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Laura had chosen Julian over Kiden.
And it hurt at first. Really hurt. Can’t-get-out-of-bed, ice-cream-and-romcoms kind of hurt. It was all Kiden could think about for a month. She was a rather pathetic sight, alternating sobbing into her pillow and masturbating furiously. She didn’t have a single thought that Laura didn’t occupy in some way - what went wrong? What could I have done? What are they doing right now? She couldn’t stop obsessing over it.
It was a depth of misery she didn’t know she was capable of.
And of course, time heals all wounds. That’s one of the very few notions that got her through that month from hell in one piece. One day that treacherous, lying, fake-goth tramp that led her on for years on end will fade from her memory. One day she’ll think about her for the last time, and that’ll be the end of it.
Of course, if you take that line of thought a little bit further, you’d realize: more often than not, time scabs over prematurely and seals an infection in. Sometimes anger, resentment, and heartbreak fold in on themselves endlessly, feeding each other in a sick cycle until they combine into something ugly and vindictive.
Laura didn’t want her. Fine. There’s nothing she can do about that. Except, maybe, make that slut want nothing more than to be rid of her.
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‘Stalking’ is such a harsh, ugly term. So condemning. Sure, maybe Kiden spent a week or so piecing together Laura’s schedule from what her street contacts have been telling her. And sure, maybe she’s following Laura around without her knowing. But it’s hardly stalking. Stalking is for celebrities, not lying sluts that aren’t worth the plastic in their fake leather pants.
The mall is fairly crowded, and girls like Laura are a-dime-a-dozen, but the smug way she carries herself is unmistakable. Shopping. Unbelievable. It wasn’t too long ago that she could barely dress herself without her pimp helping her, and now she’s shopping. Kiden can’t quite pinpoint exactly why this makes her so angry, but she’s fucking incandescent.
She has to do something.
The first time Kiden did this, she broke someone’s arm. Between the screaming, panic, confusion, and the sudden realization that she has powers, she still carries that moment as one of the scariest in her life.
But she isn’t a kid anymore, and this is far from the first time she’s doing this. She has so much more control over it now, and if she’s really being honest? Maybe Laura deserves a broken arm.
So with a deep breath and a moment of concentration, the world melts into swirling colors. Everything around Kiden freezes completely. People stop mid-step. A spilled drink floats in the air. It still feels weird. Everything is too still. Like the world might shatter if she touches anything. But some people could do with a bit of shattering.
Laura’s stopped on a bridge between two sides of the third floor. Utterly oblivious to Kiden, even when she’s standing less than two feet away. God, the sight of her makes Kiden’s blood boil. It would be so easy to just push her over. It’d be so easy to watch her drop, completely helpless, until she made a splash in the tile.
But that’s a little extreme. She has to be better than this slut.
Laura stares blankly ahead into the swirling colors, frozen and unaware of the danger she’s in. Oblivious to Kiden’s presence, even with her hands all over her body, pulling out every knot on the whorish half-corset she uses for a top and tearing out the laces from her pants.
Still nothing. Blissful ignorance. Completely unaware of the woman in front of her. Something angry bubbles up Kiden’s throat, something vicious and a little irrational. She tears Laura’s top off entirely before throwing it off the bridge. The metal frame clatters on the ground, bent and useless.
Laura’s tits flop out, full and perky and pale. Soon to be on display for anyone who cares to look, but for now it’s a private show. It takes a good bit of restraint to not feel them up, bite at them, maybe tug on the piercings, but Kiden manages. She can control herself, not fold under her base urges. Unlike some people.
But God, the temptation is strong.
She takes a good distance away, hidden in plain sight among the crowd. Laura’s bare back is almost hypnotic, a marvel of taut skin and elegant muscular. There was a time when she could stare at it for hours on end. That time has passed.
A moment of concentration, an exhale, and the swirling colors fade back into a wintry New York afternoon. The hum of the crowd is nearly deafening after the profound stillness of a second ago.
Laura takes a step or two before realization crashes down on her. One arm snaps around her chest and the other holds onto her pants for dear life, her shopping immediately forgotten. She looks around frantically, desperately looking for her clothes or at least something to cover herself with. There’s nothing.
Kiden can almost feel the red climbing up her face. A sick sense of satisfaction spreads through her; that slut deserves this. Humiliated, put on display, exposed. Maybe this way she’ll learn to not play with people’s hearts. It gives her a rush just to think about the panic pumping through Laura, imagining what’s going through her head.
