Mental Emasculation: Captain Morgan’s Spiced Revenge Part 8


“Chas-i-ty, Chas-i-ty, Chas-i-ty, Chas-i-ty!” 

  

Chasity concentrated as much as her inebriation would allow, which was roughly that of a hyperactive Were-rabbit bouncing off the walls after mistaking a horseradish for her carrot-shaped dildo. Never questioning why she kept her sex toys in the basket beside less forgiving root vegetables. Chasity could feel the soul of the lounge pounding in sync with her heartbeat, accompanied by the rhythm of heavy footsteps on the slick yet sticky floor. Laughter thrummed through the melodic clink and tinkle of glasses and optics, its sour breath the very essence of desperation. Dank air dripped with personality, a miasma of testosterone, alcohol-laden sweat, stale nicotine and cheap aftershave in eye-watering abundance, bringing with it an unwelcome wave of nausea. Happily oblivious to the fact she was part of the cloying stench.  

  

Swept away in the adoration of the crowd; her Bravado pumped with an almost lethal concoction of Mothman Dust, Jägermeister and Raging Mushroom, Chasity glanced over the crowd with a smug grin, snatching an unopened bottle off the table with a flourish. Holding the Vodka above her head like a prized trophy, fuzzy eyes focused as she swelled with a burst of adrenaline, unsure herself if this was a good idea or not, but increasingly unable to rationalise the consequences. 

  

Ready to deliver a swift boot to the balls should Mutually Assured Destruction dare to show its face, Chasity cursed and fumbled with the screw top, gave up with a dejected growl and thrust the bottle towards the young girl who lingered by her side. Despite the lack of fluff’n’fur the Manticore usually favoured, Krystal was absolutely stunning, hinting there may be a fraction of Succubus in her distant ancestry. A cute heart-shaped face framed by short black hair, full pouty lips and deep, seductive eyes. Her petite frame a landscape of meandering curves wrapped in a flimsy red negligee, more like the delicate kiss of sunlight upon early morning mist than clothing.  

  

Chasity wasn’t usually prone to flowery embellishment, but Mothman Dust seemed to have a positive effect on the Manticore’s philosophical outlook. Lazy days ogling women from behind the safety of mirrored sunglasses with the Bitch snuggled up beside her on a bench gifted Chasity an appreciation of poetic hyperbole, even if she had no idea what it meant and struggled past using ‘cream’ as an analogy for pretty much everything. 

  

At some point after the humiliating assault by her own vagina, Chasity had found herself lost, bewildered and buzzing with a fresh hit of Flutter powdering her nose and dusting her paws after tearing open the baggy in a puff of glittery stimulant. Very few people got to witness the mating rituals of an eclectic Chasity, bouncing around and throwing shapes like a butterfly off its tits on LSD. Over exuberance and a little nudge from The Almighty Fuckyou! found Chasity blundering into Krystal, having negotiated the crowded dance floor like a one Manticore mosh pit, leaving a sermon of profanity in her wake. 

  

The girl’s previous romantic interest was left writhing on the floor, having punctuated his displeasure at the abrupt interruption by aiming an ill-advised kick towards Chasity’s tail, only to have the lewd appendage latch onto his face like a sexually repressed starfish. Wrestled to the ground amidst wet smacks and slurps, his cries of fear sounding more like a fog horn being molested than six-foot-six of steroid soaked idiocy. Following threats of sadistic de-thorning, Chasity finally wrenched her pussy from the struggling man’s face, only to ‘accidentally’ allow the appendage to slither from her paws and plant itself between the man’s legs in a vindictive parting blow. 

  

Blindly accepting the bottle back from an enthusiastic if somewhat confused Krystal, Chasity rammed the neck into her unresisting tail, decanting an entire litre of Vodka into the gluttonous appendage. The tail quivered with loud, sloppy slurps as Vodka bubbled and syphoned away into her cunt, followed by the empty receptacle itself. Snatched out of the Manticore’s grasp by the voracious appendage still feeling frisky from its earlier fisting. 

  

Giggling like a naughty school girl smuggling a butt plug into class, Chasity’s face fixed in a sickeningly cheerful grin as a delicate buzz fizzled through her body. Overflowing with a strangely comforting sensation as the warmth of alcohol churned and sloshed through her tail. Very different from forcing a fist into her lurid hole or even half a rack of billiard balls. Sensual rather than raunchy, like snuggling up to the Bitch after a good hard rutting, rather than the exhilarating rush of unloading her thick creamy batter deep into his arse with ball slapping thrusts.  

