Oh, Despicable Me
Emotions of inexplicable rage and utmost sorrow intermingled and were intensified by the recognition of pads following behind her. Distress had forced its way into the witch’s core and she had been reduced to the pitiful sham of a once-competent Goddess; specially remembering her episode of rage from the other days. Ribcage protruding slightly from her abdomen and beautiful visage now sallow and lack of the infamous smirk it typically possessed, evidently affected negatively by her inevitable situation. Her felind bodice bear no scars, no blemishes; mile-long legs fell upon a slow pace, engraged, gradually, audits rotating towards his sounds, his venomous words as her own luxurious, tail lashed its tip back and forth, in clear annoyance. Time will find that she may bear more than she could ever bargain for, should her decision become reality though she started to dread it more and more with each single syllable the man uttered in his baritone. Why ws he even annoyed? There was nothing between them. Just a fling, a quick fuck. Wham bam thank you ma'am. She carries herself as if a sylph emerging from water thought each of his words is yet annother bullet; no truer dignity was found in anywhere but that of this witch's holding of her body. Her very actions seem ethereal in her leisure pace, as if she was apt to fade away at the slightest touch; and in a way she was.
He was not supposed to know. They were not supposed to met each other again. This was all wrong. She was caught with no route for escape however there was the slight chance that he might not find out. Yet he pushed and pushed and pushed! It was like a vexing of the soul for what she felt was not lupine, it was twisted and distorted but it was something strong. It burned so bad like fire lacing her veins and creeping up her spine, her soft tissues of skin were a sore looking red from the contained rage within her very bones but all she could feel was desire; desire to hate. To hate him, her, that night, them. The witch was intoxicated with emotion, as she came to a halt, remaining still. Repellant little cockroach! the acidity that was residing in her stomach spatted out of her pretty maw in foul and vulgar words wrapped entirely in venom, as she turned to face the brute. You are nothing more than a festering dribbles of ferret excrement and yet you dare to just walk in here like you belong When she turned abruptly at last to face him there was no customary warmth, it was gone faster than summer rain on the tarmac. Her usual acutely beautiful visage was hard, cold, rigid. Indeed even her focus was somewhere on the tree behind the handsome man, as if he had become invisible to her or she could not bare to see him at all. He crossed some invisible line. I do not desire to have anything to do with you. she cursed once again, baring her canines more in a protective gesture that surprised even herself. Perhaps being with child brought forth her motherly basic instincts and due to her anxiety and distress such instincts deemed the handsome man a threat. Was she convincing? The witch was not entirely lying yet he did not want to know, he will have no part in this. Her body, her decision. He had no say in this. Her luxurious, busy tail wrapped around her form in an attempt to hide her abdomen swelling yet there was one thing it never crossed her mind to hide and that was her scent. She did not had the time; she could have rolled in some herbs, in some mud or even blood but not even the Gods knew she was going to encounter this male here after so many weeks.
