem to make it out of… this stage."

Confusion bleeds into curiosity which bleeds into outright frustration as you wrench the door open, mouth falling completely agape at the little play taking place on his doorstep.

"Fucking hell." A scream is thoroughly lodged in the very base of your throat. It was a scream, right? It felt more forceful than that. Far more primal. Like you are more angry that something has come in between Tangerine acknowledging your outfit rather than what is clearly a zipped up corpse on the welcome mat.

Tangerine claps his large and bloody hands with renewed vigour, dropping the corpse to deposit the quickest kiss on your cheek.

"Afternoon to you too, Darling. Why are you dressed like you haven't got a father"

Your mouth is frozen, eyes locked on the zipped plastic bag. "I don't."

"Right, right," he clears his throat awkwardly "Sorry 'bout that by the way."

You had hoped that the feeling that consumes you would more accurately be described as shock. That's what the men in the movies say when the pure and virtuous herione gets her very first brush with the filth of death and murder.

'She's in shock.'

"Could ya help me, Darling? I hate to ask it of you, I really do, but it's just till the patio. I could get the furnace going and have this lucky little bugger taken care of." Your limbs are forced into action as you step outside. Peering slightly over your shoulder into the darkness of the clipped and manicured lawn, expecting for any passerby to lay witness to the scene. You grab a hold and shuffle along the inside.

"Where's Lemon? Why couldn't he help?"

"Corpses are far heavier than its made to look on the telly. Before decomposition and all that good stuff, the body basically turns into a metal fucking tank. Lemon knows this, and the bastard fucked off. Leaving me to do the job. Well us."

Well played, Lemon.

Before your very eyes, you've made it to the large and imposing parlour. Most people had a living room, but Tangerine, with his silver trays topped with tumblers filled with whiskey… men like him had parlours. Your arms begin to wobble and you thank the heavens when he sets the body down on the mat, making a beeline for the sliding door on the other side of the room.

"I honestly thought Lemon took care of the bodies." You relayed as Tangerine slid the door open. He releases a handkerchief from his suit's breast pocket and while wiping his hands, regards you with amusement. His moustache crinkles with a smile as he speaks.

"You've been here before."

You suppose a sliver of the credit for your not completely freaking out is owed to Lemon for his arduous and extensive training.

"Lemon let me know a few things." You shrug.

"Huh, well... that's where you'd be mistaken," He returns to what you can only assume are clothed corpses feet. Lugging the corpse outside into the cool night air. "See in my field of work-"

"Woah, woah, woah. Am I going to end up in a hostage situation if you give me any sort of information or am I one hundred percent protected." He smirks as he drops the body, once again on the concrete patio. "You're always protected with me, love," the way he says it, with so much certainty like a promise, is almost enough to dissolve all your frustrated anger. Almost.

Tangerine turns to the furnace, setting it alight with the turn of a knob. The flames roar.

"So like I was saying... in my line of work, there's a nice little umbrella agreement that protects our arses from any... liabilities that may arise from- you might wanna look away for this bit, darling- that may arise during the job." He unzips the bag and you avert your eyes. The sounds of mangled parts and a dousing fire fill the backyard as Tangerine continues nonchalantly. "But the added benefit of taking care of the body, only comes from an employer. Like pensions, bonuses, any capitalist bullshit that makes sure we remain right and fucking ready to do the job. Well, this little casualty wasn't exactly as a result of a job or an employer."

"Meaning?"

He sighs, before shutting the metal door. Your eyes find him once more, only to find him completely focused on you.

"Meaning I may have gotten a teensy bit frustrated with the card counter bloke during black jack."

Your face falls for the briefest of moments.

His stomach drops at the sight. This would unmistakably be the moment you walked out, the moment you saw him for the borderline sociopath he was. "You fucking killed someone because of a game?"

He holds a finger up, shiny shoes stepping closer to you. "A very exciting game. I won a terrific amount, you should be proud of me."

A gust of air is caught in your throat as the edge of the patio's outdoor dining set grazes the back of your exposed thigh. Tangerine looms closer, hands coasting up and cradling your face. Everything about him, his manmersims, his words, even that stupid fucking mustache made you feel completely safe and secure. A feeling you had never received from any man in your life. His eyes pierced into yours with a surety and you unknowingly dip your hand further into his palms veneered with dry blood.

