Sonya Blade: Better Than Vengeance (Part 1)

(I started writing a Bayley story, got almost to a stopping point, then thought of a MUCH better setup and started over. Such is writing.

Anyway, ya'll will still be getting a Bayley story, but I couldn't get far enough this week to give part of it to you. Instead, enjoy this story with Kano and Sonya Blade that I've been sitting on for a while!)

Let me tell you something: revenge is a great thing. I love it. But some things are better.

Imagine this: there I am. Me, Kano, the Black Dragon himself, in my favorite pub. It’s a proper dive for proper villains; no juke box, no fluorescent lights, no pool table, not even a bar. Instead of a dance floor, it’s got a fight floor with a chain length fence around it. Everything else is either concrete, broken glass, music that’ll give you whiplash, or booze that’ll eat the treads off a tire. It’s pure sex, brutality, and dog-eat-dog chaos. You don’t go in there if you don’t know me and if you aren’t ready to die.

Like I said, it’s my favorite place, and this was my favorite romp.

See, Sonya Blade had shown up with some of her special forces muppets, trying to bring me down for killing her partner or her brother or whatever. I don’t remember what I did, but she’d been chasing me for years, being a sexy little pain in my ass. Now she’d finally found me. That’s where things started going wrong for her.

The spec ops boys weren’t doing so well. There were more of my lads, they were on my home turf, and the scrap was proper chaotic where they couldn’t use their Nancy teamwork bull shit. Sonya was really the only one holding them together, knocking heads, yelling orders. She looked good doing it too. She always did.

Thing was, I know Sonya. I know she wants revenge on me, has to have the scales of justice balanced or whatever. Gives her passion, which I like in a woman, but makes her a little single minded, doesn’t see the trees for the forest. Or the… whatever it is.

Anyway, all I had to do was show my face, give her a wave, make it look like I was running away, and she left her boys to chase me down. Then I took her on a little chase, ran her around the back rooms, pissed her off, and finally, when I was ready, I ambushed her and kicked her tight military ass.

I didn’t fight fair, of course. Cold cocked her every chance I got, ate a few coming back, but this was my turf. I had plenty of tricks lying around. Wasn’t long before she started slowing down, just wasn’t hitting back quite as hard, got a little easier to tag with my old mitts. It all went downhill from there, right off a cliff.

She was trying to shake off another punch from yours truly when I decided to stop messing about and just rugby tackled her. When she hit the floor, I heard her head smack off the concrete like a someone had dropped a bowling ball. Her eyes did that thing where they roll back for a second, get all shiny, gave her a stupid look on her face.

Best part was, she was underneath me.

She snapped out of it pretty quick, but it didn’t help much. I was sitting on her hips so she couldn’t do any of those annoying kicks of hers. She flapped around a little, tried to buck me off, but I didn’t care. I grabbed two fistfuls of that pretty sports bra she likes to wear, yanked her up towards me while my metal dome was coming down.

WHACK!

You can always tell you’ve hit someone really hard when you see their arms and legs jump like they got a little taste of electricity. Let me tell ya, when I gave Sonya Blade that thump with the metal part of my head, I felt it go right through that tight body of hers. Was a shiver, a real big one, and she made the sexiest little sound.

It felt really, really good. So good, I decided to do it again.

Before that, she was still grabbing at me, but all clumsy-like, like she wasn’t sure what she was doing anymore. Then WHACK, she stopped struggling. She made another girly-like grunt and her arms just lay down on the floor, legs stopped kicking. Honestly, it was a little disappointing, not nearly as fun as the first one. But if you’re going to do something, better see it through, like I always say.

So, I did it again.

WHACK!

I must have overdone it the first two times, cuz the third whack barely did anything at all. I felt the smack and she made a little noise, but there wasn’t much else. Didn’t move much, didn’t even tense much. So instead of giving her another, I leaned back to look at the damage.

Right away you could tell she was on bloody Mars. Pretty thing had that lost little girl look, eyes not focusing, lips pouting out like a right confused little blondie. There was a nice red mark on her forehead and she couldn’t blink right, one eye a little more closed than the other, like she got stuck halfway in a wink. Hot babe or not, when someone knocks you on the head too hard, you look pretty silly.

“There ya go, Sonya,” I said to her, “That’s better, ain’t it? Much quieter without you nagging me about what a bad boy I am.”

She didn’t say nothing back.