  

A thick cloud of contentment found the Manticore feeling strangely fuzzy and a little bit giddy, wondering if this was how Francesca viewed the world? No one could be this ignorantly cheerful all the time. Could they? As for the Bitch, Chasity believed he was too sober; or at least cynical, for his own good, which left her drifting somewhere in the Goldilocks Zone of inebriation. Forever teetering on the edge of brilliance or catastrophe. 

  

If the peculiar relationship between Chasity and her tail worked both ways, it did not bode well for her liver. Already black and bloodied from the evening’s indulgences, the Manticore reasoned two days in bed with the Bitch spoon-feeding her while distributing cups of coffee with extra long straws would be in order. Crabbit bastard refused to set-up a homemade IV drip of coffee when she suffered a beast of a hangover. Naturally, it would be chilled coffee. She wasn’t completely stupid!  

  

Briefly pull away from Chasity’s meandering internal monologue, the Manticore was momentarily stunned by the voracity of her vagina before a latent sense of showmanship hastily strived to recompose her senses as she gawked at the assembly of expectant faces.  

“… El bottelo, dissapeario, el cuntio.” Chasity said with a flourish. The crowd gave a raucous cheer, broken by admiring wolf-whistles and a petty scuffle in the background as Chasity held her pussy aloft, basking in the adulation of the lounge. A few of the more jovial members disgracing themselves with a rather pathetic Mexican Ripple. One unfortunate punter managing to soak himself, forgetting he still clutched a pint of flat lager in his hand. The tail quivered and gulped in her paw, slowly swallowing the thick bulge down the length of its cum gullet. One enterprisingly inebriated spectator tried to instigate a second chant, floundered in the awkward silence, then quietly excused himself to the sound of trombones heralding his humiliation.  

  

Leaning forward to whisper in Krystal’s ear, Chasity took a moment to admire the young girl’s cleavage for longer than was socially acceptable. Breathing down the girl’s neck, Chasity slipped a few high calibre notes between the beguiling mounds of temptation. Cupping the perky tits with a paw and teasing a nipple between her fluffy fingers, Chasity grinned as Krystal gasped at her touch.  

  

In reply, Krystal simpered, biting her bottom lip before slapping Chasity’s face. 

“I’m not some cheap whore!” To Chasity’s surprise, Krystal looked positively offended, colour rising in her cheeks behind the dusting of make-up. Unlike most women working in Bugsys, Krystal’s make-up was complimentary to her natural skin tone, rather than liberally applied with a trowel. In either case, Chasity could never understand the need for all that crap, naturally blessed with perfect skin yet infuriatingly ignorant of any form of care regime past soap and water. It was only thanks to the Bitch’s constant nagging she started to use moisturiser for it’s intended purpose as opposed to an aide to masturbation.  

  

Scratching her head, Chasity was unable to grasp the concept of someone wearing such revealing clothing having morals. Then again, the customs of polite society were a grey area for the Manticore. Much like washing her paws, believing the proverb: eat a ton of shit before you die, be taken almost literally. 

“I ken that. Could’ve gotten a blowjob and a ride ’round the back of the Moorings for fit I just slipped ‘atween yer tits. ” 

  

Krystal’s scowl deepened, forcing Chasity to hunt down her fleeting thoughts while her vagina leered a self-satisfied smirk; the bastard child of Ignorance and Poor Taste. Buoyed along by the euphoria provided by Mothman Dust and a mild annoyance under the belief something more was expected, Chasity’s Self Confidence fumbled under the control console and found a small dusty pile of books. Each had been bound with tape labelled ‘Do Not Open’ in big red capitals.  

  

Possessing an ignorantly curious mind and prone to leaving pawprints in wet paint, Self Confidence opened one of the dusty tomes to find out why she should be deprived of such knowledge. The words contained upon the weathered pages astounded her, giving rise to a sense of giddiness from the pit of her stomach. Checking all available resources, she quickly formulated a plan that would go down in the history books. Even if it were a bad idea, it would still be memorable. 

  

“How’s aboot a wee party trick?” 

