author: UnderHerToes
An eerie irresolution inside, you side with your ambitions held assuredly in Angelina's hand. "Okay," you utter while brushing alongside your partner's shoulders, careful not to tread on the miniature intruder centered between two towering boots. Hurriedly, you turn back to remind, "We'll meet in the parking lot Angelina." Receiving only jagged glance from her, you thrust yourself into the hallway, eyes darting left to right to left. "It's all clear. Hurry up!" you press in scratching whisper.
"Just get out of here!" Angelina presses back in genuine shout, and without second survey, you pull the door shut and disappear. The echo of the heavy door shutting sails back to the room, the tiny teacher trembles more in the dark one's diffuse shadow. She looks down on him, undeniable disgust distorting her lips, her eyes, her very mind. "So," she toys, "now who has the upper-hand in this relationship, Doctor?"
She grins devilishly, her gaze striking her shrunken guest as much as her words, but still he manages to speak up, "Angelina! Angelina this is not right!" He makes a fist which is then shaken skyward with minute fury. "I-I... you can't do this to me!" A great boot stomp quakes the doctor to his knees, but he quickly regains himself, pleading a poor argument, "When I showed you the matter transposer before, it was just between us, for our own games! Private!"
Angelina throws her arms to her side with a stifled scream, "I am so tired of your shit! And I'm not going to take it anymore! I don't need you and your permission and your rules and your...!" she growls repressed rage. The miniature doctor attempts to run from his enraged companion, his legs kicking through constricting coat for naught. A great wall pushes him from behind, dropping him to the floor so massive fingers can trap him in crushing grip. "You and I are over, Doctor. How about one final game for you?"
Angelina's chest heaves with heavy breath as she reaches along the underside of her skin-tight corset, peeling the edge upward, "Hope I'm not too rough for you!" With a long yell, the doctor is brought against the fabric of Angelina's skirt then squeezed beneath the vice of garments. Instantly pressured into her smooth skin, he sinks deeper as she snaps the corset down onto his legs. His muffled shouts do nothing but warm the small circle of skin his mouth touches with heated words. Unable to move himself away, the black, constricting skin against his back only depresses him further into her swallowing stomach as a greater will, the hands of his captress, push against him like the palpitations of an impassioned heart.
The deadly dance lasts no longer than the duration of a spoken farewell. The male spent, the black widow wastes no time disposing of the body, giving it a burial worthy of a crumpled ball of waste paper. Angelina gives a final look to the fallen figure below, straightens her skirt, and casually strolls from the scene, not a soul as witness.
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