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Alanis Morrisette You Oughta Know (Instrumental)

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Ruthy was looking damn hot if she did mind saying so herself. She stood before her three-way mirror admiring the sight which had bagged her a date with one of the most eligible bachelors in the entire state. Son of media mogul and property magnate Ted Lutz-Worthington, Clive was considered by many to be the ultimate catch and she was delighted to have procured his digits at a recent work night out. Their trails had crossed after a little too much tequilla that evening but he had seemed genuinely taken by her inebriated antics and messaged her the very next morning to check on her well-being. They arranged a further meeting and she suggested cooking him a home-prepared meal just to sweeten the deal. She was an exquisite cook and this presented an opportunity for her to seduce his taste-buds before her planned ravaging once lights had dimmed. She knew that once she had him between her thighs, he wouldn’t be going anywhere fast. Being both highly sexed and multiple-orgasmic, Ruthy knew exactly how to gain a footing once she had him beneath her crimson satin sheets. Resistance would be absolutely futile.

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She ran her eyes up and down, surveying the black corset which kissed her bare flesh delectably and signaled her approval before throwing on a teasingly tight red dress which clung to her curvaceous hips for dear life. He really had no idea what was coming to him tonight, her linguine was to die for twice and she had a nice vintage rouge already poured. Despite this lavish spread, he was running decidedly late and this began to concern Ruthy as she glanced at her grandfather clock. 8:15. He was already a full fifteen minutes late and hadn’t informed her of any late arrival. This displeased her immeasurably, there was nothing which ruffled her more than tardiness and ordinarily she wouldn’t entertain it. Tonight she was prepared to make an exception but he was beginning to wear out his welcome.

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Another glance at the time and Ruthy had begun to get impatient; after pacing around mumbling under her breath for a few moments, she decided to go downstairs and prepare herself a drink just to while away a few more minutes and punctuate this excruciating wait. Her mind continued to dart. His reputation as a cad preceded him and her friends had warned her about getting involved but there was entirely another reason why she had become fixated. Sure, he was a good-looking guy and had an air of entrepreneurial spirit which many women found irresistible but there was something else which had her soaking her gusset at the thought of making this particular catch.

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His eyes were piercing blue and shone like sentient beacons. They had fascinated Ruthy since the first time she fell under their spell and they reminded her of a blue-eyed bear she received as a gift on Valentine’s Day from her first love years ago. She had discovered her womanhood with this suitor and he left her as soon as she put out for him, so she vowed then never to allow another man treat her that way. She still had the bear, tucked away inside her closet. It was threadbare and missing both eyes but she still hung onto it all this time just in case she found a new love to share her life with. Every day she lived in hope but she wasn’t getting any younger and cupid’s bow appeared to have found an alternate trajectory by this point.

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That’s why this one mattered. This guy was different from the rest, he also bore an uncanny resemblance to her first love and his eye color was almost identical. He may have gained a fair level of notoriety for his extra-curricular activity but this presented a welcome challenge to Ruthy and she simply had to ensnare him. So why had he not called to warn her? How could he be so insensitive when it clearly meant so much to her? All these thoughts swirled around her head and she restlessly stalked from one room to the next, occasionally peeking through the window to spot any approaching lights. An hour passed and no lights, her cell had not so much as rattled in its roll cage and she had all but given up on her ideal.

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Ruthy was furious and deeply hurt by being shunned this way. She threw back a clutch of meds and wiped the tears and mascara from her dejected face, then commenced to the kitchen. Once there she retrieved a large bread knife from the rack, run her index finger along its glimmering blade just enough to draw blood and proceeded back upstairs to her boudoir. Her bedroom lights were muted and a solitary candle illuminated the chamber. She passed the bed, this time paying no mind to her reflection in the mirror and made her way to an old office chair in the darkest corner of the room sheathed in a musty throw-over. Something was stirring slightly beneath the sheet, labored and barely registering. She sat astride the seat with a plate of cold linguine in one hand and the blade in the other.

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“You never showed” she muttered under her breath before raising the sharpened utensil above her head and plunging it down into the overhanging fabric. Once…twice…three, four, five times. A cavalcade of crimson jettisoned through small slits in the throw-over, spraying her face and causing her to scream banshee-like and sink the knife in one last time. This time she hovered above her chosen spot before sliding and twisting the blade. Instantly the drape was still and Ruthy’s breathing was fast and erratic as she attempted to slow her frantically beating heart. She sat there for a few moments, caked in deep red, and stared at the dead weight between her thighs. Then, without further procrastination, she whipped off the sheet.

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Clive had survived the numerous secondary blows but the final strike had slid straight through his ribcage and the subsequent twist had cause his heart to fulminate instantly. The knife still protruded from his chest and was a full five inches deep, the remaining trickles of his snuffed life blood ebbing away and resting in a bloody ledge by his abdomen. Ruthy looked once more at his beautiful face, his eyes were dead now but still they bought her comfort. She glanced towards her dresser and, without hesitation, made her way over to retrieve her stuffed animal. Hands unevenly coated in cruor, she picked it up and took the bear back over to Clive’s lifeless carcass.

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“Mr Bear wants his eyes back you big mean man.” Her words were delivered in an almost child-like tone but there was nothing fledgling about what she did next. Slapping the linguine all around Clive’s face, she took the spoon from the bowl and began burrowing into both eye sockets, severing optical nerves as she worked both peepers away from the cavities. It took the best part of a minute for them both to become dislodged but she managed to do so with precision and care, scooping them from their sockets and into a crimson handkerchief. “Happy Valentine Mr. Bear. Promise you’ll never leave me”. The perfect fit; she had fashioned two holes where the bear’s eyes once sat and his new orbs fitted snugly. “Silly Clive, I called your bluff and now I get to hang onto you forever.” She slid beneath her satin sheets and flicked off the light, hugging her bear close with one hand and sucking her thumb contentedly. Evidentally Clive had arrived fifteen minutes early that night. Turns out it’s not such a good idea being too keen.

a18e35bd4c78382d00013bbfa59014d7Click here to read Wicked Ragdoll

 

Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely,

Keeper of the Crimson Quill

#BrutalWordWrangler #CrimsonHoneyDripper #CruelWordSculptor
Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2014

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