  

“Party trick?” Folding her arms beneath her tits, Krystal’s posture hinted she was somewhat unimpressed with just a pinch of curiosity for seasoning. Given the fact Chasity would struggle to walk from one side of the lounge to the other without falling over or starting a fight with the furniture, her scepticism was justified. Meanwhile, Chasity stood open-mouthed, captivated by the sublime squish of Krystal’s tits beneath the lacey negligee. If she could just sneak her dick between those tits, everything would be gravy. Or at least extra creamy mayonnaise. 

“What kind of trick?” 

   

“Well, ye see…” Chasity leant forward and whispered in Krystal’s ear. 

  

After a disjointed, distracting and somewhat confusing conversation, Krystal gave a cautious nod, treating the Manticore to a quick peck on the lips after some careful deliberation while absently wiping fresh drool from her shoulder.  

  

Mesmerised by the exaggerated sway of Krystal’s luscious hips as she sauntered to the bar, Chasity floundered with a curse, misjudging the distance to the table and succeeding in smashing her hip against the unforgiving furniture. A petty show of solidarity for the abused stool who orchestrated the Manticore’s downfall earlier, only to be reduced to firewood shortly after. Fucking bloody furniture! Maybe the Bitch wasn’t as delusional as she and Francesca believed, though it was a laugh watching him try to quietly argue with the washing machine when he thought they weren’t looking. Her tail gurgled sarcastically from somewhere down by her feet. Risking a glance downwards, Chasity clutched the edge of the table should her body feel inclined to follow her gaze.  

  

“Shut yer hole!” Nudging the cheeky appendage with a clawed foot, Chasity cut off a cynical burble, grinding her pussy into the floor like a discarded cigarette. A bubble of spit popped from between its lewd, wet lips. 

“She’s nae that young!” Releasing her tail, the appendage coiled around Chasity’s leg. Saliva dripped onto the floor as the appendage grumbled beneath pungent pussy breath, hanging like a string of disgruntled sausages packed full of debauchery and sin.  

  

“Dinnae ye worry aboot that. One whiff of thon ferry-moans, and m’charm will hae her creaming her panties.” Chasity smiled, hoping to dissuade her vagina’s instinctive scepticism. 

  

Reluctantly, the tail nodded, though it wondered what was charming about Chasity whipping out her tonker in public? There were many issues with Chasity’s plan. Namely the fact there was no plan past exposing herself to a young woman, but the tail knew there was no point in arguing. At the very least, it would be a laugh, if nothing else. 

  

“Damn right!” Chasity smiled, sharing the tail’s thoughts. “Push comes tae shove, I’d even settle for a gobble an’ a tit fuck in one of thon private rooms.” The tail nodded, agreeing it had been some time since Chasity had gotten a good tit fuck. Francesca’s were just a bit too small, with a tendency to complain the precum matted her fur something chronic. Not only that, but it reminded Chasity of when she used to hump her teddy bear at the tender age of nine like a horny puppy. A story her mother loved to dredge up from her murky past. In saying that, Francesca no longer trusted Chasity’s aim after receiving a hot load in her eyes. Really, the Kobold had no one to blame but herself, having witnessed the state of the toilet after Chasity had been for a piss. It may have been in the wet room, but it was no excuse to miss that badly! 

  

“Fuck, would ye nae just love tae fire in aboot that, though?” Both Chasity and her tail allowed their gaze to meander across Krystal’s beautifully lithe figure as she lounged against the bar with the languid self-assurance of a predator, resting her weight on one stilettoed foot. Openly gawking at a tight little arse the Manticore could happily fit in her paw; preferably with her middle finger buried deep in her hot, sopping snatch, they admired Krystal’s succulent arse cheeks peeking out from under the scant red lace. The lecherous pair quietly fantasising over the depraved delights they could subject Krystal to as they sprawled her across the bar.  

  

Nodding towards the Manticore, Krystal flicked her hair in a shimmer of obsidian as the young temptress flashed Chasity a coy smile. Her gaze lingering on the sluggish tail for a moment, eyes creased with worry before turning back to chat with the girl behind the bar.  

  

Typically, Chasity favoured a black lace garter belt and stockings, finding Burlesque clothing gifted a tantalising show of skin with a little-added mystery hidden underneath. An outfit she had yet to force the Bitch into wearing, while not allowing him to shave the coarse body hair which covered his legs, arms and chest. Peculiar didn’t even begin to describe Chasity’s perversions.  

