Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Soft taps at the glass of her window make her open her eyes. There's no question about who is there. Already there is a thin smile on her face, gradually growing wider by the second. Her heart and stomach are full of butterflies--good ones this time. Alice flings the shabby quilt to the side and delicately places her feet on the cold cement floor. She won't risk getting caught by putting too much pressure on her feet all at once. Feet arched, she moves to the window like a dancer, light, graceful.
A sliver of wood wedges itself deep into her flesh, but Alice either doesn't notice or doesn't care. The window slides up just enough to slip through, and with some assistance, her bare feet slide from freezing concrete to freezing pavement. Her hand grasps the other, and together they run. Rocks and glass leave her feet littered with gashes, but she doesn't mind the pain. Her attention lies in his eyes. Stunningly blue. A more intense hue than her own. A tinge of madness in there somewhere, but not more than her own. Maybe that was why she feels so complete when around him. He is the missing puzzle piece.
They don't stop until they come to a rundown building. It must be where he is staying tonight. He has to slam his side into the door to get it to open, but is perfectly gentleman-like when it gives. A tip of the hat. A flick of the wrist. He keeps his hand on the small of her back while she walks inside. A small bed is made up in the corner under the window. It is starting to rain outside.
He notices the blood on her feet and hand, licking his lips when he sees how it puddles. Feather-light touches move around her back and breasts. She feels the pulsating between her legs. She knows what comes next.
He leads her to the bed. She sits facing him. The brandy from under the bed seems suitable enough to clean her wounds. Her eyes close against the sting, and when his tongue laps up the excess, she sighs. He does the same with her finger after removing the wood embedded inside. He brings out his knife and cuts away her stockings and underwear, leaving her in nothing but the thin dress she wore just for this occasion. His mouth finds her clit, giving it a single lick. The knife slices her thigh and he laps at the wound. Alice moans and lets her fingers travel from her chest to her stomach to the ocean. Another gash. Another feeding. Pressure. Height. Release.
But he isn't done.
Blood drips onto the once white sheets as he flings her to lay her head on the pillow. She doesn't need to look to know he is hard. He strips down but leaves his hat on. What a gentleman.
She wasn't ready for the first thrust. Her breath catches in her throat, but he doesn't let up. There is nothing to do but arch herself against him and ignore how close the blade came to her throat when he cut her dress away. She doesn't like the sound his slick pounding makes, but she doesn't say anything. Ignoring what doesn't please her, she imagines what does. He's not just any man. He is the Hatter. There are no sounds to worry about. There is only the maddening mix of pain and pleasure.
She rolls on top of him and moves to a sitting position. He places his palm over her clit and moves in circles. She continues to ride. Black waves cascade down her back when she flips her hair. Her scalp is drenched, but she doesn't mind. She's almost to her peak again. So is he.
Alice collapses on top of him out of breath. Blood stained lips meet her own. Slow. Sensual. She wants to go again, but he never is able to work up enough energy to care after he is spent. Normally she leaves when everything is over. This time she contents herself next to him. Her hand travels one more time below the sheets to play, but she falls asleep before she can finish.
The cat is there with her. He whispers sweet nothings in her ear, like 'I hate who you are with him' 'You will never find happiness with the likes of that' 'Maybe if he changed you would love him.' Alice's mind is made up instantaneously.
She reaches for the knife that was thrown carelessly to the floor. He is so drunk off the brandy, blood, and sex that he doesn't feel her crawl over him. She sits on his chest, pinning his arms under her legs.
"If you were more like the cat than the Hatter, maybe I could love you then."
She loves the cat's smile.
He wakes up screaming and struggling under her. The movement only makes her wet. She doesn't stop cutting though. He needs to be perfect. And it's hard to cut when he won't stop screaming.
Alice puts pressure on his forehead with her spare hand in an attempt to still him, but he won't stop. And he won't stop screaming.
She cuts a little farther so that one side of the Cheshire smile is complete. She smiles down at her work.
But he won't stop screaming.
The knife seems to take control of the situation. Surely Alice wouldn't just cut out her lover's tongue. Surely it was just the knife. Probably the cat. Yes. The cat.Â
She lost her grip on his detached tongue. Down the rabbit hole it went. He started to convulse from lack of oxygen. His movements make her cum. The pleasure and wetness from between her legs make her wake up.
Alice takes the hat from his head and places it on her head, then staggers away to the corner. There she sits in the fetal position, rocking gently as she waits for Dr. Bumby to come find her.
