Anna’s Awakening

Sitting back in the chair, the tiny figure pinned beneath the ends of the fingers of her left hand, manicured nails decorated with a glossy deep scarlet cured enamel paint. Pushing her hand forward, she rolled the diminutive body toward the end of the dark brown leather armrest of her seat, feeling the crunch as the little bones of its rib cage were broken under the pressure of her fingers and the force of forward movement. It screamed at first, a shrill noise, almost feminine, though she knew it was male, but now with shattered ribs, the effort to draw air in precluded his ability to make any loud noises of protest, though he whimpered. Drawing her fingers back, she again rolled him, drawing him toward, more bones breaking and a soft gurgling whine escaping his lips along with a small amount of crimson. She moved her hand off, lifting it up to look down on the tiny broken figure lying, arms and legs at unusual angles from his body. Standing, he would have been no more than two and half inches in height, perhaps a quarter of an inch more. Lying as he was, his body was longer, no longer constrained by rigid bones, naked body discolored by purple splotches appearing on his skin. He mewled, weak sound barely audible, still clinging to consciousness. He was familiar to her, but not at the same time. A disconnect between her and the other residing within her clouding her memory sometimes. Brother? No, not brother, step-brother, yes, that was it, the child of the man cohabitating with the vessel’s mater.

She looked over at the other little figure, he was the boy’s father, standing on its feet but trapped inside the tall long stemmed wineglass on the table to the left her armrest. The glass providing sufficient elevation for him to witness the torment his eldest son was enduring at her hands.

“Anna, please,” begged the man, hands pressed against the concave interior surface of the glass, face a mask of horror at the carnage rendered unto his progeny.

A smile touched her full painted lips. Lowering her hand, she put her left index figure on the boy’s head, contemplating a quick merciful end, knowing little force would be required to spill its contents and end the suffering. Pulling back, she chose not. Grabbing the little damaged thing by its leg, she lifted it before her face, studying him. Pitiful, fragile thing that he was.

Eyes glazing over slightly, he swung pendulously from side to side, coughing, a thin trail of blood leaking from his mouth down the side of his face and into his hair as he dangled inverted from between her thumb and forefinger.

“No,” he whined weakly, pain embedded in the word, the effort to speak bringing a grimace to his once handsome now swollen and battered face. Cocking her head slightly to the side, she regarded him dispassionately, neither sympathy nor disdain.

“Anna, please, I beg you,” he whimpered, obsequiously, voice weak.

She parted her lips slightly, “Beg me for what?” she asked, curious what it was he sought to accomplish with his pathetic pleading.

“Don’t,” he coughed, more discharge coming out of his mouth, “Don’t hurt me anymore.” He started to weep.

She chuckled, a pleasant sound, how silly. His life would soon be at an end and all he could do was throw himself upon her absent sense of mercy.

Bringing him close, she opened her mouth wider, pink tongue, a stainless steel ball stabbing through it as it emerged from behind small pretty white teeth to receive him. She lowered him head first into her mouth. Closing her lips around his midsection, sucking him into the moist cave. Unable to raise his arms or move in any way to prevent or at best delay his fate, he lay there, wheezing and crying as she moved him toward the back of her mouth, still head first.

Smiling, she lifted her chin and relaxed her throat, feeling his shattered frame slide into her esophagus, the muscular rings of cartilage grabbing hold of him as peristalsis moved him down and through the esophageal sphincter leading into her stomach. She hadn’t eaten in a while and wondered how long he would survive inside of her before digestive enzymes disassembled him or if his injuries would cause him to expire first. She would know when his life force left him, when his tiny little spark would wink out, she somehow could always sense it. A smiled tugged at the corners of her generous mouth, full lips curling into a cupid bow smile, the anticipation of waiting for him to expire within in her stirred other feelings, baser feelings more primal urges.

She shifted her gaze over at the man secured in the bowl of the wineglass. Having just witnessed what she had done with his eldest son, he was down on hands and knees, face in his hands weeping. Reaching out with her left hand, she tapped the glass lightly with the nail of the finger so recently poised over the head of the consumed boy. The man looked up, his blue eyes wide with terror. Gripped by fear, he urinated himself, the yellow fluid pooling in the bottom of the clear glass by his knees as she peered at him, heat coloring her luminous green eyes now flecked with equal portions of iridescent gold.

“Anna you’re a monster!” he wailed, voice curiously distorted by the inverted bell shape of the glass.

Bringing her left hand back, she touched the laryngeal prominence at her neck whence his son had just traveled and smiled, lips parting as she traced the path of his son’s descent down between her covered breasts.

“Please, Anna stop, Caleb, my poor Caleb” he sobbed, shaking his head in disbelief.

Caleb had been the boy’s name. The man in the glass, Jerry, Jeremiah.

“Why Anna, why?” he keened, eyes swollen and red from grief.

She said nothing, instead feeling the tiny life inside of her end, bringing a sharp intake of air before she slowly released it, delight titillating her senses. Turning in the seat of the large leather chair, she brought her right leg up and over the armrest and pulled back the dark colored material of the robe covering the skin of her pale thighs, moisture spreading in the gusset of her white cotton undergarment. Pulling the fabric to the side, she exposed her puffy swollen, hungry sex, moist with anticipation.

Reaching over lifted the wine glass off the table, tipping it enough to pluck the tiny man out. Setting the stemware back on the table, she took him in both her hand, thumbs over his shoulders.

“Anna no! Please dear god,” he pleaded. With almost no effort she put force against his shoulders, cracking him, shattering both of his collarbones. He screamed loud in agony.  Altering her grip, she held him cupped in her left hand, upper body supported by the index and middle finger as she brought him down and pressed him against her silky damp vulva, using him to stimulate the stiffening button cloaked beneath the fleshy hood. Grinding him in small circles, before sliding him up and down the length of her slit. Reaching up with her right hand, she fondled her breast, squeezing the hardened nipple through the fabric restraining it. Senses overloaded, it did not take long for her to feel her climax imminently impending. Bring at the threshold of no return, she first pushed his upper body into her sodden vagina, his legs kicking and thrashing. She used her index finger, spearing him at the juncture of his legs and driving him inside her heated furnace as far as her finger would allow. A half smile danced across her lips as tried to time her orgasm with his demise, stroking and massaging her sex, breaths coming more rapidly. She was so close, she could feel it. He stopped thrashing, body convulsing and twitching instead. Right there. She felt him die scant moments before her body shuddered in ecstasy, waves of delicious pleasure bringing a soft cry from her lips.

She closed her eyes, reveling in the glorious sensations rippling through her young flesh.

Leaning forward, she opened herself, his little legs pale against the vibrant pink encasing him. Pulling him free, she turned him over to examine his remains. Smiling, she dropped the broken little carcass back into the glass her before slipping a finger under the leg elastic of her panties and pulling them back into place. Lower her leg, she readjusted her position and leaned back into the chair, eyes closed.

She hadn’t always been like this.