100 Emotions: Dirty
No. 40 - Dirty
Title: Aftershock
Time frame: R:1, same day as the Hot Springs special event.
Hard calloused hands rub foaming soap suds so deep and vigorously into a pale face that one might think that the soap was going to be forced past the fleshy membrane. The water flowing into a porcelain white sink rises to such a temperature that it begins to fog both the main mirror and the magnified make-up mirror positioned off to the side. Regardless of the heat the tormented cups his hands full of the liquid and splashes the soap from his face with a hissing noise escaping through his teeth.
“What the hell's wrong with her!”
As Mike looks into the mirror he sees not his scrubbed completion but a third person memory of the hideous events that led him to the drastic measures of boiling his skin clean.
[i]Inside of the popular MMO computer game, “The World,” Mike relaxes behind the guise of his heavyblade avatar with lengthy white hair and a head topped with dog ears. He's participating in what is known as a “special event” where his avatar gets to relax in the steaming waters of a hot spring. The relaxation ends quickly when something in the mist startles him. He quickly climbed over the bordering rocks of his pool to another only to slip into the other pool and land squarely in to a pair of plum breasts.
"You know, if you wanted to fuck me that badly, you just needed to ask rather than being so forward kokare-chan."
The harsh voice of the white haired A.I. Kira seems almost delighted in a sickening sort of way. Her extended nails run from the base of his naked spine, up to the nap of his neck, and along the hacked white furred dog ears. A shiver crawls up just behind the nails as her head gently tilts down low enough for the easy breathed wind from her lips to tickle his ears.
]"Wanna take this somewhere more private or are you an exhibitionist?"
The shiver brings it's self back in the real world bringing with it a twitch in his left eye. Like he has something that needs to be peeled, no, clawed off, he takes his left hand and digs the nail down into his face. Like a masochist he drags the keratin creations down with the skin folding around them until they break free at the chin.
“Damn it. I'm still not clean enough.”
Like a sufferer of O.C.D. he repeats the process over again; drawing steaming from the faucet, lathering his face up, and then vigorously washing it away until only a bright red irritation spot remained on his face.