  

The red, diaphanous negligee draped over this young slip of a girl, however, gave the Manticore pause for thought. Not least because it highlighted the fact her tail possessed a more extensive vocabulary than she did.  

  

The beguiling glimpse of dusky pink nipples poking through the flimsy material was almost as alluring as the gentle a sway of her slender hips or the curve of her taut arse rolling beneath her figure-hugging hipsters. The matching leather collar fastened around her neck was a nice touch. A little something for Chasity to grab hold of, given the depressing lack of love handles. Tilting their heads to the side; Chasity fighting the dizzying urge to faceplant the floor once again, both Chasity and her tail quietly agreed the Bitch possessed a more appealing arse.  

  

Having long since accepted the fact she probably should have been born a man, not for the first time Chasity wondered what it was about the Bitch she found so captivating? Believing she had given up on men, seeing as the few she had captured found the Manticore to be nothing more than an exciting novelty for an evening’s entertainment. Something knotted in her stomach whenever she happened to think about him. And her loins for that matter. A feeling she couldn’t quite put her finger on. In saying that, current Chasity would struggle to place a finger on her nose. Previous attempts almost losing her an eye. 

  

Quite a crowd had gathered in an excited clamour, though Chasity felt a slight pang of disappointment seeing as neither Danielle nor Francesca had bothered their arse to witness her moment of glory. In saying that, it looked as if the Kobold could be grudgingly excused.  

  

Tucked away in the corner, secluded in one of many booths partially lit by carefully positioned lights, Francesca had long since snuggled into the arms of a rather content looking Holstaur. Running her fingers through the Kobold’s hair with one hand, Buttercup caressed Francesca’s towering erection with the other, lapping up the Kobold’s nectar beading atop her bulbous tip. The Holstaur’s voluptuous, milky white jugs hung free, allowing Francesca to suckle on the puffy nipple, tail swishing with deep satisfaction as milk trickled down her chin. 

  

Danielle propped herself at the bar, her own bountiful breasts spread across the wooden counter while she hunched over a glass of carefully nursed orange juice. When vomit erupted from a man’s nose, that was her time to check out, though she endeavoured to keep an eye on Chasity’s drunken antics just-in-case shit began to spiral out of control. There was, however, a questionable disparity between getting out of paw and ramming a glass bottle into your cunt. 

  

Many things had worked their way into Chasity’s vagina over the years. Either by her own paw, the tails lustful gluttony or with no recollection how it had gotten there in the first place. An empty bottle wouldn’t be the strangest item to have gotten stuck in her tail after the incident with a plunger and an interestingly shaped butternut squash.  

  

Holding up a paw, silence rippled through the crowd upon meaningful scowls and sharp prompts of an elbow to the ribs for the more exuberant members of the mob. There was a brief pocket of descent as two men argued over how sharp an elbow could be before being classed as assault, quickly escalating from mildly civil discussion into an inflammatory quarrel with fingers viciously brandished and jabbed into unprotected armpits. 

  

“Well?” Hoping she produced an appropriately lascivious grin (another gem of her tail’s, maybe it had swallowed one of that ‘word a day’ calendars, slowly regurgitating the year one synonym at a time) Chasity pointed towards the sorry excuse of her fly, prompting Krystal to carefully undo the remaining button. Krystal gasped her surprise as Chasity’s cock sprang free, before dropping her jeans to the floor and displaying her pride and joy for all to see. Taking centre stage, Chasity’s todger bobbed a curtsy. The novelty of a woman with a dick was only half the show. 

  

A collective groan of wounded male pride escaped from the men of the expectant group, shrinking back as if they had just witnessed some unfortunate booted in the balls, yet seemingly unable to tear their eyes away from the horrifying spectacle. Many of the woman; including an Oni towering over the other patrons, leant forward with a chorus of admiration. Even Krystal looked flustered, breathing in the scent of musky Manticore pheromones. A mixture of fascination, repulsion and a few glimmers of hunger greeted the grand unveiling of Chasity’s majestic member. 

  

Believing their very masculinity was at risk, some of the aggressively heterosexual men decided they had seen quite enough for one night. The sights, sounds and smells of the drinking contest still fresh on their minds and the soles of their shoes. Peeling away from the group, they flocked together around a single table, settling back into their comfort zone of manly interests such as sports, women and cars while lingering close enough should misfortune pop round for a visit.  

