The Rocketman And The Tiny Dancer: The Macchiato Lady
The petite woman sat in their condo, neck at ninety degrees with her emerald eyes on the part of the ceiling missing it's brain. A starry night sky was almost swaying persuasively to keep The Tiny Dancer's attention, the celestial shots passed The Macchiato Lady's golden green gaze on rewind and repeat.
Infinitely if The Mistress would desire for.
"Are you going to stop this now?..... Please?" She was asked in her memories.
"Will you end your spree?" Her memories asked back, devastated all over from dealing with the wrong "business."
"...."
"Then this conversation shouldn't have even existed."
A heavy knock at the door challenged the starry night's sway.
The Tiny Dancer pushed herself up with one foot on the mahogany glass coffee table as leverage, bending her neck farther over the support's edge of the round blue sofa and stared at the knock.
A pass code was required to even enter the building, otherwise someone renting a condo would have to buzz you in. Then a key card identification or visitor's pass was needed to gain clearance to the elevator for occupied residences.
The Macchiato Lady looked to the sky once more.
Still. Black. Baron. The jealousy of The Pouting Mistress.
The Tiny Dancer sighed a lone snicker before raising from her lucid comfort.
A chill attacked her small feet when they reached the polished Red Oak floor, sending goosebumps up the entirety of her black casual frill sun skirt. Her erect nipples visible thru her cosmic shaded bandeau covering her B sized breasts spoke of the chills present before, but The Macchiato Lady was used to the sixty-nine degrees The Rocketman enjoys the temperature at.
Her Rocketman.
"Maybe that is him. His hands are probably full or something to that effect,,and I'm dragging my fucking feet getting to him." The Tiny Dancer thought to herself, almost evolving her strut into a skip.
Once she got closer to the door, however, the light brown lolita stopped in her tracks completely.
"I can smell this person.... I've tasted this person before.... That's not him, that's-"
The Macchiato Lady's pondering was demolished by heavier knocking. She began to walk to the door again, a short smirk on the corner of her brown and pink full lips.
"I'm impressed." She thought as she reached for the knob.
Anyone that The Prime Whore, as she's been known as, has tasted throughout her intimate profession. Their unique omni-essence becomes just as identifiable as a driver's licence in a government database.
When she opened the purple door, a freckled faced standing about six-two in her gray high heels in the empty hallway. The obscenely short sky blue dress was hugging her creamy yellow skin, almost as if the perkiness of her naturally full C sized breasts and the health of her switching round ass were painted over instead of covered up. The gray short cut long sleeve jacket she hand on matched her seductive heels, it's unbuttoning allowed her pure peaks to be visibly seen heaving up and down. The silk strands of her hair was pitch black on one side and blood red on the other, tied up cutely in a braided bun. Her face was screwed and her arms were folded, but that only added another level of cuteness to her dimpled cheeks and able body.
Without a greeting, in stomped the self proclaimed Bad Girl.
Bad Girl brushed The Tiny Dancer's shoulder when she entered, heading straight into the living area and throwing her jacket and blue coach bag on to the recliner.
The Macchiato Lady didn't turn around or even moved for a moment, closing her emerald eyes as another short smirk rose on her brown and pink lips. She inhaled deeply, taking in all of the residual essence the fiery amazon was omitting since entering the building.
Now it's like no one would know she had entered in the first place.
The ominous effervescence was sweet like a mixture of mango and honey, a flavor of Bad Girl's conflicted cravings seasoned her natural life force.
Lies and contrarian emotions are self inflicting aphrodisiacs when in the presence of The Macchiato Lady. The Prime Whore. The Corrupted Goods. The Tiny Dancer.
Her sultry sensitive tongue slowly moistened her top lip, the naturally brown one. Then circling down over her bottom lip, the naturally pink one.
"... Excuse me!"
The Tiny Dancer finally exhaled, gradually closing the purple door in rhythm to the flow of her lust inducing breath.
She finally gave the freckled face diva her front, making her way to Bad girl while wrapping her waist length magenta in a bun of several swirls. The Tiny Dancer went directly to the spot she was resting in, looking toward the open sky before sitting.
Still baron.
The Pouting Mistress.
The Prime Whore stretched out her petite arms and playfully plopped down on the round sofa, her dainty legs swinging up in the air one after another before parking. Her attention didn't acknowledge the frustrated amazon, keeping her stare up towards the emptiness of The Pouting Mistress. She could hear the heels of the long legged dame clapping against the red oak, back and forth and back again in front of the entertainment system.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Back and..... Now there is a constant tapping in one spot.
"What?!" The Macchiato Lady lightly growled, knowing irritably that Bad Girl is familiar with her home rules.
"Is that all you have to say?" The freckled face diva growled back with her arms crossed.