I let go of her bra and she flopped right to the floor, didn’t even flinch. I even gave her face a pat, seeing if I could wake her up a bit. Head rolled around a little, but she didn’t move; breathing, but nobody home.

Captain Sonya Blade was one word: done. She’d had enough, nothing left to give, cold kayoed. If it had been the tournament, she would have been swaying around, Shang Tsung and the others watching, and only one thing would be coming next.

Finish her.

I took out my bowie knife nice and slow. I light the light catch the blade, then slipped the edge right under her chin. It fit there really nice, right into that nice, soft skin.

“You should have quit while you were ahead, sweets,” I said, “Old Kano always wins out in the end. Bad luck for you, eh?”

She didn’t know what was going on right then, but her nerves did. They knew there was cold steel there, felt that sharp, cool edge, something that could open up her neck like an overpacked sausage. I pushed a little bit, tipping her chin back, letting it just nick her so she could feel the edge before the big show. She stiffened, even breathed a little quicker.

It was lovely. I always like how a woman looks with a knife on her.

It would have been easy to finish. I’d already started the cut, all I’d have to do was run that steel a few inches to the left or right and I’d have hit a gusher. No more Sonya Blade.

Except, you know that I didn’t, don’t ya? I didn’t open her up. I drew the blade back nice and careful, gave her another pat on the cheek, then even wiped the blood off the little nick I’d given her.

But Kano, you might ask, why didn’t you kill her? You could have cut her throat, caved her skull in, just held onto her neck until you felt the heartbeat stop! No more special forces chasing you, no more Sonya Blade, no more problems!

You could say these things and you could have a point, but the answer is that I’ve never liked killing beautiful women. Well, I’ve never liked killing beautiful women AS MUCH as other people. It’s still fun, but it feels wasteful, takes some of the joy out of it. And as much of a pain in the ass as she was, Sonya Blade was still one grade A piece of tail. You might could say her having caused me so many problems made her an even sexier piece.

I’ve never been a fan of girls that look like dolls myself, but if you could call Sonya a doll, she’s fitness kickboxing barbie. She’s got the shiny blonde hair, pouty lips, blue eyes, pretty as a peach, but with a body made for riding hard. Muscles in the shoulders and arms, a stomach with all those lovely grooves from tight abs, a squeezable little waist but with rounds hips you can really get a grip on. With the white sneakers, headband and green tights, she could be a jazzercise instructor, even has the perky ponytail. But she’s just a bit too hard and sleek, face a little too serious to be putting on fitness classes at the mall.

Oh, and her tits. As buff as she is, let me tell ya, she has knockers that look like they fell right off a grapefruit tree. And there they were, staring up at me from under her jazzercise spandex top, pushing up like they were trying to escape.

They even looked a little desperate, ya know? Going up and down as she breathed, all tight and confined, fighting to squeeze their way out.

It was at that moment, that I had a good look at my priorities.

I said to myself, “Ya know, Kano? Maybe you’re a bit too nasty. Most times when you see someone hanging off a cliff, you have a good laugh, maybe go step on their fingers. You can’t do that all the time, mate. Maybe this time you should show a little charity, eh?”

It was an interesting proposal. I thought for a tick, then answered, “You’re right, Kano! Maybe it’s time I lent a helping hand to those in need! Turn over one of those new leaves! Couldn’t hurt, right?”

So, instead of just watching Sonya’s knockers wear themselves out trying to get loose, I decided to give ‘em a little help. Like a good neighbor.

All I had to do was move my old blade from her chin down to her tummy. Lifted up her bra just enough, slipped the edge under, right between the girls, then pulled it up nice and careful. There was already so much strain on that green spandex, the knife slipped right through like it was tissue paper. Barely made a sound.

Her bra wasn’t just a strappy thing; it went all the way up her neck. I could have cut it all the way to the top, but I stopped after I’d made a slit, put my knife between my teeth, and got a good grip. Then I tore that bra open like a fat kid with a bag of Cheetos. I liked it that way, hearing the spandex pop, ripping it open with my bare hands. It jiggled her around a bit and that was fine by me too. She even groaned, blinked and frowned a little, like she had a feeling something wasn’t quite right.

It was just… magical.

When I finally yanked it open, those beauties bounced free, nice and jolly. Reminded me of Christmas somehow.

“Heh. You’re welcome, boys.” Said I.

Just like grapefruit, they were. Ripe and round, shiny, with pink little nips poking up at me. They seemed to be poking out a little more than normal, actually. Like maybe they were a little excited. I know I was.

