Upon cracking her skull on the frame of the window, she falls to the floor in a heap. Reaching down, I pat her and ask if she’s okay. It’s a patronising pat; one I repeat until she comes to her senses.
“Dickhead,” she snaps.
“There’s no need to be like that,” I say with a grin, “you told me to get the dog’s attention, and that’s what I did. Nothing beats a good, strong whistle.”
Holding her head with both hands, she groans before checking to see if there’s any blood. For a second, I’m filled with mild panic, for if she’s split her head open, she’ll split me open, and she won’t stop until my brains are leaking from my ears. Luckily for both of us, there’s no damage done, as when she removes her hands, they’re both free of the red stuff. It doesn’t stop her from retaliating, though. Springing to her feet, she growls before bringing her knee up so it hits me square in the balls. The pain is immense, and as my mind warps as if being disturbed by some giant gravitational wave, I slump to the floor with tears in my eyes.
“Serves you right,” she gloats.
But she doesn’t stop there. Seeing the piece of rotting fish still clutched in my hand, she makes a grab for it—no doubt to smear it over my face. I still have my wits about me, however, and as she snatches, I throw it up into the air before wrapping my arms around her legs.
“Get off me, you smelly fuck!”
Although the pain is searing, and it feels as if my balls are bleeding, I stick out my tongue and lick her feet.
“Ooh, you brute!” she screams.
Doing her best to escape my perverse grasp, I stick my tongue between her toes, and as she drags me around like I’m some petulant child throwing a paddy, I let out a cry that’s a perfect mix of pain and pleasure.
“If you don’t let go of me, I’ll stamp your head into little pieces.”
Looking up at her, I see her nipples her hard, and when she realises I’ve noticed, she bares her teeth.
“Uh-okay,” I splutter, “I’ll let go.”
On doing so, I grab my balls and stick out my tongue like a turtle.
“Serves you right,” she spits, “you always have to take it too far, don’t you? Now get up and let’s feed the dog.”
Trying to muster the strength to move, I can’t, and instead motion for her to lift me. Hoisting me in her arms with no care for my delicate situation, she looks all confused as I lean against the windowsill wiping the tears from my face.
“Where’s the fish?” she asks.
Shaking the stars away that dance before my eyes, I look about me but see no fish.
“I thought you had it?” I say, and as we exchange confused glances, a playful breeze comes through the window bringing with it the excited barks of the dog.
A Journal for Damned Lovers UK
A Journal for Damned Lovers US
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