Ah, this had been Manon all this time, then. He was forgetting fast that Iris was not some seeing eye that could read people she'd not even met, and started to believe her out of convenience to his lusts. So he took the nothing-stare as his triumph - imagine to get to shock his planning Manon - and let the kiss be deeper for it. He was helping his maid. Poor thing, unable to bridge their differences in cast, but giving him clues as to how he could, if he wanted. Is this the fact of things, Iris? And Iris would always agree. Such freedom in well-padded pretend.<br/><br/>He wanted more of her excuses, she said them so well because Iris was a prodigy in that on her own, but there were more delicious things to be tried in this kitchen than just sounds, perhaps. He was undone by the romance of Manon's loss of self into the lock of their lips. He couldn't adore her more - the two things - than when she crumbled for his lightest attention. Ugly man's vanity, and he was relishing. He gasped, even though he'd been the one to throw her, when Iris's skills compromised her ankles, and let her fall to pieces as she was felled. Nothing short of addictive, and it was burning him too fast.<br/><br/>He had been wild as he sent her to the floor and sprinkled it with cold toys, but he became cold with intrigue when she held the two items up. He should have been something else - gasping maybe, or appalled by himself for putting up such an image that either Iris or Manon would select these tools to be applied to her. Kedrick was on his knee, holding out his hand so he could have both of the tools. None of the girls would deny him. He weighed the expensive things, bought for their design as well as their use. The spatula was lithe and the knife was short. He laughed quietly and put his other hand on Manon's behind, that he'd never gotten to touch, the tip of his fingers lingering in the cleft so he could squeeze while he kissed her hair, cadence almost like he was carrying condolences.<br/><br/>"Very correct, Manon." he said as kept the no-edge blade in his dominant hand, while putting the knife in the stead of a pocket-square. "Now, since you can't properly use these things, you have insulted them, and as your master I have to offer them satisfaction." he liked the sound of his logic.<br/><br/>He stayed low, and drew a fantastical bow with his arm until the flat metal clapped Manon's formerly innocent buttcheek. The sound would be grand, wouldn't it, but he wasn't going to be happy with so little. He turned her over, naked woman on cold floor, so she back could rest on the imported tile and he could shove her knees up by her sides, that her legs would be parted, and she'd be made to hold on to her own thighs, exposed.<br/><br/>His plan was as primal as it was beautiful, and laid plain when the flat resed on the honeyed, natural wound Manon had never shoed her employer. She not been so shy about it, though, when she'd bullied it in his chair. He grinned and pressed the utentsil as though he was indeed cooking her cunt, before he flicked his wrist to rap it once. She could make whatever sound she wanted, he'd take it as a starting signal for him to pull back a little further, and spank that ready entrance another time, soundly.<br/><br/>"Apologize to it, Manon." because you're not fit to insult inanimate things.<br/><br/>The knife caught a glint from the lamps. Iris was building him into the monster he'd always wanted to be.