Sonya was still off in Oz. She’d left the poor melons all alone there, just bobbing up and down on her chest. Seemed like the neighborly thing to keep them company until she came back, so I put my knife between my teeth and gave them a little hug with my fingers, two nice big handfuls.

Oh, they were soft. Moved them around and around, pressed them together, strummed the nips with my thumbs, and they went wherever I liked. Now I know a pair of fakies when I feel ‘em and these were one hundred percent crafted by the big man himself. Juicy, firm, and right moldable.

“Mmmm…” I said to myself, knife still in me mouth, “Orr… thers er forkin lorshuss…”

All Sonya did was groan a little more, eyelashes did some fluttering, so I thought it safe to assume she didn’t mind. Seeing as that was the case, I gave ‘em a nice massage, felt ‘em smoosh and spring back, worked ‘em just like I was making dumplings out of warm dough. I could tell they were very appreciative and I was having a good old time myself. It was what you call serendipitous.

Now I’m a firm believer that anything fun is better with booze, and you never have to look far to find some good hooch in my place. I gave those knockers a squeeze to tide me over, then got up, stuck my knife back in my belt and grabbed a couple of bottles.

Kickboxer barbie was starting to squirm when I came back. She was groaning, frowning all uncomfortable, like she had a right powerful headache. She tried to lift her head up, but only got it to turn over, rolling it towards her other shoulder.

I wasn’t bothered by it. With the ass kicking I’d given her, she wouldn’t be giving me any trouble for a good while. I stepped right beside her, set down two of the bottles, then popped the top off the other one.

“Looks like we finally know who wanted it more, don’t we, love?” I said to her, big old grin on my face, “You’ve got the skills, but just don’t have the killer instinct I got. Don’t be too bent up about it, though; nobody does. So, here’s to me! The Black Dragon!”

I gave her a cheers, toast to the fallen enemy and all that, then took a long swig of Black Dragon rotgut. Good shit, that. The second it hits your tongue it’s like a lightning bolt, then burns all the way down. Really wakes you up. And I’ve seen it eat the paint off an old truck.

“Ah HA!” I shook myself after it went down. It already had me feeling proper feral, put my hackles up, widened my eyes a bit.

But I didn’t want to keep it all to myself. That would have made me a bad host, wouldn’t it?

“And here’s to you, blondie!” I licked my lips, “For being so fucking persistent! And that ass of yours! Bloody gorgeous, that thing is!”

She wasn’t really in a position to properly drink, so I just turned the bottle over and poured. I tried to get it in her mouth, but I’ll be honest, most of it just splashed on her face. The scent of the stuff woke her up a bit, made her cough and squirm and choke. She made a gurgley whine before she got her face turned away and then I couldn’t it into her mouth at all.

That was all right, though. I just changed my target, poured the rest on her tits.

“Theeeere we go!” I told her, while the booze chugged out, “Let’s make ‘em nice and shiny! Good for the skin, I bet!”

And the booze did make her stomach and those grapefruits of hers glisten right nicely, like they were right off the vine after a hard rain. I laughed a good bit at that, watching bad ass Sonya Blade gag and groan and wriggle around on the floor. You gotta enjoy the little things, you know?

When the bottle ran out, I chucked it and let it smash on the wall, then bent down for another.

But then, I was surprised. Before I even got the bottle, Sonya made a sound that was a little too coherent for my taste.

“F-fuh… koff, koff…” I heard her say, “Wha… ohhhh…”

That wasn’t what I had been counting on. I’d thought for sure she wouldn’t be able to say “goo goo, gah fah” for at least another fifteen, and then when I looked at her, she was even trying to wipe her eyes. She couldn’t quite make it, arms still looked floppy, but she was getting close. At this rate, she’d be trying to swing at me again before too long. I was a mite impressed.

“Huh!” I said, “You bounce back quick, doncha, sweetheart?”

I faced a little conundrum right then. I could just stomp on her head, maybe give her a kick to the jaw, put her out like a light, but she wouldn’t be as much fun if she wasn’t moving at all. Plus, I liked her pretty and you can only knock on someone’s head so many times before they stop waking up. That would defeat the whole fucking purpose, wouldn’t it?

So instead, I looked around and set my eyes on that chain length fence. I left her for a minute, let her squirm and moan her little heart out while I cut a long piece of wire off that fence. It took a bit to get through the wire with my knife, cut myself once in fact, but I got what I needed before she got moving too much.

