<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"><strong>Name</strong>: Cheshire<br/><strong>Location:</strong> The Hatter's Hovel<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong> Mad Hatter, Mean Hatter. Mean mean mean.<br/><br/>The poor little creature's ankle was aching, but you'd never know it from the way she stretched there to reach him; the muscles in her leg pulled taunt, the perky little rise of her ass on display with the bow of her spine.  It was as if touching him, just reaching him in that moment was the most important thing in her entire very small and occasionally self centered world.  He couldn't get rid of her, he just couldn't!<br/><br/>Not that she was his, anyway.<br/><br/>Except that she was.<br/><br/>On Wednesdays at the very least.<br/><br/>"I'm sooorrr-oh, Oh <em>Hatter</em>," the complaint turned into a dreamy sigh somewhere about the middle, when both his hands fisted in her hair and he forced her head to bend up to meet him.  The tremble in her ran from head, to booted foot and there was something desperate to the way she met his kiss that was almost wild, leaving her breath spilling hot against his cheek; her eyes glazed and unfocused.  It's entirely possible that she might have been about to say something important but for the life of her now she couldn't remember and didn't care too, because there was a restless squirm to the girl's hips and a suggestion of honey there, against the very telling Tuesday and not Wednesday fabric of her panties.<br/><br/>She was panting with flush cheeks the entire time he lectured her, those dull eyes locked steady on his weathered face.  "Am I naughty?"  Like a parrot she repeated the question, "I certainly feel naughty when you do that, Hatter.  In fact, if you do it again I might feel very naughty indeed and the only thing that will be lost is my composure." As if she'd ever had any to begin with.  "I don't want you to lose your...."<br/><br/>The poor girl never finished, of course. <br/><br/>And there was probably a rule somewhere about what she did, because she drew taught with sudden force when his hands wrenched against her nipples and the added sensation from Hare's pill, when coupled with...everything that'd happened from the point it'd started melting on her tongue, really, was about to drive her mad.  It did in fact, it drove her right past go, as it happened.  So that she squirmed helplessly against the floor where that boot held her captive, mewling in pleasure while a hand raked down between her thighs and when that proved to be too much sensation and just, stupid, not to mention in violation of other rules...it drew away leaving her with a guilty flush on her face.<br/><br/>"I think...my composure ran away, Hatter," she announced, as if it weren't obvious, on a very guilty pout and inched herself just a little further away from he and that antenna that had ended up in his hand.  Instead she focused on squeezing her foot into a shoe two sizes too small as if getting them on might make everything better.  Because she'd get to keep her toes and people couldn't be in trouble.  Right now, with honey steadily inching down the curve of her inner thigh...cat very much wanted to be a people.<br/><br/>"<em>My</em> mouse, Hatter."<br/><br/>Shoes or not, that was a point upon which they needed to be very clear.  "My mouse.  Sweet she is and soft oh so soft and full of soft curves and bits that go squish when you crunch.  Only...only I shouldn't eat her, or there wouldn't be any bits left. Oh but I was so hungry," the cat bemoaned, remembering the ache in her stomach and the scent of the mouse as it trembled. "And she trembles.  Oh she trembles and it's beautiful and lovely and she's <em>mine</em>, and I traded her tears for candy.  And then...," what had happened then, "Oh! And then I came to tell you!"<br/><br/>She sounded pleased with the last of it, pleased if somewhat worried and she was still squirming there on the floor; dragging the inside of her wrist and the heel of her palm over one abused and very aching nipple in an attempt to ease some of the pain before she pulled her shirt out to look down it.  Yes.  See.  There were marks.  Now she knew she'd been touched.  The Hatter always left marks.  Except...<br/><br/>"Hatter," the girl whined and it was truly a whine then, "Hatter my feets hurt," and she'd not even stood up.</span>