"How'd you find this place? You've worn a blindfold every time I've brought you here." The Tiny Dancer asked and analyzed, never looking toward the frustrated amazon. "You more than know the privacy demanded by The Room Farthest South."
The Room Farthest South, an infamy given by the Nobody's of Freedomville.
The purple door is well known around Nowhere, but yet... unnoticed by just any eyes or knowledge. It was so much of a complete anomaly of how one got there, even much more so when they got in.
This is the home of Corrupted Goods by nature.
This is the home of The Macchiato Lady, The Tiny Dancer.
This is the home of Necessary Evil by reason.
This is the home of The Ominous Enigma, The Rocketman.
Any experience within is entirely up to the beholder.
"I!..... Can't remember, but that doesn't matter right now." Bad Girl pondered before brushing it away completely.
She was still functional.
The amazon wasn't lying.....yet.
"...Well?"The Tiny Dancer asked aggravated, swinging her hand in continuous circles figuratively for Bad Girl to say what it is she has to say.
"Can you at least look at me, please?" The freckled face amazon pleaded with her arms out in forward frustration, her tone concocted of both anger and gloom.
The Macchiato Lady knows good and well that the soft legged lover hates when she doesn't get every drop of attention from her intimate company.
Bad Girl was breaking stone set rules, however, so she receives the treatment of trash.
"What's rule number one, Baddie?" The Tiny Dancer challenged, holding up the dainty index finger on her right hand. Her Sex Pistol. Her Lust Cannon.
"Are you fucking kidding me right now, TD?" The freckled face diva retorted with, stamping her hands on her wide luscious hips in irritants.
"Yes, I'm fucking serious. If you want to act like a damn brat, then I will treat you like a damn brat." The Macchiato Lady scolded, but never meeting Bad Girl's wanting gaze. "What. Is. Rule. Number. Fucking. One?"
The stooshie amazon stood motionless for a moment, trying to maintain her own gumption.
"AAAHHH!!!" Bad Girl groaned like a wild beast before stomping back to the purple door.
The Macchiato Lady continued her golden green gaze at the black sky when a single light began to glow.
"She isn't leaving." The Prime Whore whispered from her third eye, listening to the amazon remove her heels and tossing them in front of the door.
The twinkling star faded into the melanin black.
The Pouting Mistress.
When The Tiny Dancer heard Bad Girl approaching, she lifted her Lust Cannon so that the creamy skinned dame to halt.
"Nuh uh, homie." The Macchiato Lady exclaimed. "I don't know what kind of bullshit day you must have had or epiphany you nust have drempt to make you act so fucking brand new, but you can step to the other side of that door and go back to it if you don't want to respect this side of it. We awaken?"
The amazon's jaw tightened at the scorn given by The Tiny Dancer, again not wanting to give in.
"I'm not going to continue asking the obvious twice, Baddie. One is angering enough." The light brown lolita warned in a strict vibrato.
Bad Girl's expression softened in submission, inhaling her frustration deeply and exhaling her defeat gently. The freckled face amazon mosied back to the anomalic entrance, the red of the door slowly returning to the purple in a wavy dissolve. She picked up her gray stilettos and set them aside neatly on the rack by the forming decisive wood.
A single shooting star flew thru the melanin of the midnight sky after The Tiny Dancer scolded Bad Girl.
"Oh, you like that, huh?" The Prime Whore's mind's eye whispered again, encumbered with the divinity of the midnight face.
"TD? Who're you talking to?" The creamy skinned madame asked once she returned to the living area, hearing the whispers sink into her mind in a soft muffled tone.
The midnight face had The Tiny Dancer's attention so tight, she didn't even hear the freckled face beauty approaching.
But more than that.... how did she hear what was not spoke into reality? What should have been a one line connection between Metaphysical Macchiato and Melanin Midnight.
Don't do this to yourself, Baddie.
You will not make it back safely.
"You're hearing things." The Tiny Dancer responded in dishonesty.
Another star shot by again.
Once Bad Girl returned, she stood right in front of The Macchiato Lady. Her arms were crossed tight under her healthy breasts, only making them look so much more healthier. Her foot continued to tap without the obnoxious tune of her heels.
"I'm listening." The Tiny Dancer informed her, the tone of The Prime Whore much more compliant with the amazon's presence.
"But you're not looking." Bad Girl rebuttaled, her gloomy energy proactively crying for The Macchiato Lady's attention.
With a world waving sigh, The Tiny Dancer finally shifted her golden green gaze to the freckled face diva.
A single thunder clap was heard from within the midnight face.
The Pouting Mistress.
When The Macchiato Lady's emerald eyes met with that of Bad Girl's blue, the creamy skinned madame's tense posture instinctually relaxed. She sat to the left of The Tiny Dancer, The Prime Whore's attention never leaving the amazon's decadent face.
Another clap of thunder.
A Pouting Mistress.
Part One