Everyone was caught unawares at the sudden darkness. The only warning had come moments before when shutters had suddenly appeared from nowhere to obscure the windows, now lending to the unnatural darkness. You were given no time to react, as mere moments after the lights had gone out a hand snatched you from the table top.
Fear filled you as you hurtled through the darkness .All sense of direction left you as you were pulled through the air at speeds which seemed much faster at your size. The wind in your ears deafened you, nearly blocking out the sound of a hand smacking a hard surface and smashing wood behind you. Just as quickly as it had started, you journey ground to a shocking halt. Dizziness swept through you at the sudden halt.
“He’s mine you fat bitch,” shouted Clara, apparently having noticed your disappearance in the dark.
“Hands off sugar tits,” retorted Toot, her voice heated and throaty. With a loud slap and an undignified squawk a fight broke out in the dark.
Having recovered somewhat, you began to take in minuet details. The fingers which firmly gripped you were slender and stank of an earthy musk. Not only that, but their grip seemed eager, slight trimmers of excitement rippling through the hand as it held you. Despite the scuffle which had now become very audible, you could just manage to hear the pop of a button and the quick zip of a zipper.
Roughly, you were crammed downward into some sort of compartment. The silky smooth fingers deftly stuffed you into a slip of space between what felt like a silk cord, rough denim, and some sort of spongy, wet surface. The fingers withdrew quickly, and at the sound of a zipper zipping just behind you the denim crushed you against the flesh with surprising force. Moments later there was the soft click of a button snapping into place. The world around you shifted as your prison rotated nearly ninety degrees, turning you from an upright position to lying on your back. A steady weight settled on top of you, adding to the tightness of your prison.
As the lights went out, Foxxy realized her chance and snapped to action. Quickly and quietly, she leaned forward and scooped the shrunken man off of the table, barely managing to withdraw her hand in time to avoid someone else’s clumsy attempts at the same maneuver. A loud cracking noise resounded as a hand met the bare wood of the coffee table, shortly followed by the sound of the table being crushed.
Foxy held the small man before her, looking in his direction despite the darkness. Where was she going to hide him? She could hide him somewhere around her, but he might escape or be found by one of the others. She would have to hide him somewhere on her person. Unfortunately, the pockets on her shorts were only for decoration; far too tight for actual use. For the first time ever, the mystery solving musician cursed her skin tight clothing. However, there were other places.
Foxxy was snapped out of her pondering at the sound fighting.
“He’s mine you fat bitch” shouted Clara, apparently thinking Toot had the small man.
“Hands off sugar tits” retorted Toot, apparently thinking the same of Clara. Foxxy wasn’t sure how much time she had, but it was better spent acting than thinking of how to act.
Cocking her hips forward, Foxxy used her free hand to unbutton and unzip her shorts. Deftly she pushed the mailman snuggly against her womanhood, the satisfaction of stealing Clara’s prize literally out from under her nose mingling with the alien feeling to tickle her carnal strings.
“She’d have fun later,” Foxxy thought to herself as she sealed the tiny to the sound of a button pop. She readjusted her pelvis, pressing her tiny prisoner beneath her most sensitive areas, and sat calmly on the couch as if nothing had happened.
With a blinding glare the lights flashed back on. After a moment of adjustment, Foxxy could make out the sight of Clara and Toot wrestling. Their hands were tangled in one another’s hair, yet it seemed that Clara had got the worst of it judging by the swollen hand print upon her cheek. The broken remains of the coffee table littered the floor.
“What did you do with him, cow?” cried Clara, outrage painting her face.
“It’s a challenge, remember tramp? And I don’t even have him, you do!” Toot’s response was filled with accusation.
“Enough!” cried Foxxy, standing up and feigning annoyance. “Foxxy’s tired of you two always going at each other’s throats over these challenges.”
“Well, look who’s all nice and calm after all the ruckus broke out. How do we know you don’t have him?” Toot shook off Clara as she spoke, her voice filled with accusation and sounding not all that different from a donkey’s. Clara turned her eyes away from Toot to stare meaningfully at Foxxy.
“They didn’t even tell us what the prize is. For all we know there isn’t one. It’s probably some stupid ploy to get us to dance for the cameras. Foxxy don’t dance for free.” Foxxy’s voice rose a bit near the end, almost becoming a moan. Mr. Mailman had probably figured out where he was and wasn’t too happy about it. However, his struggles were stimulating more than just her lower lips; something deep inside of her. It took her a moment to realize what it was.
