Chapter Two
Maddie
“That’s not good,” I mutter to myself, gasping again when the chill creeps farther into my body and I start worrying that polar bears are going to take up residence in my coochie.
My ass squeaks unflatteringly and obnoxiously loudly as I bend and reach for the bottle of lube, only to throw it back onto the table when I remember I tore the wrapper off in my overexcited haste on my way to Orgasmville.
A little frantically, I search the couch for the wrapper, finding it tucked between two cushions.
With hurried motions and another slightly more pained gasp, I read the label and blanch.
I can actually feel the blood drain from my face while I read the words over and over.
Not suitable for internal insertion.
Fucking A.
Gritting my teeth against the sudden arctic blaze that now coats the entirety of my downstairs lady, I heave myself off the couch and hurry toward the bathroom.
I keep my legs spread, shuffling as though I’ve been riding bareback for twenty-four hours when it actually hurts to keep my legs closed.
Lube trickles down my leg slowly, and I curse.
“How much did I use?” I growl. Or I try to, anyway. My voice comes out a few octaves higher than normal, the growl losing the angry effect I’d been going for.
Wasting no time, I hurry bowlegged to my fancy drop-in tub and haul my whimpering ass right into it before switching the faucet on full blast. An undignified squeak escapes me when freezing water hits my legs, my vagina burning colder and colder the longer it suffers the dreaded effects of the hell-liquid that is tingling lube.
Fucking hell, it feels like snow is about to start forming in the deepest part of my twat.
You could build an igloo in there at this rate!
Doing some weird butt slide in the tub, I spread my legs wide, hoping the downpour of water will hit my suffering lady bits.
It doesn’t work. In fact, it’s almost as though satanic intervention has sent the stream of water in every direction but where I need it most, my bare pussy whimpering in pain.
Snarling, I use my foot to turn the faucet in the opposite direction, hoping to high heaven that warm water will do the trick.
Maybe the flow will work itself out or something.
I don’t know, I’m not a plumber! It doesn’t matter, anyway, since I’m sorely mistaken when I turn the faucet too far and hot water comes pouring out of the nozzle.
Hot water barely brushes my folds, the burn growing harsher with those small touches.
It’s as though fire and ice are dueling on either side of my flaps, frost and flames at war and my poor honey badger the battleground.
Instead of offering the reprieve I so desperately need, the water only succeeds in getting my legs and back wet. Now I’m coated in a sticky, weird lube-water mix, making my whole body as slick as a well-used stripper pole. And my vagina is still on fire.
Several curse words spill from my face-lips as I scramble back out of the tub, my feet slipping the moment they hit the floor.
With more caution than any woman with a burning beaver should ever have to take, I hurry from the bathroom, crashing into the wall when I try to slow down and turn the corner.
That saying about sliding like a greased pig is really hitting a little too close to home right about now.
“Shit!” I yell when my shoulder knocks into one of my photos, the frame falling from the wall and crashing onto the floor. The glass pane smashes, spiky shards scattering everywhere. Lord above, I’ve turned into Bambi on ice. Why is this my life right now?
Ignoring the mess in favor of saving my poor vagina, I tiptoe past the glass, surprised I don’t nick myself at least once.
Guess there is a God looking down on me.
It would be real swell if he could stop the inside of my cooter from turning into Frosty the fucking Snowman.
Is that too much to ask? Apparently so, since the icy bite remains, the threat of icicles forming on my labia a very real and serious possibility.
Cupping my vagina like that will do a damn bit of good, I flail all the way to the kitchen, leaving a water-lube trail behind me.
I’m like a human snail, for fuck’s sake!
However, that thought is quickly replaced by more pain, a whimpered sob escaping through my clenched teeth.
It takes me all of thirty seconds to realize the mistake I’ve made, the remnants of lube still coating my hand sliding along my already flaming folds and making the entire situation worse.
“Seriously, how much lube did I use?” I cry, frantically trying to wipe the rest of the lube from my hand onto my already coated body. “It’s like I’ve dipped my cunt in the Arctic Ocean, for God’s sake!”
In my moment of sheer agony, I lose my footing and crash into the front of the fridge-freezer, stubbing my toe in the process. “Motherfucker!”
