Sick Fux - Page 101

Then I pushed her under the surface.

I grasped her throat with two hands and kept her under the water. Bubbles came from her nose, but she remained still . . .

Until her leg began to twitch. My eyes snapped to it. I squeezed her throat harder, keeping her down. “Come down the rabbit hole.”

Dolly’s arm moved. Her legs began to kick. At first there were only slight movements, then her hand gripped mine. My eyes flared as I saw life seeping back into her body. “Go down the rabbit hole!” I shouted, as her hands covered mine and she clawed at my skin. I pushed even harder, until Dolly’s head touched the bottom of the tub.

She began to thrash wildly. Full-body thrashes, fighting the black hole she had to travel down to come back to me. My eyes filled with tears, blurring my vision, as she fought me.

“Let go!” I shouted. “Let go! Come back to me!”

But Dolly fought the whole way, until her limbs began to tire. Until her hands, gripping and cutting into mine, loosened . . . until they slipped to her side.

Lifeless again, the bubbles from Dolly’s nose stopped.

I wrenched Dolly out of the tub and onto the tiled floor. I breathed into her mouth and began compressions on her chest. I pumped and pumped her chest, using my breath to breathe life into hers. Her skin was pale and her hair was slicked to her face.

“Come back!” I repeated, slamming my hands against her chest. “Come the fuck back! That’s a fucking order!”

Dolly shot up from the floor, spluttering and coughing up bathwater. “Dolly!” I exclaimed and moved the hair back from her face. Her eyes snapped open.

“Rabbit,” she cried in a panicked voice. Then she looked down at her body and screamed. She began hitting at her arms and legs. “I’m too tall!” she shouted, eyes wide and wild. Her head whipped around the room. “The doors! I can’t get through the doors!”

I snapped the vial of my blood from around her neck and bit off the cork. “Drink,” I ordered. I tipped her head back and poured the blood down her throat.

Stray drops fell from the side of her mouth. She swallowed, and then she sat up. She stared down at her arms and legs. “It’s working!” she yelled, just like the first time I brought her back to me. “It’s working!” she said again, but her eyes clouded over with darkness. Her short-lived joy fled their depths, only to be replaced by the most vicious of looks.

“The Jabberwock,” she said coldly. “He did this to me.” Dolly scrambled to her feet. She was dripping wet, blood trickling down her chin. “Where is he?”

“Through there,” I replied, pointing to the other room. I got to my feet, watching the beauty that was Dolly consumed with wrath, ready to make the man pay for destroying her life.

Dolly stormed out of the room, her blond hair swinging as she moved. I quickly followed, not wanting to miss one second of this kill.

Dolly looked down at the Jabberwock, part-crucified on the floor. I watched as his eyes landed on her. His mouth moved to speak, but before he could, Dolly rushed to him, straddled his waist and ripped her blade from his shoulder. She didn’t pause. Didn’t even take one single breath as she struck. She stabbed and stabbed and stabbed, never pausing. Never missing a beat, she hacked him as he lay on the floor, nothing but the lust for death in her eyes.

She struck and struck until she began to lose strength and her frantically flailing arms finally failed her. She had reached more than fifty strikes.

Drenched in blood, Dolly fell back from the Jabberwock, now dead by his former victim’s hand, his lifeblood draining to the floor.

Dolly gasped for breath, her arms clawing her backward. Sobs began to cut through the gasps, and soon they were all that could be heard. Chest racking, her entire body shook. Tears cascaded down her cheeks.

Then she saw me. She scurried to my feet and clung to my legs. “Rabbit . . . you came for me.” She cried as she gripped me tightly. Her head fell forward, resting on my knee. “Thank you,” she whispered, voice now completely cut and raw. “Rabbit . . . you came for me. Rescued me from the room of doors . . . Thank you . . . thank you . . . thank you . . .”

She was worshipping at my feet. Me, her god, her master . . . the one to whom she now finally belonged. She sobbed and sobbed, slumped on the floor. But I couldn’t fucking take it. Couldn’t see her lowly and down.

My little Dolly wasn’t my fucking slave.

She was my goddess, a fucking titan.

Tags: Tillie Cole Erotic
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