Shoulders dropped and slouching, desperately trying to make herself smaller, Laura makes her way to the nearest exit. She leaves her bags behind, free for anyone to rifle through. She waddles more than she walks, still desperately holding her pants up, and bumps into more than a few people. Dozens of people get a good look at her embarrassing herself in a pathetic attempt at modesty. Kiden almost wants to follow her out, but she’s probably just going back to that stupid clubhouse of hers.
That high of vicious satisfaction fades as soon as Laura is out of sight, but Kiden doesn’t exactly crash. There’s no remorse, no sudden pity for putting Laura through that. There’s only a nagging itch in the back of her head, telling her that she didn’t do enough. A little embarrassment, a public scene. Practically nothing for a whore like that. There’s no way she really learned her lesson from that.
But Kiden isn’t nearly done with her.
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Honestly, Kiden doesn’t know what she expected Laura to do after her little excursion. She hadn’t actually thought that far ahead. She expected a text, at the very least. But it’s been a week now, and it seems that she’s done nothing. Took it on the chin and moved on.
Who the fuck does she think she is? Who the fuck is she to so brazenly ignore Kiden? To just move on like nothing happened? No, absolutely not. She isn’t getting away with that again. She will notice her, whether she likes it or not.
It’s this line of thought that leads her to a crowded street, weaving through living statues amid a psychedelic swirl of color. Laura is mid-step, earbuds in, eyes in her phone. Completely detached from the world around her. Fucking typical.
Maybe after this she’ll learn to pay attention to her surroundings.
See, Kiden came armed with a backpack full of toys. Dildos longer than her arm, vibrators that register on the Richter scale, you just name it. And she intends to put as much of it as she can to good use.
New pants, new shirt. Rough black denim and sleek black latex. The pants get tugged to her knees, the shirt left mercifully alone. God, even her underwear is black. Who is that for? She cuts the garment clean away, throwing the scraps of fabric into the crowd.
Laura cuts an incredible figure. Almost unfairly gorgeous. Kiden wants nothing more than to run her hands up and down her body, study every bit of her until there isn’t a single inch that isn’t known to her. But there’s work to be done.
Her jaw wrenches open reluctantly, as if it knows what’s coming for it. The dildo is longer than Laura’s forearm and twice as thick as her wrist, enough to make even a well-used whore like her ache a little. Her throat proves much more cooperative - the base is flush with her lips almost immediately, secured with electric tape.
Three bullet vibes taped to her clit, each with a motor that could shatter glass. All set to maximum intensity. Two more shoved up her cunt, kept in place by a rubber cock that could be mistaken for a nightstick.
Her ass should be gaped and distended, worn open by years of use by the lowest dregs of society. Because of her healing factor, it’s infuriatingly tight and perfect. Still, Kiden has plenty of time to spare. With some effort and a bit of insistence, a freezing-cold steel plug works its way into Laura’s guts. It’s thicker than her calf at its thickest point, utterly ruinous to any normal woman. A minor inconvenience to a well-seasoned whore.
And just for fun, she ties Laura’s hands behind her back. Her phone floats where it was left - Kiden couldn’t care less about its fate.
With everything in its place, she turns the vibrators on and steps away from her victim.
And then she waits. She kills time, so much as time can pass in the space between seconds. She takes a walk, she spray-paints dicks on sides of buildings, she takes an honest-to-God nap. The longer she lets those little plastic pills work their magic, the harder they’ll hit that little tramp when time unfreezes. They’ll deliver hours and hours of pleasure in an instant, sure to scramble her brain.
There’s no telling how much time passes. Feels like a lot. A few hours, at the very least. There’s no real consequences for staying here, but she’s honestly getting bored and she wants to break her toy. So, with a good distance between her and her victim, she unfreezes time.
The reaction is instant. Hours of the vibrators’ hard work slam into Laura like a bullet, and the sound that comes out of her is downright inhuman. It’s a choked gurgle, high-pitched and panicked. She sounds like a panicked, wounded animal more than anything. Her knees buckle and she smacks into the concrete face-first, squirming pathetically like a fish out of water. Kiden can almost feel the burning, agonizing pleasure that’s coursing through her.
She wishes she was close enough to see Laura’s face. The wide-eyed panic, the humiliation, the abject helplessness. Just thinking about it is getting her a little hot and bothered.