I don’t know how it happens, nor do I care much for these things while my lady is battling the elements, but three things happen in that moment.
One, I manage to insert more devil liquid into my vagina while I fall like a sack of shit, landing hard on my back with a grunt. Why couldn’t I have crashed after I removed my hand coated in the slippery substance that should never have been sold to the public?
Two, the door to the fridge section of this giant contraption swings open and several things come tumbling onto me and the ground, bruising my poor toes in the process.
Leftover Chinese finds purchase on the floor, noodles sticking in my hair like confetti on their way down.
A bowl of strawberries coats me in red juice, my white shirt now stained pink, while a different bowl of whipped cream crashes to the ground, spattering everything in a half-mile radius in frothy white fluff.
And three, the chemical betrayal currently occurring in the depths of my fairy cave intensifies and peaks.
“Fuck my ever-loving life!” I yell, neighbors long forgotten. If they want to complain about the noise, they can make a formal complaint to the lube factories for inflicting this sort of torture on someone who only wanted an orgasm.
Using the fridge door to haul myself off the ground, I stand unsteadily, my feet threatening to slip right from beneath me. With the hand somewhat free of lube, I snap it in the direction of the ice dispenser, catching a handful of ice cubes while several run for freedom under the fridge.
Without a second thought, I’m cupping my vagina with ice-filled hands, hoping the fiery burn will fade to leave only the chilly sting and I can get back to the tub to rid myself of the pain with lukewarm rather than hellishly hot water.
Life has never been that kind to anyone.
The moment I start walking, I step on a rogue ice cube and find myself soaring through my apartment until I come to a painful stop when my body collides with the bare brick wall on the opposite side of the room where I’d been standing a mere ten seconds ago.
More photo frames fall, more glass shatters and coats the floor, and more of my dignity goes floating through the window like it can’t get away from me fast enough.
I hang on to the last shred that remains with everything in me, carefully sidestepping the second mess I’ve made in less than twenty minutes.
I’m never listening to those asshole friends of mine again.
For a moment, I think about calling them for help.
Maybe one of them can come to the apartment and save my abused vulvarine.
No, it’ll take them too long to get here.
By then, my clit will have already fallen off and run for cover from the icy bullets raining down on it.
That’s right, my pussy is now at full-blown war, and I feel like I’m about to die from the pain.
Dramatic? You try having your cookie jar invaded by the Ice Age and then we can talk.
Instead, I woman up and gradually make my way to the bathroom once more. It takes far longer than it really should, but I finally reach the bathtub without further incident, my sore lady soldier crying with anticipated relief.
Just when I think I have this under control and nothing more could possibly happen, I am proven wrong again, the universe proving that she’s clearly out to get me.
There’s a sudden knock on my front door, the thunderous pounding of a fist against wood so harsh and brash that I scream like an absolute bitch.
“Ma’am? Are you okay?” A deep baritone reaches my eardrums through the door, followed by more urgent knocking. My body jolts from fright and, as though I haven’t suffered enough, my foot slips again. A-fucking-gain. I continue to scream as I descend into the fiery pits of Hell.
Luckily, my tub is there to catch my fall.
Unluckily, it catches me all wrong, my body folding like a goddamned origami hat as it wedges itself tightly in the tub.
Another scream leaves my body, right there next to my fleeing soul, as my back brushes the chilly faucet on my way down.
Legs akimbo, one arm trapped between my torso and legs, and my body too slippery for me to get a good grip on anything to heave myself back out of my acrylic prison, I can only pray for a quick demise.
“So this is how I die?” I ask myself with a defeated sigh and yet another pained whimper when my vagina reminds me it’s currently suffering a slow and painful death.
Doing my best to look between my spread legs, I sniffle and tell my crotch, “If I survive this, I’m going to treat you right, Frosty. ”
“Ma’am?” the voice from outside the door yells, gravelly and spine-shiveringly delicious and… wait… that doesn’t sound like it’s coming from outside anymore.
Oh no. Oh, please, God, no. Don’t do this to me. I have only a small bit of dignity left! Don’t take that away from me, too.