Foxxy had control, something she had rarely had before. She had control over that bigot Clara, over whether or not she got to take her revenge. She also controlled the fate of the mailman, whatever his name was. She decided whether to give him up or keep him for herself, whether he would suffer at the hands of Clara or become her personal sex toy, whether he lived or died. She’d never felt so alive.
Clara seemed too agitated to have picked up on Foxxy’s near outburst, for she bulldozed ahead. “I don’t need a God damned prize. This is my revenge.” Anger radiated from Clara.
“I haven’t been laid in years. Fuck the prize, I want a man,” added Toot. She was glaring at Clara once more, her sausage like finger pointed accusingly. She looked about ready to start another fight.
The man was going wild; his desperate struggles rubbing against Foxxy’s folds in ways the ebony sex saint had never felt before. Every time he kicked, his feet would strike the roof of her inner passage. On the way out, they would graze the lower edge. His head rubbed against her clit sending Foxxy’s sex drive into overdrive. It was all she could do to keep her composure.
“Well Foxxy doesn’t have em’, Clara doesn’t have em’, and we all know Toot couldn’t keep a secret for all the pizza in the world. So, where does that leave us?” Foxxy’s voice remained cool and soothing, despite the fire burning in her loins.
Clara paused for a moment before casting her head from side to side, eyeing the couch and the overturned furniture. Suddenly, the wheels began to turn and the and the princess smoothed her gown, straightening her hair and regaining her composure.
“Our black friend is right. Let’s look around and find him. Once we find him, we’ll negotiate something desirable to all parties.” Clara’s voice was once again that of her innocent façade, all warm and sweet.
“But that sounds like work,” complained Toot.
“First one to find him gets to use him first.” Clara added in a sing song. Toot was off in an instant, tossing furniture aside is a frenzied search and heedless of any damage.
Foxxy was in ecstasy. The dull throbbing in her pants was reaching a climax, a mounting fire growing in intensity. She was going to blow any moment. It was at that moment that she noticed Clara wasn’t searching for her lost prize. She was instead looking directly at Foxxy.
Almost casually Clara drew close to Foxxy, stopping directly in front of the near climaxing sex fiend. Gently she leaned in, her voice a cold whisper as she looked Foxxy in the eyes.
“We both know that walking garbage disposal isn’t a threat, so I want things to be clear between us.”
Breathing seemed labored. A knot of pleasure was winding its way deep inside of Foxxy.
“If you play ball with me, I’ll make sure we’re both happy. I’ll give you chicken, watermelon, whatever you people want.”
The intensity inside of Foxxy was so great, it felt like she was melting. Clara’s remarks seemed inconsequential in the face of such a feeling.
“However, don’t fuck me.”
Foxxy couldn’t hold it in much longer.
“I’m not a person you want to cross.”
Foxxy felt the heat inside her reach new heights.
“If you cross me, there’ll be nothing left of you that doesn’t set off a metal detector. Do you understand? Don’t. Fuck. With. Me.”
At those last four words, Foxxy unloaded. Hot liquid ecstasy poured from her in a great torrent, soaking her panties and their thrashing contents. The tremors raging through her were the greatest she had ever felt. Muscles pulled deep inside her and her hips cried out to buck. She wanted nothing more than to grope herself, to draw out her mindless passion, to scream her lust to the skies.
Foxxy didn’t let any of it show. She merely paused until she was finished, passing it off as a moment of thought before giving her reply.
“Relax,” Foxxy purred, Her eyes never leaving Clara’s. “Foxxy don’t got no reason to take yo man. If I find him he’s yours, but I ain’t gonna go traipsing around the house looking for your toy.” She delivered that last part with sass, bobbing her neck and shaking her finger.
“Fine then, so long as we have an understanding.” With that Clara walked off, beginning to search through the wreckage left by Toot’s passage. She barely spared another glance for Foxxy.
Foxxy walked casually back to her room, a sway and a bounce to her step not found there previously. She even hummed a few bars as she passed Toot, collapsed on a chair by the base of the steps. The choked wheeze of Toot’s breathing followed her upstairs as she turned the corner to head to the girl’s shared room.
As Foxxy reached her room, she felt overcome by contentment. She had tricked Toot, played Clara, and had the best orgasm of her life in the course of ten minutes. Pushing the door open, she nearly stumbled into her room. Foxxy felt so tired. Her mind was in a haze and her body was so relaxed.
Contentedly, she climbed into her bed and gingerly rested her head upon the pillow. I’ll just lie here and bask in the afterglow for a while, she thought to herself. And just like that, foxy fell asleep; her unfortunate prisoner struggling not to drown in her still quivering folds.