Trading UpChapter 12
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A densely populated city street. Rush hour. Lazily, I walk down the strip mall, caring little about the latest fashion on display. What interests me far more is finding the few passers-by that are not absorbed by compensating their mental voids with ephemeral, cheap material possessions and pretentious status symbols. Granted, I give a poor target for a consumption-oriented free-market economy. This thought of outrageous rebellion against the establishment puts a faint yet self-content smirk on my tired face.
Scanning the crowd, I barely manage to sidestep you as we cross. Our eyes meet briefly, nothing more. I’m not even sure if it is really a smile I detect on the lower half of your face through my peripheral vision, but it makes me stop and turn my head around—just like you do too.
Our second visual encounter is slightly longer. Still, we do not indulge in more than a friendly exchange of looks between strangers, a renewed flash of our teeth bared of the habitual social awkwardness—maybe slightly brighter than just common courtesy among such fleeting acquaintances, and surely lingering a bit longer. Before I realize it, though, I’m captivated by your irises, their dark turquoise hue hypnotizing me, making me unable to move, flooding my head with telepathic pictures.
I see your joyous beam just before your lips crash on mine and we begin our familiar mating ritual, although we have just met. Our touches ardent, the kisses urgent, my teeth sinking into your neck as my hands seek your heavy bosom, freely dangling, unrestrained by the omitted unnecessary garment under your thin, translucent blouse. We lose ourselves in the passion burning in our hearts with the heat and brightness of a supernova.
Your moans spurring me on to explore every inch of your skin, every curve of your body with my fingers, my nose, my tongue... I am but a serf to your pheromones. Our hands venture to places kept hidden from daylight as your pout casts itself at mine again. We only allow us to part so my fangs graze the skin of your cleavage that seems to run endlessly deep, so invitingly plunging.
Unable to resist you, I eagerly follow your guidance towards spots you seldom let anyone kiss despite deeply coveting it, discovering that, unbeknownst to me, you have already shed your garments.
I feel your gaze observing my performance through eyes half-closed before you throw your head back in pleasure and your siren-like voice keeps fueling the blazing desire in my loins. Not yet willing to grant you your satisfaction, I take in the visuals of your mouth agape mimicking the expression of your nether lips which I part with my fingers, unveiling your precious jewel.
Your digits entangled with my hair, scraping my scalp will me on into taking you to heights you’ve never experienced—just not quite yet. An offering this powerful needs proper build-up. Your groan comes frustrated instead of enraptured as you realize how I deliberately keep you from your release and choose to wield the power over your ecstasy as I see fit.
If looks could kill, your enraged stare lets me know. You're infuriated, yet craving your impending climax. Still, you know is too close to just push me away and finish the job yourself—too tempting is the promise of reaching unprecedented bliss through my touch that you’d be willing to miss out on it despite the sweetly torturous yet long path leading there. The mischievous passion you read in my eyes tells you it will be worth the pleasurable suffering while the curses about my smug grin alternate with your aching love cries caused by my tongue meandering between your slick petals.
Teeth feasting into your fluid-coated lobes, I devour you like a starved wolf while you are seeking places to clench your fingers into or scratch open with your nails sharp as razors. Your soft flesh between my lips, I guide my tongue on its exploratory travel, savoring the feel of your swelling folds yearning for my touch. Hungry for your copiously flowing secretions, I find their source and regale on them, turning your most sacred place into a barely recognizable attention-aching mess.
Just like your vulva, your eyes cry over my repeated purposeful failure to deliver your much-needed relief. In the withdrawal of your craved drug, your moans have long turned into whimpers, approval has turned to plead, affirmation to begging for mercy—only fueling my nefarious self-satisfaction and my need to enslave you to the merciless torment I inflict upon you.
Deciding you have gone through the ordeal long enough, I finally guide my attention to the erect button that prominently pokes out of its protective embedding, thirsting to be mauled by my fangs too.
Your facial features relax as you understand you are, at last, being granted the cataclysmic release for which you’ve discarded all hope to receive. Your appeased silence is only brief, giving way to the overwhelming intensity of the sensations crashing over your body like lightning bolts.
Just as you roll your eyes, your siren song turns into a guttural garbling and your body writhes in an ill-choreographed spastic dance from the near-unbearable sensations your body gets washed over with whilst I keep exorcizing your mind-shattering orgasm.
Right on the verge of making you lose yourself in the joy of incomparable rapture, I get rudely pushed away.
Barely able to keep on my feet, I look at the rip-off Schwarzenegger standing in front of me.
“Oi! Watch yer step, bozo!” I get crudely reminded that I’m still standing in the same crowded street, captivated by those deep teal orbs of yours, distracted by daydreams, pedestrians walking past me—until I'm violently shoved aside.
I let him pass and mutter a quick, clinical excuse under my breath and turn around to look at you again.
Nowhere to be found, you have disappeared, vanished as if you’d never existed.
I chuckle and realize, once more, that I should cut back on the booze.
Charlize
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