Week 20 - Jan 14, Early Wed Morning - The Shop
The cuckoo clock on the wall of the shop chirpes out the hour. Four AM. Spindle sighs, the picture of Freida on the desk before him. Closing his eyes, he fights the hollow feeling in his gut, trying to will himself into numbness. Congrats, Freida. You got to take my innocence twice. How’s that for a bargin? The depression slowly gives way to a teeth grinding anger. I should have done something about Travis from the outset. I knew he was trouble. Wired his doorknob to the lightsocket. Poisoned his beer. Lace his pot with arsenic. Something! And I can still do it. I can send him a gift. He’s got the sword, as agreed, the deal is done. I could just...
Spindle’s eyes fly open. Unaware of anything but the darkness wellin gup within him, Spindle’s left hand had balled tightly into a fist. Tension and fury like he’s never known makes the fist shake. Gritting his teeth, he forces his fingers apart as he flexes them. He places the hand flat on the desk besides the photo, concentrating on getting the muscle to relax. His forearm and hand slacken as he breathes deeply. Got to get a grip. I ‘ve got work to do, I can’t lose control. I can’t... God, I’m tired.
His shoulders suddenly tense as well without warning as a small pair of hands grip his shoulders from behind and slowly move down his chest. “You, Master Spindle, need to relax.” Tripper’s voice is close to his ear.
Shit! I never even heard her! Spindle doesn’t move, keeping his eyes forward. “Get your hands off of me, Tripper. You don’t touch me. Ever. Got it?” His voice lacks the force it once had.
Her hands pull back slightly to rest on his shoulders. “You’re too uptight, dickwad. You’re never going to forget the whore if you keep pining over her every fucking night like you’ve been.” Her fingertips start to dig into his shoulders, seeking out knots and kinks. Despite the slow burn of rage, Spindle finds himself sinking a little into his chair with each stroke of the muscle. His eyes close again. Her long, thin fingers work their magic on his overly tense back and shoulders. “Fuck,” Tripper mutters, “You are wound tight.”
Spindle lets her continue her shoulder rub, his anger ebbing away with each stroke. He sighs to himself. “Tripper... how can I trust you? You’re a coniving, smartmouthed, backstabbing, murdering slut.” He hates the plaintive tone in his voice.
“And I’ll kill you if I’m ordered to. Or if the mood suits me.” Her voice is quiet, matter-of-fact. “And you did hit me, asshole.” Spindle can feel her shrug as her thumbs press hard against a knot by his shoulderblade. “But what the fuck? I’m a Goblin. I’m used to it Hell, if you hadn’t smacked me about, I would’ve tried to kill you already. No use sticking with a weak boss, orders or no.”
“That doesn’t help really help with the whole massage thing,” he says dryly, “But the honesty is refreshing.” Spindle’s eyes open, but he doesn’t really see anything in front of him.
“Thank you. But it’s true.” Her hands lift away, and she moves to perch herself on the edge of his desk. The Goblin is only wearing an oversized white T-shirt. “But right now I’m not in the mood to kill you, Spindle. I’m in the mood to screw, fuck, lick, and suck. And you need something to take your mind off of things.” A petite foot, toenails painted a violent purple, rests on his knee gently. “Take it for what’s its worth,” she says softly, “A roll in the hay, a cock in the bush, a one night wanger-banger...”
Spindle says nothing, looks at nothing. I’m so tired. I just don’t want to deal with it anymore. I just...
Tripper drops her foot and stands. She holds out a hand to him, almost tenderly. “We can use each other well, Spindle.”
Finally, Spindle stands wearily, as if beaten. Taking her hand, lets himself be lead upstairs to his own bedroom.
Spindle’s eyes fly open. Unaware of anything but the darkness wellin gup within him, Spindle’s left hand had balled tightly into a fist. Tension and fury like he’s never known makes the fist shake. Gritting his teeth, he forces his fingers apart as he flexes them. He places the hand flat on the desk besides the photo, concentrating on getting the muscle to relax. His forearm and hand slacken as he breathes deeply. Got to get a grip. I ‘ve got work to do, I can’t lose control. I can’t... God, I’m tired.
His shoulders suddenly tense as well without warning as a small pair of hands grip his shoulders from behind and slowly move down his chest. “You, Master Spindle, need to relax.” Tripper’s voice is close to his ear.
Shit! I never even heard her! Spindle doesn’t move, keeping his eyes forward. “Get your hands off of me, Tripper. You don’t touch me. Ever. Got it?” His voice lacks the force it once had.
Her hands pull back slightly to rest on his shoulders. “You’re too uptight, dickwad. You’re never going to forget the whore if you keep pining over her every fucking night like you’ve been.” Her fingertips start to dig into his shoulders, seeking out knots and kinks. Despite the slow burn of rage, Spindle finds himself sinking a little into his chair with each stroke of the muscle. His eyes close again. Her long, thin fingers work their magic on his overly tense back and shoulders. “Fuck,” Tripper mutters, “You are wound tight.”
Spindle lets her continue her shoulder rub, his anger ebbing away with each stroke. He sighs to himself. “Tripper... how can I trust you? You’re a coniving, smartmouthed, backstabbing, murdering slut.” He hates the plaintive tone in his voice.
“And I’ll kill you if I’m ordered to. Or if the mood suits me.” Her voice is quiet, matter-of-fact. “And you did hit me, asshole.” Spindle can feel her shrug as her thumbs press hard against a knot by his shoulderblade. “But what the fuck? I’m a Goblin. I’m used to it Hell, if you hadn’t smacked me about, I would’ve tried to kill you already. No use sticking with a weak boss, orders or no.”
“That doesn’t help really help with the whole massage thing,” he says dryly, “But the honesty is refreshing.” Spindle’s eyes open, but he doesn’t really see anything in front of him.
“Thank you. But it’s true.” Her hands lift away, and she moves to perch herself on the edge of his desk. The Goblin is only wearing an oversized white T-shirt. “But right now I’m not in the mood to kill you, Spindle. I’m in the mood to screw, fuck, lick, and suck. And you need something to take your mind off of things.” A petite foot, toenails painted a violent purple, rests on his knee gently. “Take it for what’s its worth,” she says softly, “A roll in the hay, a cock in the bush, a one night wanger-banger...”
Spindle says nothing, looks at nothing. I’m so tired. I just don’t want to deal with it anymore. I just...
Tripper drops her foot and stands. She holds out a hand to him, almost tenderly. “We can use each other well, Spindle.”
Finally, Spindle stands wearily, as if beaten. Taking her hand, lets himself be lead upstairs to his own bedroom.