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Burgundy nails gently clack against the tablecloth. The others rest high atop her cheek, palm supporting her head. After only a moment, those deep red tear drops find their way around the handle of a porcelain teacup. Flesh conforming to its contour and raising it to her lips. The cup suspended by one dainty hand.
He doesn’t know where to look. The delicate posture of her hand, the teasing movement of the other, the gold band accentuating her slender fingers, wine-dipped nails reflecting the light.
He supposes himself lucky. In a peculiar twist of fate, the Shangri-La Nail Salon moved into an empty space next to Café Deux Magots. The one and only café he regularly visits on lunch break. Women have taken to manicures and afternoon tea at their convenience.
This combination allows for covert stints of harmless observation. Hands beautifully adorned with fresh polish, performing for him just a short distance away from his seat.
And now, the lovely pair that caught his attention continues to dance along the table in frustration, begging to be released from dead weight of conversation. Perhaps the dead weight of monotonous activities that their captor forces upon them.
The tablecloth generously hides his growing erection. Hands gripping the seat in anticipation. Unknowingly, his legs press together rhythmically to provide some relief.
A waitress bumps into his shoulder as she passes, breaking the spell. All of a sudden, he becomes more aware of himself, slightly disgusted by his lack of control. With a brush here and there to smooth the edges of his suit, he collects himself.
How could he forget her? She’s resting against his heart within his breast pocket. Measuring the beats as they climb and now slow to a quiet thrum in his attempt to return to calm.
He’s only had her for a day. How selfish of him. He’d have to make it up to her later. Although, his current girlfriend’s pink polish looks tacky compared to the lustrous maroon that traps his gaze.
A huff. A matter for another day.
Work was quick and efficient as usual, completing the bare minimum but nothing more. The last thing he wants is a raise. He is right where he needs to be, earning enough to treat his girlfriend but not enough to be noticed.
He opens the passenger door, helping her to her seat, ensuring she makes it safe. He slides into his own and starts the car. She’s quiet. The drive is short enough, yet long enough to think of all the things he could do to her. His left foot taps impatiently.
She really was upset at him. His obvious display at the café sparked jealousy. He would teach her soon enough; the rapt attention and affection she’ll be privy to will more than make up for his sleight. However, she will never know how quickly he can throw it all away.
After all, the grass is always greener. Yoshikage Kira only allows himself to indulge in one delicacy. Maintaining the quality is difficult, but necessary for his happiness.
He helps her out of the car, never ceasing to be a gentleman. The evening sun glints off her diamond ring. He paid a hefty price for it, but God did it look stunning on her.
He lets her sit at the kitchen counter as he pulls out his tools. Typically, he would do this as soon as possible, but he wanted to take his time with her.
He rests her on a flat cookie sheet, smoothing his fingers over her knuckles. For one thrilling moment, their fingers intertwine. Kira takes a deep breath. Undressing her is always one of his favorite parts.
He lifts her up to get a closer look at the smooth wrist, the cropped bone and cut sinew.
Gently, he tugs on the severed ulna with stainless steel forceps. It takes a great deal of control and strength to separate it from the rest of the hand bones. The tissue and tendons around it being slowly loosened bit by bit. Once free, the resulting hole excites him for what is to come. But he must be patient. He repeats the process with the radius.
With both gone, he moves in with skilled precision. Surgical scissors remove unnecessary tendons and flesh.
She has done so well, staying so still for him. Her wrist is a bit more pliant now, yet her fingers are rigid. She’s stunning.
Diligently, he cleans his tools but stops to consider the residue left behind on his own hands. The entire process made her wet with eagerness. He couldn’t resist.
In a moment of depravity, he licks away at her juices. Granting himself the delicacy of slipping his fingers into his own mouth, letting his tongue lave over each digit. She tastes divine.
Legs weak, he fumbles to the floor. One hand between his knees supporting his doubled-over body, the other exploring the inside of his mouth. He can only imagine his hand being hers. Hips buck against his arm. He’s shivering uncontrollably.
Unfortunately, her taste begins to fade.
Calmly, as if he was not just crippled by wanton need, he washes his hands.
“Are you hungry, my dear? You haven’t eaten all day.”
She keeps her silence, being coy. If that’s how she wants to play it, then he’ll have no choice but to continue with his evening. He can be patient; she will give in eventually.
Kira progresses to roll up his sleeves, ready to prepare dinner. Before he could proceed, he noticed a faint spatter of blood on his cuff. Tsk. He must have undressed her with no regard for his own clothes.
With a heavy sigh, he unbuttons his shirt mechanically. But he realizes she’s watching him.
“I’m sorry, dear. I should do this in my room; you don’t deserve a treat if you’re not cooperating.”
Kira walks to his room and changes into a different shirt, another button-up but one more comfortable. The other will have to be sent to the dry cleaners. He sets it aside on a hanger for now.
With fresh sleeves, he rolls them up once more and walks back to the kitchen. She’s looking at him again, with a hunger that wasn’t there before.
“Hmm, while tempting, darling, we must eat first.”
He prepares his usual dinner, setting two plates onto the table. He walks her to her chair.
