15/25
Azalea lounged across her sofa, catsuit half-unzipped, a glass of prosecco in one hand and the Bimbo Note resting lazily on her lap. She was watching messages scroll down a tablet screen, half-smirking at a troll’s latest comments on her feed. “RyanJones92” Why did idiots do that? Include their real name in their username? She scribbled her troll's name in the Bimbo Note and imagined Ryan's new look – she closed her eyes and envisioned blonde hair, a gaping mouth, massive tits...probably stretching something obscene across a too small top. Azalea pulled down the zip of her catsuit and slipped her free hand deep inside the material to the warmth between her legs...
“You’re predictable, you know.” The voice was soft, cutting, and far too close. Azalea rolled her eyes and glanced up. There was Rook, sitting cross-legged on the back of the sofa like a cat, absently plucking petals off a lily that hadn’t been in the room a moment ago.
“Well if it isn’t Miss Goth Britannica. I was wondering when you’d pop back in. Jealous of my follower count?”
Rook ignored the jab, dropping another white petal onto Azalea’s shoulder. “You’ve been busy. Voyeur, celebrity, punter, wedding, boyfriend. Each one a tiny spark in the dark. Impressive...if your ambitions end at creating masturbatory aids.”
“Impressive?” Azalea snorted. “It’s genius. Have you seen what I did at the wedding? The bride’s mother motor-boated every bridesmaid.”
Rook gave a small, approving tilt of her head. “Inspired chaos. But your boyfriend? Panic. Clumsy. That’s how you end up in the Note.”
Azalea’s hand stiffened on the glass stem. “I’m fine. He was clingy. I cleaned house. End of story.”
“Mm. For now.” Rook leaned down, balancing her chin in her hands. “The Note is restless, Azalea. It doesn’t like scraps. It wants a stage. Not a single troll, but a whole amphitheatre. Not a gambler, but a system. The next move…it must be grand.”
Azalea smirked, but her eyes glittered nervously. “And what if I don’t feel like dancing to the Note’s tune? What if I enjoy my 'masturbatory aids'?”
“Then it will eat you,” Rook said simply, like commenting on the weather.
No comments:
Post a Comment