  

Whispering to the stunned girl fidgeting by her side, Chasity seized her chance and leaned in. Their soft lips touched, a spark of static while sharing one another’s ragged breath. Forever pushing her luck, Chasity slipped her tongue into Krystal’s mouth, inhaling the intoxicating scent of desire as she traced a furry digit along the delicate strip of leather fastened around the girl’s neck.  

  

Everything had happened so fast Krystal was left dumbfounded amidst an argument of conflicting emotions. Brash, boorish, unsophisticated, the Manticore was everything she loathed in the majority of men. And yet soft, warm, almost comforting… and gradually Krystal sighed, wrapping her arms around the Manticore’s waist and dug her nails into Chasity’s muscular back. From down beside Chasity’s feet, the tail shook it’s head, marvelling at the hypnotic charm the Manticore could weave around her unsuspecting victims. 

  

Hooking a claw through the loop of metal which clinked on Krystal’s choker, Chasity broke the intimate kiss, coaxing the flustered girl down to her knees, delighting in the sensation of dominance. Plucking the biro from Krystal’s fingers, Chasity flopped her dick in Krystal’s face then shuddered as the young girl licked along her throbbing length. Fighting the urge to force herself into the inviting warmth of Krystal’s mouth, the enticement of an expectant crowd gave her a fleeting glimpse of the elusive self-control. There would be plenty of time for that later.  

  

Regretfully pulling her saliva slicked dick away, Chasity took a deep breath and slowly introduced the blunt end of the pen into her urethra with a growled grimace. There was a collective, cringe-worthy groan of masculine revulsion, overwhelmed by a shriek of gleeful joy from the female onlookers as Chasity’s dick slowly engulfed the pen. 

  

“A wee bitty mair lube quine.” Eager to be of service, Krystal cupped Chasity’s fluffy balls in one hand, running her tongue along the smooth surface of the pen before wrapping her lips around the enlarged tip of the Manticore’s angular head and depositing a generous wad of foamy spit. 

  

It was a slow, arduous spectacle. Krystal happily providing ample lubrication, encouragement and comfort, while gently kneading the Manticore’s balls as Chasity eased the pen deeper until only the nub remained. Sweat ran down Chasity’s face as she leant forward, resting both paws atop a sticky table. Guilty pleasure shuddered through her cock, relishing the sharp delight of unyielding ballpoint stretching out her cock with a torturous tickle. Maybe she should try this with the Bitch?  Just imagine both of their hard cocks kissing and frotting against one another as they swallowed a long, firm length. The Manticore’s stuffed member twitched with anticipation, sending a second bolt of intense pleasure through her trembling body. 

  

Holding the beer mat as steady as possible, Chasity carefully positioned her tender meat and proceeded to write her name using only the power of her erection, many inelegant facial expressions of concentration and a frantic flicking of her tufted ears. 

  

A subtle balance of intoxication had to be obtained for this to work. Chasity needing to float somewhere between gibbered and minced where the idea of ramming a pen down her bellend had to strike the Manticore as a good idea, but still possess enough control to write her name with some degree of accuracy. Roughly the same state of inebriation where a Donor Kebab sounds appealing while managing to keep most of it off of your shirt. 

  

Whether by paw or penis, the handwriting would never improve. The scrawl would forever be reminiscent of a spider falling into an ink well then waltzing across the paper. 

  

‘Chasity’ wasn’t too much trouble, though the tight lateral loops of the ‘c’ and ‘s’ gave her a bit of bother. ‘Annne’ was a breeze, ambition, Whisky and Krystal’s subtle encouragement prompting her to add an extra ‘n’ while whipping out the ‘e’ with a ball slapping flourish. ‘Cruickshank’, however, now that was a bugger. The ‘k’ in particular playing merry hell with her bellend. Not once did it occur to Chasity to only use capitals. 

  

All the Manticore had left was to dot the ‘i’ and she was triumphant. Swelled with pride and pen, her cock throbbed around the strangely comfortable firmness of the biro, the edges raking across the soft lining of her urethra, leaving chasms of ecstasy in their wake. Cheering the phallic abuse, the crowd laughed and capered amidst several lustful promises to kiss it better when a large hand landed on Chasity’s shoulder, staggering the Manticore and almost forcing her cock to swallow the pen as she uttered a sexy whimper. 