She’ll have to know Kiden did this. She’ll have to come to Kiden and beg for this to stop. And maybe Kiden will leave her alone, if she’s feeling generous. If Laura agrees to dump that loser and come back to where she belongs.
She doesn’t stay to see if anyone helps her. Quite frankly, doesn’t care. Even if they leave her squirming on the sidewalk for the next week, it’s only a matter of time before Laura comes to her. And if there’s one thing Kiden has plenty of, it’s time.
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Two weeks and nothing. Two weeks of Kiden pacing around around her apartment, of checking her phone every two minutes, of waiting for a knock at the door. Waiting for anything to happen. Nothing does. Radio silence. Near as she can tell, that insufferable cunt just gathered herself again and went home. Fucking infuriating.
It’s clear that more extreme measures are necessary. Fine. If Laura wants to play it like this, Kiden is more than happy to meet her at her level. Christ, what a difficult woman.
She didn’t even have to do any stalking this time (no that she was ever doing any stalking to begin with, of course). Laura’s counter-protesting in some anti-mutant rally in full costume, and it’s been all over social media. Like she’s signaling for Kiden to come and get her.
She’s stood on top of a car, bullhorn in hand, extolling the virtues of mutantkind to a crowd of hate-blinded bigots. To her credit, it seems to be working. No one's being convinced of anything, but they're beginning to back off. It's almost a shame to undo her hard work. Almost.
The first time Kiden did this, she broke someone’s arm. That was an accident. This won’t be. A deep breath, a moment of concentration, and the world stands still. She’s in such a foul mood, the bright swirling colors are almost offensive.
The helmet is the first to go. Kiden rips it off, revealing a face twisted mid-shout. Even now, with boiling fury bubbling in her gut, something in her softens and her first instinct is to kiss her. But there’ll be time for that when Laura comes to her senses.
The cowl is hardened leather stretched over a metal shell. Enough to stop anything short of a rifle round. It makes a hard thunk when Kiden drops it on the roof of the car, and crumples like construction paper when she stomps on it.
Again, and again, and again, until its form is completely gone and the red lenses are reduced to glassy dust. Until the anger is burned off and all that's left is cold bitterness, and she's wondering what she's really trying to accomplish by doing this to her best friend.
Then she looks back up at Laura, the lying whore, and that raging fire is reignited in an instant. Making a sound more like a charging animal than anything a person should produce, she headbutts Laura in the nose.
It caves in on itself with a wet, sickening snap. The rest of her doesn’t budge an inch. Blood starts rushing down her chin, then freezes as soon as Kiden breaks contact. It’s both smashed flat and bent out of place, twisted in a way no part of a human body should be.
She does it twice more, until it barely looks like a nose anymore. The crumpled ruin of her helmet is dotted with red, same as that stupid armored jacket. What does she even need that for?
Her fingers snap like twigs. There’s a little pang of guilt with each digit left crooked and misshapen, but Kiden dutifully pushes it down. She’ll be back to tip-top condition before even five minutes pass, and God knows she deserves the pain. There’s no need for guilt, not with her. That’s the thought that pushes her to carry on until Laura’s hands are completely useless.
And just for fun, she punches her hard in the stomach. She feels something rupture under her fist, but pays it no mind.
She could keep going, but the urge to see Laura bent and suffering is stronger. So she hops off the car, blends into one of the crowds, and unpauses time.
Laura gives off an undignified scream, turned nasally and pathetic through her ruined airways. Blood gushes down her face, staining the car a dull red and, more importantly, turning the metal slick. She slips, trips on her remains of her helmet, and faceplants into the asphalt - Kiden can barely stifle a laugh.
Everyone stops what they're doing. Everyone gawks at the pathetic, ruined woman sprawled on the road. Is she even aware of the hundreds of eyes on her? Does the burning humiliation even register among the agony she has to be feeling?
Picking herself up as everything snaps back into place, Laura looks around until she manages to meet Kiden’s eyes. Realization, sadness, shame, arousal, animalistic rage. The barest twitch of pleasure, one that would’ve been invisible Kiden hadn’t known her so well. It all flashes through her eyes in a second. Some part of Kiden knows she should be terrified, but she remains firmly in place. They both know there's nothing to be done; she'll be gone by the time Laura's claws finish extending.
They both also know that she isn't nearly done.
Jaek040 Sun 11 May 2025 05:07AM UTC
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