The Perfect Drug (2)

“Hey you,” she opened the door and stepped through an erotic wormhole. Where only moments ago she was submerged in dark light and rancid thoughts, here emerged a merciless sexual predator, whitened teeth ready for the first taste of his skin. But she had to keep her claws retracted, at least for now.

“Hey.” His eyes were cast down to her bare feet, and slowly trailed up wards as the door widened. His smile was subtle and admittedly adorable. It was moments such as this when she had to try her hardest to keep her composure. He looked at her with the eyes of a child visiting his favorite place in the whole word; she saw him as a means to a momentary distraction, medication for the pain. Even so, his lust for her was just as enticing and beneficial for her emotional sustenance.

She went about the social casualties that one would in this situation. As well informed as he might be, she was still slightly considering of his feelings. Poor thing, she sometimes thought. He knows why he is here and he is still willing to go through this pain. He must be more fucked up than I am.

She kissed him on the cheek and ushered him inside the apartment. He sheepishly stood in the middle of the living room, looking around and taking it all in. He was like a puppy in a new home. His eyes wandered from the small kitchen to the wall that held all her family photos. He inhaled deeply, smelling his surroundings. Trying to smell him; but she had made sure that a thorough house cleaning and plenty of scented candles would do that. As she closed the door behind him, she felt the blood rush and pulse in her finger-tips. For a brief moment she heard the swell of the ocean in her ears and she could see the top of her right breast rattle from the rapid beating of her heart. I can’t believe I’m doing this…I can’t believe I’ve taken it this far.

“So, did you eat?” A question just to break the silence and steady her breathing. The moment was here already, no sense in delving into guilt.

“Yeah, I had a little something earlier.” He responded, hands in his jean pockets. He stood like the solitary tree in a bad storm, wavering side to side. One good gust of wind, and he would come toppling over.

“I mean, did you eat dinner?” He shrugged his shoulders, still wavering. She knew that he had not. Just like her, his nerves had made it impossible to focus on anything else but him coming here.

She smiled as she walked toward him. For a moment such as this, many women would have preferred to wear lingerie or perhaps greet their lover with nothing on. But she was not like most women. After having showered, she chose for her ensemble the simplest of things: a pair of black spandex shorts and a teal cotton camisole. Her hair was still wet when he had arrived and when she helped him take off his coat, some drops of water fell, prickling the hair on his forearm. She gently pulled him down to sit on the sofa, before scampering away to the kitchen to fix him a plate of food.

In a moments time they were seated on the sofa together, with more than half of the food gone from the plate, two gulps away from finishing the first bottle of beer, and music playing from her portable media player. She just couldn’t help herself; she found the best fried chicken recipe she could find only to tweak it to his personal taste. As he licked the fork of its last remnants of mash potatoes, his groans of satisfaction told her that she had executed his favorite food with perfection. The beer was a given. He needed to calm down, and she was already buzzed; it was time for him to catch up. After quickly wishing his dish, she brought two shot glasses in one hand, a bowl wedged in the crook of her arm, and bottle full of golden liquid in the other hand along with another bottle of beer.

“Trying to get me drunk?” He let out a chuckle as he reached for the beer.

“Who said I was ‘trying’?” She placed the glasses and the bowl on the end table near him, where he could see the salt shaker surrounded by lime wedges seated on crushed pieces of ice. Straddling him on the love seat, she removed her top, her bare breasts inches away from the tip of his nose. She poured the liquor into one glass, and grasping the glass with her left hand she reached for a piece of ice with her right. His eyes were unwavering as she swiped the cold crystal across the tips of her nipples until the ice had melted upon her skin. With the same right hand, she sprinkled herself with salt.

“Lick,” were the instructions he was given. He took his hands and grabbed both breasts, squeezing them together until both areas of salt touched each other. His tongue came down like an iron to smooth out the waves of salt until her nipples were once again bare.

“Don’t let them go; keep your hands right there,” she purred. His eyes were level to the deep crease of her chest that he’d created, and with his mouth at the bottom of her fleshy ravine, she poured the small glass of spirits down the center into his awaiting mouth. Once the glass was empty, his tongue continued to lap up the remnants of alcohol on her skin, a man inebriated with the taste of her skin and with the knowledge of fucking her.

She realized then that the only one who needed the elixir was her; to numb the thoughts and the guilt about him, the one out on a trip, oblivious to the event unfolding in the home they shared together. It’s too late…oh fuck it’s too God damned late…

She poured another glass while his lips moved upward to her neck, catching the drop of liquor she missed as she swallowed it down. Gripping the bottle by its neck, she reached out and grabbed the throw pillow nearby, tossing it behind her and sliding down to the floor, wedging herself between his legs. Her left hand unbuttoned the copper fastener and her teeth clasped onto the zipper, exposing the cotton navy boxers he wore underneath. Her lips rubbed softly against the bulge of his erection, and the smell of soap and men’s cologne filled her nostrils. She began to hear the words and thoughts fizzing out.

If he found out, I’d be dead. He would be so hurt…why am I doing this? He doesn’t pay attention to me like I want him to…but he doesn’t deserve this, he’s a good man…what the fuck am I doing? I need this…just someone to please me, touch me, fuck me…

She placed two fingers over the opening of the bottle and sprinkled it over his exposed member. With the rise and fall of her head, the images began to flash across her mind faster and faster, a reel set to fast forward. She could feel herself dampen as she shoved the thoughts away with the tip of his dick at the back of her throat. He took the bottle away and drew a long swig, a small drip descending on the corner of his mouth. She flicked it away with her thumb and placed it on her tongue, savoring the heat of both substances.

She continued until he grabbed her hair and jerked her mouth away from him. Her right hand reached out to grab it once again, but he was faster. He swung her arm behind her and pinned it there, his body so close that she could feel the faint vibrations of his heart beating.

“I think you’ve had enough fun,” he whispered, his voice ragged and rough. “My turn…”


Part 1

One thought on “The Perfect Drug (2)

  1. I’m holding my breath and the crotch of my damp panties
    Cara Thereon recently posted…UntitledMy Profile

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