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11/15/10(Mon)21:23:40 No. 287522XXX >>287522004 Tumblytan
sighed and walked into the bathroom to finish her other eye. She'd
heard it all before, and she was used to anon threatening her before and
during the act of making love, or in this case, hate. She didn't expect
anon to yank her hair. He hoisted it up, making her stand on tip-toes
to avoid pain. She whimpered. “Now,” he whispered darkly. Oh, god, she loved it when he was aggressive. She didn't mind returning that aggression, either. Her
dark blue hair was knotted between his fingers as he lead her to her
bedroom. He pulled up her computer chair – an oak table chair from the
seventies – and commanded her to sit. He opened her dresser drawers
violently, flinging her clothes carelessly to the ground until he found a
tie-dye bandana. He wrapped it around her face, the rainbow caressing
her eyes and weaving through fly-away hairs. “Oh, god, anon, what
are you doing?” Dammit, her voice was more breathless than she wanted
to. She couldn't let on how much she wanted this, not yet. There was a horrible ripping sound and a sudden chill over her breasts. “My shirt!” she shrieked. “Fucking /b/tard, you tore my shirt!” “I
don't care about your shitty obsessions, you retarded hipster.” His
voice was cold. He finished off the rest of it, uncovering her stomach. “Do you know who signed this shirt? Darren Criss and Joey -” “Shut up. It's just a fucking shirt. Who cares?” He licked her sternum and she shivered. “I care! You're getting me a new shirt, you dumbfu-” His hands wrapped tightly around her throat.