Sequel: *** Tramp ›
The Love Child of Hatred and *** Mysteries
You're Not My Anything!
“This.” I stated bitterly. We stare into each other’s eyes coldly until I break the silence, but not the eye contact. “This is not what I expected, and you haven’t even see your father.” I smile a little as your eyes widened and you run past me, your hand thrusting me into the wall. I don’t condole that, but I let it go on account of the situation. Taking my dear sweet time, I make my way down stairs ever so casually to see you on your knees in the pool of his blood. Your whole body seems to shake as I lean against the banister.
“It’s almost as pretty as you.” I smile, looking for your face, which I find with a hating look on it as you turn it to me. “There’s my babe.” I smirk.
“I’m not your ANYTHING!” You yell. “No, not anymore.” You claim, getting to your feet.
“I’m sorry, too controlling for you?” I make a fake pouting face and cross my arms.
“I can’t believe how immature you are!” You look at me in disbelief.
“I am not immature, I just know how to have fun!” I defend.
“Fun? Fun?” You stare me in the eyes, probably looking for some remorse, but judging by your face you find all of none. “You call killing two people, parents, MY parents, fun?” It’s like you can’t believe it. Can you?
I search my mind for the answer, “yeah, pretty much.” You come up to me and grab my shoulders and try to shake me, I presume, but you fail.
“Who are you?” You ask me.
“Who are you?” I put emphasis on the ‘you’. “What happened to the girl who would constantly tell me she wished her parents were dead? Don’t you remember the hell they’ve put you, us through? All the things they did?” You search your memory and soon I see your eyes go from disbelief to neutrality. I smirk and you soon follow as you run your bloody hands through my hair and I take your face in my hands and close the gap between our lips and our ever-so-frequent make out sessions begins.
It soon migrates us up the stairs, half way up of which it escalates to touching. For once, you take control of the situation and rest your hands on my hips and direct me back wards into the bathroom. Once there you make an attempt to separate, but you don’t really want to, so you fail. You try again a minute later and succeed. I try to reconnect our faces but you forcefully push me back, and as I stumble you speak.
“Take a shower, I refuse to have sex with someone who’s covered in my father’s blood.” I immediately grab your wrist and pull you close to me.
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that.” I order as I tighten my grip on your wrist. You wince and finally say ‘sorry.’ I let go and you jump back, massaging your wrist. You look back up at me and speak.
“I’m gonna go make something to eat, you want?”
I smile and say yes. You smile as well and leave and I take off my bra, underwear and belt, all I was left with. I turn on the shower and take out my shampoo from under the sink. I often took showers here so I didn’t smell like sex when I got home, but I didn’t want to use your shampoo because if I smelled like you I’d get used to it, and I didn’t want that to happen.
I step into the shower and think about how amazing you are, I quickly finish and step back out. I wrap a towel around my body and make my way downstairs. There you are, working over the stove, making bacon. I creep up behind you and wrap my arms around your waist.
You jump a little but know it’s me and continue making yummy bacon. I soon grow tired of watching you make bacon, no matter how yummy.
I begin to roll my hips into yours, but you don’t seem to notice. I then begin sucking on your neck, but you still ignore me. I moan and you manage to give no response. I now decide to fuck subtly up the ass, and give you a massive pelvic thrust into the stove. You laugh.
“Subtle, aren’t we?” You chuckle.
“As interesting as this is,” I begin, “I want you.” I drag out the ’you.’
“You have a one track mind, you know that?” I can hear the smile in your voice.
“Yeah, you.” I whisper in your ear. You give in and turn the stove off and turn to face me. I take your chin in between my index finger and thumb and bring it up to my face only to have you begin to talk.
“It’s almost as pretty as you.” I smile, looking for your face, which I find with a hating look on it as you turn it to me. “There’s my babe.” I smirk.
“I’m not your ANYTHING!” You yell. “No, not anymore.” You claim, getting to your feet.
“I’m sorry, too controlling for you?” I make a fake pouting face and cross my arms.
“I can’t believe how immature you are!” You look at me in disbelief.
“I am not immature, I just know how to have fun!” I defend.
“Fun? Fun?” You stare me in the eyes, probably looking for some remorse, but judging by your face you find all of none. “You call killing two people, parents, MY parents, fun?” It’s like you can’t believe it. Can you?
I search my mind for the answer, “yeah, pretty much.” You come up to me and grab my shoulders and try to shake me, I presume, but you fail.
“Who are you?” You ask me.
“Who are you?” I put emphasis on the ‘you’. “What happened to the girl who would constantly tell me she wished her parents were dead? Don’t you remember the hell they’ve put you, us through? All the things they did?” You search your memory and soon I see your eyes go from disbelief to neutrality. I smirk and you soon follow as you run your bloody hands through my hair and I take your face in my hands and close the gap between our lips and our ever-so-frequent make out sessions begins.
It soon migrates us up the stairs, half way up of which it escalates to touching. For once, you take control of the situation and rest your hands on my hips and direct me back wards into the bathroom. Once there you make an attempt to separate, but you don’t really want to, so you fail. You try again a minute later and succeed. I try to reconnect our faces but you forcefully push me back, and as I stumble you speak.
“Take a shower, I refuse to have sex with someone who’s covered in my father’s blood.” I immediately grab your wrist and pull you close to me.
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that.” I order as I tighten my grip on your wrist. You wince and finally say ‘sorry.’ I let go and you jump back, massaging your wrist. You look back up at me and speak.
“I’m gonna go make something to eat, you want?”
I smile and say yes. You smile as well and leave and I take off my bra, underwear and belt, all I was left with. I turn on the shower and take out my shampoo from under the sink. I often took showers here so I didn’t smell like sex when I got home, but I didn’t want to use your shampoo because if I smelled like you I’d get used to it, and I didn’t want that to happen.
I step into the shower and think about how amazing you are, I quickly finish and step back out. I wrap a towel around my body and make my way downstairs. There you are, working over the stove, making bacon. I creep up behind you and wrap my arms around your waist.
You jump a little but know it’s me and continue making yummy bacon. I soon grow tired of watching you make bacon, no matter how yummy.
I begin to roll my hips into yours, but you don’t seem to notice. I then begin sucking on your neck, but you still ignore me. I moan and you manage to give no response. I now decide to fuck subtly up the ass, and give you a massive pelvic thrust into the stove. You laugh.
“Subtle, aren’t we?” You chuckle.
“As interesting as this is,” I begin, “I want you.” I drag out the ’you.’
“You have a one track mind, you know that?” I can hear the smile in your voice.
“Yeah, you.” I whisper in your ear. You give in and turn the stove off and turn to face me. I take your chin in between my index finger and thumb and bring it up to my face only to have you begin to talk.
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