Drowning in Her Absinthe Eyes
I roam these streets alone. The crimson velvet draped about
my small body ripples like waves of blood. The air smells
like death and it forces a small smile to tug at the corners
of my mouth. Full and brilliant the moon gleams down from
the heavens, my milky, translucent skin glowing. The Red
Death has swept through this place, leaving a crooked trail
of victims in its path. It angers me, since I have no use for
their poisoned flesh.
Lurid calls of the ladies of the night ring through the
cobbled alleys. Strange that whores are not afflicted
with the death. Ignoring their shrillness, I venture into
a dark pub. The haze does not irritate me, as it seems to flow
around my form, never caressing me, as I part the dense curtain.
Tonight there are few customers sitting at the bar. Although
it is not proper for a woman of my status to venture into such
a place, especially unaccompanied, the fear of the Red
Death creates a diversion for the time being. Most of the
men here are engaged in jovial laughter at the long mahogany
counter; all except, one. A single man sits alone by the
green-and-yellow-checkered stained glass windows.
He is fairly uninterested in the glass of bourbon before
him, mostly because of the half-dozen empty ones that stand
like vigilant soldiers, inverted, by his fingertips.
His gaze is cast off into some lonely, place inhabited only
by his haunting past. There is a great heaviness that surrounds
him. I want him. I want him pain. I know that I must have him
tonight.
I take a seat at a heavy wood table near him and call over the
barkeeper. I request a glass of absinthe. Startled, he
returns to the bar to fill my order. The lonely man by the
window shifts slightly, because of my sudden presence.
As the barkeeper places my drink before me, he stares at
me for a moment, before leaving. Among these leathery,
withered men, I must look like a china doll that has never
been taken down from my lofty shelf. I know that the barkeeper
is suspicious of my presence in his pub. No doubt he has heard
the many tales of single ladies venturing in to dark places
such as this, escorting lonely men off into the night, never
to see the night of day, again.
I sip my strong green potion, occasionally glancing at
the lonely man only a few feet away. My seated position situated
so close to his own has yanked him from his desolate fantasy
place. Without warning his eyes meet mine and hold, transfixed,
for a long moment. I purse my lips, inviting him to join me.
Under the trance of our silent exchange his moves, stumbling
a bit from intoxication to a chair at my table.
Not a word is spoken. I raise the glass to my lips, drawing
the eerie green liquid into my waiting mouth. His eyes are
pale like the blue light that floods a cold bedroom in the
morning after a great snow fall. I am mesmerized by their
depths. I stare into them with my eyes, green like the absinthe
swirling about my tongue, drawing him in like a deep breath.
In my mind, I call him. I welcome him into their absinthe-colored
depths, lulling him into a hypnotic spell.
My small, white hand caresses his large, masculine one.
Despite the obviously sadness in his heart, he allows it
to linger, then, embrace his hand strongly. I know that
all of this attention makes his heat ache more, but the pain
will go away soon. I finish off my glass and slide it toward
the center of the table. I am done with my business here.
Standing to leave, I tug at the mans fingers laced with
mine. He follows dutifully. Into the darkness, we leave
the pub behind. Hand in hand, my heartbroken friend allows
me to lead him down alleys and sideways through the dilapidated
district.
The contact between us allows me to understand his pain.
He was once a man of distinction, a businessman. His beautiful
young wife fell into the darkness of the plague. He left
her to die in their home in the countryside and took residence
in a shabby hotel.
Word eventually reached him of her expiration.
Instead of being freed from her release, he has become enslaved
by his guilt and sadness. The regret inside of him has dissolved
all but the shell he is now. Yet despite all of this, I am drawn
to him, like no other has intrigued me before.
Just on the outskirt, new the wharf we come to a row of small
stone houses. His curiosity is obvious. Perhaps somewhere
inside he knew what was going to happen, because he begins
to lag behind a bit before stopping completely. I turn to
face him, his face hidden in the shadows except for his intense
eyes. Licking my lips, I pull his mouth to mine, my hand planted
strongly behind his head. His lips move timidly at first,
and I know that no woman has touched him like this in a very
long time. Although I am standing on the very tips of my toes,
I am steadied, unlike he. Even with his feet firmly planted
on the ground, I can sense that he is unstable and wavering.
Swiftly I suck a lung full of air from him, forcing him to
topple a bit. I nibble on his pouty bottom lip before releasing
him from my embrace. I let him rest against my small frame
momentarily, allowing him to regain his footing.
Grabbing his unknotted, silk blue tie, I lead him into
the third house on the row. I guide him into a bedroom, lit
with only single beeswax candle.
He sits on the bed as I nudge
his knee with mine. The thrill of this handsome man sitting
before me sends bolts of electricity through my body, warming
the insides of my thighs. I see know the hints of the lovely
man he was before his terrific fall from grace. His hard
face is etched with well manicured facial hair. He has thick
dark hair, that still shines brilliantly in the darkness
and his are the most intense, pale blue color I have ever
seen in a mortal. This man is completely transfixed by my
dominating presence and it excites me even more. I slowly
remove the covered button on my red top coat, letting it
part, revealing the sheer silk blouse beneath it. I smoothly
shrug the coat off of my shoulders, letting fall into a heap
on the hard wooden floor.