He eats at a slow pace, waiting for each bite to properly begin digesting before taking another. She, however, refuses to touch her plate. He doesn’t blame her, who could eat after being stripped down so carefully and now lying in wait.
A playful smirk broaches his face. She has been quite patient.
“Wait for me in the bedroom, darling. I’ll be along in a minute.”
He carries her to bed, lying her down amongst the pillows.
“I’ll be right back.”
Unhurriedly, he cleans up the remains of dinner, washing the dishes, and putting them away. Down the hall, he passes his bedroom to the bathroom.
Looking in the mirror, he sees his hair unkempt. The earlier display must have loosened his hair from its typical slick-back style. Re-positioning loose tresses, Kira notices his fingernails. They’ve grown longer. That won’t do.
Using his bowling pin-themed clippers, he clips and straightens out each nail. The excess is placed in a jar in his medicine cabinet. It is labeled for the current week.
Keeping up this hobby for many years, he is able to document the length differences in his head for it to be later recorded on paper.
Just the act alone made him hot under the collar. He didn’t want to keep her waiting, but he needed to do this. Grabbing a tapered wooden stick, he pushes back each cuticle. Unevenness is removed with his cuticle scissors.
He could feel himself perking up with interest. A quick application of hand cream and he was on his way to the bedroom.
Oh, God. She was just lying there. Hand open, fingers curled, beckoning. He unbuttoned a few buttons to let himself breathe.
He made his approach, sat on the edge of the right side of his bed. Slowly, he lifted his legs up and twisted to lean against the pillows. She adjusted to his position. His erection was now straining against his slacks. Anticipation always excites him.
“May I?”
He takes her, lifts her knuckles up to his face, inhaling a long deep breath and placing a chaste kiss against her ring finger. Her cold fingers graze his chin.
A curious tongue peeks out to test the waters. She seems receptive, in fact, she pushes her first two fingers gently into his mouth. A small whimper escapes him. One of his hands holding her tenderly, the other creeping up to touch her opening.
His tongue delves between her fingers, rolls around each digit before he sucks. The top of his tongue scratches underneath her smooth polished nails. His teeth apply a small pressure to her knuckles. The flesh around them rolling and smoothing with varying amounts of force.
He could feel his eyes water, she was handling him with such esteem as a way of apologizing for her earlier stubbornness.
Thicker fingers begin to prod at her wrist. He slides in two fingers to explore the wet softness interrupted by occasional filaments of flesh.
She was cool to the touch, only being warmed by his provided friction and body heat. The deeper he pushed, the more he could feel the wrist bones transitioning into her hand.
Completely losing himself, he couldn’t mark when he took two more fingers into his mouth. Her thumb periodically caressed his cheek with every thrust of his tongue, every thrust of his fingers.
A wet spot begins to form at the front of his pants. He bucks up into nothing, simply savoring the sensation of her in his mouth. Before he could get too far, he stopped himself. How could he let go before the best part?
He removes her from his mouth, panting harshly, hair falling into his eyes. Slick with spit, she slips from his hand and lands on his crotch. Kira expels a struggled gasp.
“A bold one, aren’t you?”
He caresses the back of her hand before clasping down and guiding her palm over him. He is burning with desire. It feels unbearable. To make it easier for her, he spreads his legs ever so slightly.
Holding her in place, he ruts his hips up into her grasp. Heavy puffs of air leave his lungs. He is blushing all the way down to his neck. The burning heat is pulsing in rhythm.
Her fingernail catches on his zipper. Oh, she wants him. Repeatedly, she tries to pry it open, but her fingers are too rigid with pleasure.
“Let me.”
He lowers his zipper, erection much more prominent. The spot on his boxer briefs is embarrassingly large. She doesn’t stop there. Her fingers slide underneath his underwear, dragging it down enough for his cock to spring free.
Kira keens, a high-pitched moan as the cool of her fingers caress his hot length. She maintains a loose grip around him. She must be new to this. He can teach her.
His hand encompasses her, closing her hand tightly.
“Oh!”
Kira’s head falls back to the wall. She learns fast, pace exactly the way he likes it.
With a haze in his eyes, he looks at her.
“I need you. Now.”
As if understanding immediately, her grip slackens. He lifts her up and slides her open wrist over the top of his cock. The sheath of flesh feels divine. Slowly, as to not ruin the sensation for the both of them, he eases her further down.
His teeth grit in desperation. Small thrusts push himself further inside. He can’t take it anymore. Once he feels the hard, smooth wrist bone kiss the head of his cock, he loses control.
He grabs her hand in a punishing grip and thrusts harshly up into her. She didn’t cover him completely, but that didn’t matter. His knees bent for leverage as the sensations ramp up. His grunts become animal-like. The gentleman she knew before no longer existed.
As his climax approached, he pulled her off, rubbing his cock against her wrist, her fingertips. Eventually, he came, white painting her hand in dripping streaks. She took it all from him.
In his post-orgasmic passion, he lifts her to his face, licking her clean, sucking the residue off each finger. Over time, his heartbeat slowed from its rapid pace. His mind expels the lustful haze.
Eyes trail down to the mess he made. Her wrist is now limp, caving in from use and has no structure. She disgusts him.
Killer Queen quickly erases her. She has overstayed her welcome, especially now that he knows of a better target.