“Now, now!” I told her with charming aplomb, “You’re just getting too rambunctious! We’ll have to fix that!”

She didn’t say anything back and she kept trying to roll over, so I gave her a little help. I put my boot under her hip, lifted her up a bit, then gave her a good shove. She got on her stomach all right, smacked into the floor a bit harder than she wanted. She made a sound like she didn’t like it and then another when I dropped down and put my knee into her back, but beggars can’t be choosers, can they?

I had another big grin as I kept her pinned under my knee, reached down to take her wrists.

“You know, I like this!” I laughed, forcing her hands together, “Easy for me, painful for you! I can see why cops and military wankers do it!”

She groaned, kicked her feet, but that didn’t do her much good. I was busy wrapping that wire around her wrists nice and tight, giving it a good yank every now and then to make sure she couldn’t wiggle out.

Once the wire was how I wanted it, I twisted it around a few times so it stayed tight. Easy peasy, homemade handcuffs, your mother’s brother is named Robert.

“There you are!” said I, “Ready for company!”

I gave that ass of hers a good smack before I got back up. It was hard to miss, nice and round, a bit of that spandex tucked up in her business. She made a funny sound, a little girly, even.

Back on my feet, I could see her sorta working her hands around. She was too slobberknocked to realize she was stuck, probably was wondering why her arms didn’t work. She was groaning, trying to move, but was still on queer street and couldn’t quite manage to wake up.

Lucky for her, I had just the thing to solve that problem.

I put my foot back under her and rolled her over again. She didn’t much like it, made another noise, maybe even said something. I don’t remember, I was watching her boobs bounce. They’d picked up some dirt from the floor, but I wasn’t complaining.

Now it was time to fix her up. I took a bottle, chewed up off the top and spit it out, then bent down to grab a handful of that ponytail. Useful, those things are. Like silky little handles.

Anyway, I got a grip, then nice and slow started dragging her up.

Even with her brain halfway to the moon, she didn’t like it at all. She groaned, made a pouty face, even started talking a bit. She said something like “Oh… wha… s-stop…” or other clever things. She was a regular rocket scientist right then.

Once I got her sitting up, I took her under the arm to pull her up the rest of the way. I didn’t mind yanking on her hair (liked it a lot, actually), but easier to maneuver her like that. I got her up and forward, onto her knees, then let her sit that bum of hers on her sneakers. I didn’t need her standing, just up enough so she could drink.

She started waking up a little more right then, trying to move her head.

“What the… fuck?” she said.

Then she looked right up at me. It wasn’t that dumb ‘watching the pretty birdies’ look either. She saw me, recognized me, and she started putting the pieces together. I swear, you could see the anger rising up inside her like she was bleeding Popeye with his spinach!

I made sure I had a good hold on her ponytail then put my boot behind her knee. I put my weight on it, pinned that leg to the floor, and waited for the show to start. Didn’t have to wait long.

As soon as she could, she got such a nasty look on her face and started twisting around, trying to get away from me, to get up, to do something. It was slow at first, clumsy, but she started building steam pretty quick. Like I said: like Popeye!

“Get y-your… fucking hands off me…” she was trying to yell, but her voice as a little weak yet, “let… let go!”

“There she is!” I said to her, pulling back on that ponytail, “You were having a little naparoo after I kicked your ass! I gotta say, didn’t expect you up and about so quick! You gotta hard head! Nice tits too!”

Nothing like a little dose of pissed-off to clear away the cobwebs. When she looked down and saw those oranges of hers flying free, she stiffened up for a moment, then really started letting loose. She was jerking around like her ass was on fire, yelling threats, cursing. A couple of times she shrieked at me like a cat!

“YOU DIRTY SONOFA—I’LL KILL YOU! LET ME GO! I’LL KILL YOU! RIP YOUR FUCKING FACE OFF! RAAAAAGH! LET GO!”

I gave her a good laugh. She could jerk her shoulders around, twist her hips all she liked, she wasn’t going anywhere. Her hands were stuck behind her back, I pulled back on her hair so she couldn’t get any leverage, and with me standing on her leg she couldn’t get her feet under her. All she did was bounce those melons around and make me laugh harder.

Of course, my laughing made her scream louder, fight harder, but that was fine. I wanted her angry. It would make the next part easier.

“FUCKYOULETMEGOKANOPIECEOFSHIT!” the lady screamed, getting pink in the face, “KILLYOUFUCKINGKILLYOU!”