You could feel yourself slipping into subspace and so you had to get a grip of anything that would delay the process.

"We've been fucking for over a month," Anger. Anger would do the trick. "A-and you still haven't even told me your real fucking name." His lips open but you bring a finger up in warning. "And don't you dare tell me to call you Tangerine again, I will quite literally throw you in there to burn with him."

For a tense and wholly unsettling moment, Tangerine surprises you with an action you'd never seen him accomplish before. Silence.

It's incredibly unnerving and you nearly lose all your nerve. Your anger depletes the longer he stays silent and you mentally chastise yourself. All he had to do was ignore you and you'd be folding for him faster than a nun's novitiate.

After the excruciating anticipation runs its course, he finally speaks up. Voice like a gravel, low and hoarse and rich as whiskey. "Why do we have a need for names when there's only one thing I ever wanna hear you call me?"

You know what this is now.

This was a part of his manipulation tactics, what you now saw as a symptom of his personality disorder. This man would and could and probably has lied to you over the course of your entire relationship for the sole purpose of getting what he wants out of you. And even now, as his thumbs rub slow circles across your cheek, the left thumb teetering closer and closer to the edge of your mouth until it finally slips inside, you know you're quite righteously fucked.

His thumb lays flat against your tongue, your doe eyes widening periodically as he dips lower, eyes alone instructing you to suck.

"Progress, Darling." He whispers as you continue to suck slowly. You could tell he was enamoured by the action, his eyes zeroed in on your full lips taking his fingers how he'd imagine you'd take his cock. "Wasn't today good progress?" You nod obediently, despite yourself. "Every single day I give you a little more of me, a little more of my world. Dunno, why would you want that anyhow but I digress. All I ever ask of you, is to open those beautiful legs up for me whenever I fucking want," His voice rises like a bubbling cauldron and your eyes shoot open as his ring and middle finger now delve deeper down your throat. "And it's not like I never let you cum, I always let you cum, but none of It's enough is it?" His other hand squeezes your throat in a violent snare. Your Hand shoots to his wrist as you gag helplessly around his fingers. You couldn't help but wonder if there would soon be a fire for you next.

You mumble incoherently and he only watches with fire as the saliva slips from your mouth and down along your chest. "I don't make it hard for you, do I?" He squeezes dangerously tightly around your neck before releasing. A subtle warning. "Do I?"

You're quick to shake your head vehemently, a good decision on your part because his fingers leave your mouth as quickly as they entered. You're breathing harshly and gasping for any sliver of air, hand still clasped around Tangerine's bloody wrist. "You're acting as if its fucking hard to be my slut, when I don't think it is, I don't think it is at all."

"Look, baby, I'm sorry- OH MY FUCK-" His fingers had slyly and without any concern for you at all, slipped underneath your skirts frills, finding your naked pussy faster than you'd initially intended.

"No panties and a slutty little outfit. What an occasion indeed." He murmurs, with the first hints of his good natured smirk slipping on. Too bad his hand is still firmly locked around your throat and all you can do is keen over him as his thumb find your clit and his middle and ring finger seeks your entrance. His voice is taunting and utterly patronizing, as if he was twasing a child as he says

"Such a wet and stupid little slut aren't you baby?" You nod, despite it all, head bowed as you watch his hand disappear up your skirt. He kisses the top of your head tenderly, only filling you with another helpless moan as your knees begin to buckle. His fingers are a large and imposing force as they stretch inside your pussy. And while you feel as if you're on cloud fucking nine Tangerine grunts in absolute frustration, his eyes squeezing shut, head rolling back as you buckle underneath him.

He could play with your pussy for hours, that embarrassing little tradeoff meant he could cum from this alone and that bruised his ego immensely. Right now, he was focused on his pleasure and his pleasure alone. It's the driving fuel behind it all.

"F-Fuck, I think I'm gonna cum-" You choke out as your hands slip up to his bicep, still firmly hugged by the stained-red blazer of his suit.

"You're gonna cum already? All over my fingers like a cheap little whore? How terribly pathetic." All you can do is nod. Nod, nod, nod as you feel yourself tuning in to nothing but your impending orgasm. It rises above you like a wave and you wish for nothing but to have it crash down on you and for this beautiful man to bestow it onto you.