  

The Oni was a tall, red-skinned monstrosity with a shock of platinum white hair. Though she wore a friendly smile, there was little mirth behind her golden eyes having long since traded in her personality for an ill-fitting suit. Chasity was surprised the knuckle-dragging bitch could think and breathe at the same time. Gazing up at the slab of crimson muscle with a building aggravation towards any form of authority, Chasity believed she may even be as tall as Danielle, who sat at the bar with her back to the clamour, pretending not to know the Manticore. 

  

“Think you’ve had enough fun for tonight. Tuck it away and let’s get you a taxi.” Contrary to her words, the Oni’s gaze lingered on Chasity’s cock longer than professionally acceptable, fundamentally undermining her own inflated sense of authority. Then again, it wasn’t every day you saw a woman ram a biro down her bellend.  

  

The big red bitch had not only stolen her thunder, but also the promise of several mouths around her triumphant todger. Chasity glanced at the assembled crowd, eyes eager for more entertainment only an unaware drunk or a car crash could provide, then cast her crimson gaze towards the bar. Danielle had finally taken notice, watching the unfolding scene from the corner of her eye. No doubt muttering to herself while lamenting her choice in friends. 

  

Chasity placed a friendly paw on the Oni’s shoulder, agreeing she probably should call it a night while quietly looking forward to getting her paws on her Bitch. 

  

“Nae fuckin’ chance!” Vaulting upwards, using her wings to give her a little extra height, Chasity slammed her forehead into the Oni’s face to the sickening crunch of cartilage… 

  

All hell broke loose! 

Gladys was unsuited for her role as a bouncer, being naturally affable towards everyone she met, no matter how obnoxious they may be. Big and bubbly, even by Oni standards, she was the kindly older sister of four who worked security in Bugsy’s. She did, however, detest her name, yet insisted on everyone calling her Gladys just in case she should need to aggressively subdue them later on and not feel guilty afterwards. 

  

It had not been a particularly pleasant night. The lounge was a disaster, two of her sisters had finally relented and went to A&E after trying to restrain that horrible Manticore, and she stank like no real! 

  

Seeing the struggle Lola and Isabelle were having (their mother was, quite frankly, terrible with names), Gladys had intervened, grabbing the thrashing, cursing mass of fur, teeth and claws and managed to pin the Manticore to the ground through sheer application of weight. It was surprising how ridiculously strong the Manticore was, considering she looked pudgy and out of shape.  

  

Waiting for the unruly Manticore to calm down; seeing as Mr Brown didn’t care to involve the police and call too much attention to his club, Gladys had failed to notice the Manticore’s tail slither just above her head until it was too late. 

  

Looking up at the descending shadow, Gladys was confronted by the hellish, dripping maw of some unknown beast before an empty bottle of Vodka cracked her in the face, followed by a drenching of warm Vodka, pungent pussy mucus and one sodden iPhone. 

  

Shocked and blinded, her nose screaming in agony, Gladys had been tossed aside like a ragdoll. Wiping the disgusting slime from her face, almost gagging on the Vodka tinted tang in her mouth. The last she saw, the Manticore was gone. Dragged away by a Minotaur who had witnessed the unfolding chaos while Miss Palm had hastily organised her sisters to remove any evidence.  

  

What was worse, Gladys had to call Bugsy himself. On a rare night off, no less. 

  

The door to the back room opened, casting a wan light on the quietly crying Oni as Mr Brown carefully entered the room. 

  

“What in the name of Pandemonium is that smell!?” 

  

Overwhelmed by shame, unable to control her rampant emotions, tears came thick and fast as Gladys sobbed in deep, heaving gulps of putrid air. Her breasts rose and quivered in time with her anguish. 

  

Gladys couldn’t bring herself to look Mr Brown in the eye, wailing incoherent excuses into her hands and chest as he hurried to her side. 

  

“There, there.” Patting the trembling Oni on the back, Mr Brown surreptitiously wiped his hand on a handkerchief with a grimace and coaxed Gladys’ large hands away from her face. She was just thankful her skin made it all but impossible to see the shade of shame on her cheeks. 

  

“Come on, let’s get you home.” Clutching Gladys’ enormous hands like a lost little child, Bugsy circled the Oni’s calloused palms with his thumbs, knowing it helped to calm her down. Leaning forward, he placed a light kiss upon her lips. 

“What do you say we both jump into the shower, hmm?” There was no answer, only a soggy, back-breaking hug. 

 

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