She went on and on like that. You couldn’t really blame her. She came to bring me to justice at last for all my nasty crimes, plus to get revenge on me, and instead got her mates killed, her ass beaten, and gave me a proper tour of her goodies. If I’d ever fucked up that bad, then gotten humiliated like that to boot, I’d be banshee shrieking my bloody head off too!

Once she was nice and fired up, I let go of her hair and clamped my hand over her eyes. I kept her head tilted back so she still couldn’t get much leverage, but now she couldn’t see either.

Little Rambo Barbie tried to shake her head loose right off, but I held on tight and took a good swig of the moonshine.

“Now, now, Sonya,” I told her, wiping my mouth, “No one likes a sore loser! You took your best shot, you missed, and now you gotta pay! Rule of the jungle, love: to the victor go the spoils!”

And she yammered on. It was all the same. Laa dee daaaa dee daaa. I’ll make you pay for this, Kano. Cursey curse, blah blah you, Kano.

I let her have at it. I wanted her to keep yapping. The timing was tricky for what I was trying to do and the wider she opened her mouth the better.

Not many people could have pulled off this little maneuver. Lucky for me, I’m Kano.

Right when she was in the middle of a nice big yell, I stuck the bottle of booze into her gob.

It’s not an exact science. It shut her up mostly, but she was still coughing and gurgling, some of the booze getting down her gullet and some spilling out of her mouth. She was trying to spit, jerk her head away, yell, wriggling around like mad belly dancer, kicking the leg I hadn’t pinned down. If she’d been pissed before, she was doubly pissed now.

But this wasn’t my first barbecue. There was another reason I had her head tilted back, see? It lined up her mouth hole with her throat hole so it was one long chute straight down, and I made sure all those bottles had nice narrow necks.

I drew back, gave the back of that bottle a good smack and that thing probably went halfway down her throat.

You’ve never seen someone go from struggling around to straight and stiff faster than Sonya did. Her back arched out, shoulders jerked back, hard as she could. And she stayed that way.

She wasn’t trying to talk any more, let me tell ya. There were little choking noises coming out of her throat, trying to cough the bottle back up, but it wasn’t going anywhere with my hand on it. After a minute, she started to struggle around, but she’d stiffen up every few seconds when her gag reflex kicked in.

I’d have to help her work on that. The gag reflex, that is.

I didn’t need to have my hand over her eyes anymore, so I let go and went back to the ponytail again. I liked it, nice and soft, fun to tug. Seeing her eyes was nice too, big and darting around, all frantic and wild.

See, right then Sonya was having what you might call a dilemma. The bottle was only half the problem, the rest was the booze pouring into her throat. It was past her mouth so she couldn’t spit it out. She could keep it from going down, but then she couldn’t breathe either. Right then, it was drink or drown.

“Go on, Sonya,” I said, “It’s good for ya! Help ya loosen up a bit!”

She gave me a right savage glare right then, but then her eyes went all big when she gagged again. That tight tummy of hers was working overtime too, clenching up, showing me all the little muscles, belly button sucking in. She was even sticking her chest out, like it wanted attention.

I let my hand off the bottle for second to give one of the nipples a quick tug, then went back before she could get it out.

“You’ll like this!” I said to her, “It’s proper ripping lighter fluid! Put a fire in your gut!”

Like I said, this wasn’t my first barbecue. Doesn’t matter how stubborn the sheila, give ‘em a bottle like this and eventually it’ll all go right where it’s supposed to. Every last drop.

Sonya fought it for a while, but she started slowing down before long, the bottle getting emptier anyway; she couldn’t keep it all back. She made a few more choking sounds, a little squeal, tried to shake her head around. Then there was the first big gulp and the brown stuff in the bottle sank a bit lower.

“There ya go!” I told her, “Bottoms up!”

She kept it back for another few seconds, then she took the second big gulp. Then another. Then the dam broke.

After that, she chugged it all down like a champ. Glug, glug, glug, glug, fast as she could, like she was dying of thirst. Booze went down so fast, it was like I was pouring it down the sink.

You could tell she didn’t fancy it. Her face got all pink, eyes started watering, kept choking, little vein popping up on her forehead. Didn’t matter, she sucked that bottle dry.

I looked her right in the eye and said, “You got real talent, love. A right mighty guzzler!”

