Erotic 05: Hotpants Galore

With a lewd flush to her cheeks, a demented look in her eyes, she would grin, having gotten back at Murderface for her 'forbidden love' comment.

She would grind her hips back and forth ever so slightly, poking Murderface's nose then her chin. The one on the ground would be glaring up at her, forcefully servicing the former Warmaster with her face, her supple lips. "Make me feel good," Kharn sang out like a bird singing a song. The flush grew deeper, the grin sicker than before, her chest heaving up and down with powerful breathes, tie smothered between her ample size.

The hotpants were wet and hot from the drooling monster that was attached to the bigger monster, and from the saliva of Murderface, the air growing too hot for her to breathe. It was becoming a spa in her face. Murderface's heart skipped a beat, feeling the faintest tip of Kharn's wickedly sharp claw traveling along her petite form, going down her stomach to pastures forbidden to all but herself.

Deriving terrible pleasure from seeing the startled surprise and mild fear in the other's eyes, Kharn tortured the other by simply teasing her. She wouldn't take her innocence away, not completely. No. She would whittle it away, with this act alone.

That tantalizing claw danced on her clothed belly, the sound of fabric scrapping faint to both of their ears. Murderface shivered in between her thighs, the treatment working as planned.

Kharn traced her body, playing along her sides, by her armpit, by the crook of her wrist. She used both claws to touch, fondle, the captured girl's uniform clad flesh. The fabric felt good to her, encouraging her to continue her wicked ways. Murderface struggled momentarily to free herself, only to heighten Kharn's mood, a song chirping out. She stopped, glaring with renewed anger at the culprit.

Pink red cheeks, Kharn grinned down at her. Leaning back, making sure to keep the crotch of her hot pants on those lips, Kharn reached toward the diamond patterned stockings that Murderface wore.

For someone who murdered, vaporized, pulverized, and generally smashed apart people's faces, she sure had a girly sense of fashion, even if it was streamlined. Here she gripped those tone legs, feeling the muscles flex underneath as Murderface tried kicking her off. Plenty of action gave her these muscles, these legs, that much was clear to the russian. Kharn rubbed the calf, resisting her captive's kicking, delighting herself in the feel of both flesh and cloth. These stockings were silk, and they were meant to be stroked.

With Murderface's lower half raised unceremoniously, open to her scrying gaze, Kharn saw much to her liking. Murderface tried jerking her leg away, failing in doing that but succeeding in jostling her body awkwardly. It only pleased Kharn.

With curiosity brimming, Kharn tasked her hands to seeing if that one thing she noticed was true. She slid in between those stockinged legs, gingerly moving. Murderface had an inkling as to what was happening, mustering her strength into her arms to overthrow this tyrant. With how Kharn sat on her, it was impossible to throw her off that way, arms long numb from lack of blood circulation.

Then she froze. All froze. Something sharp poked the place between groin and butt, that super secretive place. Heart beating erratically, she gave a yelp, started thriving against her bodily, doing all she could to free herself. Kharn let go of the calf, allowing Murderface's body to flatten out in between mad spurts of bucking, straightening herself upright, dragging her wet hotpants across those shouting lips.

Ah, it really did feel good~ Kharn observed, letting out a deep sigh. Far too good.

Murderface glaring up at her once again, thoroughly pissed off with how she was being treated; murder was clear to behold in those purple rings. A pure homicidal rage thundered there. Kharn's heart beat even faster, thrilled by the mad display of bloodlust.

Flushed cheeks, sick grin, demented light, Kharn let her claws rake across the clothed body of Murderface, scraping what she could through the fabric fibers entwined by magic. Reaching, she took her wrist, bringing the hand encasing her soul gem up to her face. Murderface yanked her hand hard, arm feeling numb, but Kharn held on. She had a zombie's wrath of a grip, ironclad from all the people she killed, all the weapons she held. Someone with an asleep arm would never stand a match to Kharn Valnikov.

Demonstrating this, she let her extraordinary tongue slither out, purposefully going slow to her soul gem. Murderface burned her hatred into those red and black eyes of Kharn's, hoping she saw half of the rage that boiled inside, half of the death threats on her tongue, her tongue that tasted those wet hotpants. She didn't pay attention to the tongue, not knowledgeable of what was about to happen.

Tip of the tongue touched her gem, and, with slight movement, an atomic blast of other worldly pleasure blasted her senses to kingdom come.

She never knew what hit her.