"S-So," your voice is drunk with madness and frustration and every horny detail in between, "I'm s-so fucking pathetic."

He couldn't handle that. Degrading you had always been a personal little favourite of his but his cock nearly fucking jumped right of his trousers whenever you did it to yourself. You would never truly know the death grip your body had on this man and the vulnerability of it all always left him etched. One day you'd find out he's nothing but a fake, only trying to establish his own dominion of you to account for how much of himself he willingly gave to you.

"Fucking hell," he curses lowly, and just as you're about to cum, squelched noises of his fingers diving deeper into yout cunt... he rips his hands away.

"FUCKING FUCK, FUCK FUCK-" You're nearly buckling to the ground but his arms, strong and secure, hold you to his chest as his hands rub lovingly against the small of your back in an unlikely embrace. You're too fucking frustrated to enjoy it.

"I fucking almost came, you fucking asshole! I swear to fucking God- never ever think that I won't fuck you the fuck-"

"Oh shut up," he mutters before his lips crash onto yours. Whiskey, blood and that spicy cologne envelop your senses as he hooks his hands under your thigh, seating you on the table. The cool, nightly breeze could not hold a candle to the fire his kiss ignites within you. He's such a good fucking kisser, his large hands roaming your body in frantic search for the zipper- upon finding it, tugging it down recklessly. He periodically rips apart your lips, spraying kisses along your jaw before reconnecting. And the sheer deranged and needful aspect to it, has you angling your pussy against the cold marble surface, begging for any and all friction.

"Crazy. You drive me fucking crazy," he says, once again releasing your mouth to undo his belt.

"You're already crazy," You say, watching with hunger as his hands move, the act alone bringing on another wave of arousal.

"No need for the belt, is there?" He asks, having finally unbuttoned his trousers to the point that they ride low on his waist. A sliver of his Klein boxers peel at the waistband and you're feral with need.

"I don't know, is there?"

He regards your brattiness with amusement, seeing it for what it is.

"I should really do something about that shit-talking but I can practically see you leaking all over my table and well- I'm not that cruel, am I?" He says in his smarmy asshole way before reconnecting your lips once more. You gasp as he grabs a hold of your thigh, bringing you all the way to the edge where he lines cock up with your soaked slit.

"Jesus fuck- you better fucking squirt for me, I'm serious. We're not stopping till you do, 'lright?" You can only manage a whimper, which bleeds into a sardonic moan as he rams his cock in with little resistance.

"Oh fucking finaly!" His eyes are hooded as his hips move farther against yours, "I was so fucking stressed, and so fucking tired but here you are... And god, you're so wet for me, baby. So fucking wet for me." You can only whine and whimper and keen as he begins to thrust in and out of your cunt.

"Every time- fuck- every single time I fuck you it feels like the very first fucking time. Like the very first time, baby. You love being a good girl for me don't you? You love when I make this greedy little pussy feel better with my cock."

You cry out helplessly, a sob wrenching from your throat as you say, "Yes, daddy- FUCK." Your orgasm crashes down on you with little to know preparation at all and soon you're cumming around his cock like a vice, and he watches, enamoured. "Again. I said you're gonna squirt for me and you didn't."

Your legs are still completely electrified as you slowly come down from your high. Tangerine keeps fucking you with reckless abandon as if you truly were just another orifice, just another hole to fill.

"All over my cock, you're gonna be a good girl and make a mess for daddy all over his cock." He's a madman, chasing his own pleasure, "Come on baby, come on baby. Please? Please do it, for me."

"Fuck, no stop-" a vaguely familiar well begins to fill in the pits of your stomach and you're all but pushing at his chest but he keeps fucking into you. He hooks your legs around his waist, caging him between you. The best place on earth. "No- I think I'm gonna-"

Your orgasm washes over you once more and soon you're quite literally leaking all over the front of his pants, liquid dampening his trousers as Tangerine finally gets the prize he was ultimately looking for. "Fuck, such a fucking mess. Such a little whore- holy shit-" it triggers him to kingdom fucking cum. Tangerine snaps, completely painting your insides with cum as he stays locked around your waist, muscles tense under his clothes, vein popping in his neck.

"Jesus fucking christ! Jesus' holy mother of god-"

"You fucking idiot," you chuckle breathily as Tangerine still huffs inside you, "you just said Jesus mother of God?"