Hey there! I haven't updated in a while, but here's a short chapter just to keep everyone's interests alive again. Happy readings!
Chapter 8
Riley behaved like a very real dobby devotchka, just like I told her to.
Of course, discipline had to be made in there too, O my brothers; at nochy time when everyone has climbed in the starry sack, I would slip into Riley's space in the living room to give her a stern warning about her shiving and like behaving really really horrorshow with me and my parents. She listens to me, of course, but that malenky gulliver of hers forgets sometimes, O my brothers. When I tell her not to itty to my room when I'm not around, she seems to disregard this rule and does so anyway. Such a painful mistake that malenky devotchka would make; I am very detail oriented when it comes to my personal belongings. If something is out of mesto in my room… For example, my laptop being pushed a few inches away from its original spot, I would immediately realize it was Riley who did that. You see, my parents know better than to head to my room once I'm living with them. They can't be moving anything in my room because it earns them a very ultra-violent outburst coming from Yours Truly. Ah, I can remember their expressions on their litsos when I would whack their fingers with like my cane, them ittying all boo-hoo-ing at Your Humble Narrator. You really think I would save that cane, just for all the worthless tramps outside in the streets only?
"I-I'm sorry!" Riley horns out, after I push her violently against my bedroom door, "P-please don't hurt me!"
I had to hold back my oozhassny expression of desire just when I whacked her pale fingers with my cane, her horns of pain and anguish being like lovely lovely music to me. Right now, it is a warm, bright Sunday morning, and after I shvatted a nice hot shower so that I can prepare myself to itty over to Pete's, I lovet Riley fillying around with like my laptop once again, O my brothers. I hide many oozhassny secrets in that laptop, you see… Pictures of very ultra-violent content that soothes me old glazzies, pornography unlike any other you've ever viddied before, and all the newsfeeds in the world that I can fit in that portable malenky computer. If Riley were to viddy all of my veshches in there, and not the idealistic version that she messel of about me… she wouldn't want to be my "droog" anymore, and Bog knows I wouldn't let that sloochat just yet, since she serves so much entertainment for me while she and I are here together.
"I told you not to itty into my room, my beloved," I snarl, gripping my cane out threateningly in front of her, "I govoreeted you not to do it, yet here you are..."
She sniffles and shakes, cowering in fear and mestoes herself into a fetal position, "I-I'm sorry. I-I forgot, you see…"
She screeches audibly once I thwacked my britva cane again at my door loudly, and then she starts to cry like a malenky child. I smirk downward at her, relishing the beautiful image set out right in front of me, the image of a weak and suffering malenky devotchka, the malenky devotchka who trusted the big bad wolf and how she's paying for that now.
I am amazed of her ability to continue to be there for me. Even after our last deep conversation about the gazetta and all that cal, I would defuse my ultra-violent tendencies onto her in very malenky ways; for example, after my parents came home and we whipped up the dinner and the dark chocolate cake, we would all sit peacefully together, eating and enjoying our pischa, but of course for Riley, her experiences are much different at the dinner table… I would viddy at her with like a baddiwad smot on my litso when I watch her writhe in pain while I'm pinching her inner thigh, unbeknownst to my gloopy parents, O my brothers. That nochy when my parents ittied to bed, I would go into her malenky "room" in the living room, just to cover her rot with one rook while I rub my other rough one all over her marble-smooth and coloured flesh, savoring her every malenky curves and inhaling her rose scented luscious glory.
And after all that... She still continues to smile at me like a dorogoy droog would when we lovet each other in my domy. How gloopy can she be?
"Get up!" I snarl again, twisting my rooker into her light brown luscious glory and pulling her up by it, making her creech a malenky bit once more, "You and I are ittying to pay my old droog a visit. You're going to meet his pregnant zheena, and I expect you to behave like a true dama, if you can pony that. Right right?"
She only responds by nodding her gulliver, her bottom goober quivering. I let her go and travel to my closet to pick out today's outfit, which consisted of this waisty, black military inspired jacket, dark charcoal straight fit pants, these horrorshow gravel boots in case I need to shove one up in someone's sharries if they piss me off too much, and of course my nozh cane. I top it all off with dva black leather gloves, and I turn to Riley with like a smug smot, O my brothers. She forces a malenky, awkward smile out for Your Humble Narrator, still afraid of me being ultra-violent and like razdraz.
"Come come come, now, Riley-dorogoy! Let Uncle Alex court you out," I govoreeted in a gentleman goloss, in the Queen's English accent of course, and I hold out my black gloved rook out to her, "No need to be afraid of me anymore!"
She brosays her glazzies heavenward, staring deep into my own ocean blues, and I give her a smirk. She mestoes her delicate rook into my own and I pull her up into my arms, my arms around her tally and back so that she won't escape. She shivers a malenky tomtick before smottovat up at me, and I rub my rook over her gulliver gently, "Come come come now, Riley-dorogoy. We best be ittying now over to Pete's, lest we want to be late."
My cold blue glazzies bore into her warm brown ones, and we stare at each other for quite a while before we got out of my apartment and out onto the streets.