She didn’t feel much like talking back right then, but she tried to give me a little glare, not much heart to it. It was good shit she was throwing back and she was already feeling it. Getting right thumped and drinking a liter of diesel doesn’t make you Stephen Hawking. That was kind of the idea.

Anyway, I had a good laugh out of it. It’s the little things ya treasure.

Before long that bottle was good and empty. Old Sonya wasn’t doing much fighting any more either. I still had a hold of her goldilocks and she was just hanging there, turning as green as her tights.

She tried to give me looks every now and again, but her real worry was that bottle still stuck down her throat! The booze hadn’t numbed her up properly yet, so she kept gagging around the thing, trying to hock it back up. A couple of times she tried to give me the nasty eye, then she’d hork and her eyes’d go all big and she’d forget all about it.

“There’s a girl!” I said, “Need a little help there?”

I pulled the bottle out nice and slow and gentle. The last thing you wannna do is try to yank on the thing. Her throat’s still closed on it, see? It might break. You gotta ease it out, let her do some of the work, give her a little coaxing.

Not to mention, I wanted to give her gagging a little workout.

So I drew it out of her and she horked and retched, the whole time just getting a bit more glassy eyed. She was starting to get numb, body going all loose, nice and sloshed. Nose and cheeks were getting rosy, eyelids hanging, starting to have that faraway look you get when you’re having trouble remembering your name. It was hitting her quick and hard.

Big bad Sonya couldn’t handle her liquor any better than a schoolgirl.

When the bottle popped out, she coughed a bit and let out a sexy little moan. Didn’t say anything, though. Mouth was hanging open like a bass that took a shot in the knob and when she tried to talk it was all mush. Her brain was swimming in booze right then. Blondie just couldn’t handle it.

I looked at her and said, “See, this is why you couldn’t catch me, Sonya. Ya ain’t got the stomach.”

“Fuck you, Kano.” She said, or at least tried to say. It sounded more like, “ferk… ooo… k-kernel…”

I got a laugh at that and pulled her up by her arm.

Her legs weren’t much ready for that. Soon as she was up, they started trying to fall out from under her, her eyes rolling around in her head, hips waving about like she was putting on a show. Right away I could tell she wouldn’t stay up without help, so I put my arm around her waist and pulled her into me, helpful-like.

There she was, bare tits against my chest, looking up at me all confused, blushed up and lips puffy. Right then she wasn’t some super soldier Miss America, she was just a pretty little lady pressed up against yours truly. I can tell when a woman wants me and part of Sonya Blade wanted a part of me right then, whether she knew it or not.

I pulled on her ponytail more, tilting her chin up. She was so sloshed, she didn’t even flinch.

“All this fighting and blame throwing,” I told her with my patented strapping grin, “It’s not getting us anywhere, is it? I think it’s time we kissed and made up!”

Then I did what any real man would do: I jerked my head down and got me a nice, wet taste of Sonya Blade.

She had a mouth made for kissing, let me tell ya. Just the right size to fit me, lips like velvet, little tongue that kept flicking about. Sure, she struggled at first and that bit was fun, her making little noises, eyes getting all big. She squirmed, wormed around and I loved it. I could still taste the booze in her and the rest was so tasty and so… American! I shit you not, right then I wanted to wave the stars and stripes, eat an apple pie, and sing yankee doodle dandy!

But as sweet as it was with her wiggling, it was even sweeter when she stopped. Maybe she was tired, maybe she was so tossed she forgot what was happening… maybe she even decided she liked it. All I can tell ya honest, is that after about a minute of tongue wrestling, she made a little sound, her body went all floppy, didn’t fight any more. She gave right in.

Could be she hoped maybe if she stopped fighting I’d get bored, but she would have been wrong. When I see a chance to take what I want, I go for it and I don’t stop. Her little fainting daisy routine only fired me up twice as much as I’d been before.

I put my tongue so deep down her throat it was like I was drilling for oil. I grabbed a handful of that spandex ass of hers and squeezed like I was trying to tear it off. I was bloody rough, pulling her hair, chewing on her lips. I showed her who the man was right then, once and for all. I showed her who owned that pretty fanny.

And she didn’t do one goddamn thing to stop me.

Once I’d made my point, I pulled back off her mouth to have a look at her. She was coughing a bit, lips all puffed up, but what was behind those blue eyes was out to lunch. The way she was looking at me, I don’t think she was seeing much besides pink elephants. I know you’re thinking it was the booze that made her go all doe-eyed again, but I like to think my natural machismo had put her right where she should be.

Then the real fun could begin.