Next I tug at the row of pearl buttons on my blouse. Each time
a pearl slips from its eyelet, it allows a better glimpse
of the scarlet satin corset underneath. When the silk garment
is open to the waist of my skirt, I release it from my skirt
waist, allowing it, too, to flutter to the ground. I giggle
a bit, as a cool breeze glide across my sensitive skin and
exposed breasts. I see desire building in the mans eyes,
and even in the dim light I can see the hard bulge in his trousers
twitching.
I unclasp my skirt and it easy slides down my legs, joining
the rest of my wardrobe.
I step out of the fabric ring toeing
the pile off to the side. Now in the golden candlelit I stand
before the man, my torso is encased in my gently laced scarlet
corset. My breasts are pushed high above the rigid garment,
my peach nipples hard and dark. My legs are covered in pale
beige silk stocking, held up the corsets garter clips.
I am still wearing my soft leather shoes. I shift my weight,
spreading my legs slightly. The man is still staring in
awe as am not wearing any other underclothing. The wetness
dripping from my flushed lips shines proudly. I believe
this is the first time he has seen a woman sex that has been
carefully shaven clean with a straight-razor.
With two long strides I close the gap between me and the bed,
standing with my legs spread wide on either side of his.
I press my uplifted breasts into his face before sliding
them down his long body as my bottom rests on his thighs.
My hot, dripping mound is pressed against the wool covered
hardness in his lap. He clears his throat and shifts a bit,
thrusting his hips forwards as if trying to gain more contact.
As I take one of the mans earlobes into my mouth, he groans
the first words spoken all evening, You are an angel sent
from Heaven or some cleaver devil that has lured me into
your evil world.
Take me, beautiful Siren! My teeth graze
against his velvety ear and smooth neck. The rapid pulse
under my wet tongue catches my attention, so I pass over
it again, harder. His hips thrusts against mine, leaving
a large collection of my love juices smear across his trousers.
My small hands tear his black wool jacket and burgundy silk
shirt from his body. His chest is strong and muscular. The
small, pink nubs of his nipples stand hard from his chest.
I playfully tweak them between my thumbs and forefingers,
making his manhood quiver beneath me. I arch my back, and
suck on one, enjoying his soft, smooth skin. His breathing
quickens. Before releasing it, I nip the nub softly with
my teeth.
The yearning in my loins begins to engulf me as I push the
man roughly on his back. I have never been a woman concerned
with proper behavior, and I am not going to begin now. Grinding
my hot wetness against his manhood, I unhook the top closure
to his trousers, finding no undergarments underneath
the scratchy material. Apparently my gentleman friend
also enjoys the feeling of freedom around his loins. I lean
over, forcing a finger behind each of my heels, wiggling
them free from my soft leather shoes, letting them fall
loudly on the wooden planks. With my face pressed to his
chest I drawn wet, invisible circle downward towards his
waist with my tongue.
I finish unclasping his trousers
and am rewarded with his long erection springing free,
slapping against my stomach.
As if pulled out of a fantasy, the man reaches behind my head
and pulls the long pins from my hair, allowing the long auburn
locks to tumble freely around my face. He brushes them aside,
before caressing my sides and back, moving his hands forward
to my breasts. I sit up, resting my elbows on either side
of him, giving him more access. Mimicking my earlier actions,
he pulls my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers,
rolling them gently. The tender manipulation of my flesh
forces a low growl from my throat; a guttural sound that
I fear might frighten this man beneath me. Much to my surprise
he chuckles softly, trailing into a soft, moaning hum.
Allowing myself to savor in this moment just briefly, I
shift back onto his thighs covering his pelvis with mine.
Then I rise up, pushing his trouser down his legs behind
me. Taking my lead, the man slides his heavy shoes of onto
the floor below, followed by his trousers, leaving him
nude save his wool socks. He must be reading my mind since
he slipped a toe inside the top of one sock, pulling off with
a great feat of skilled, followed by the other.
There is nothing, but hesitation between our sexes.
My
wet lips slip around his shaft, coating him in my juices.
In a gallant effort to take control of the contact, the man
rolls me onto the mattress, careful to not break the connection.
He crushes my body into the soft quilt, his strong muscular
form pressing its welcomed weight against me. He is as ready
as he will ever be; almost as ready as I have been all night.
His hips shift slightly, forcing the head of his penis against
my entrance. I do not wait for him to steady himself; I thrust
forward, engulfing his entire length.
The mans shocked expression is swiftly replaced by the
lusty waves crashing behind his eyes. I do not ignore the
mild ache of betrayal that is obvious that etches at him.
That is why he is here, wrapped in my embrace. I thrust hard
against his hips, but he appears perplexed by my aggressive
nature. I doubt he has experienced a woman of my disposition
in his lifetime and it comes as a great shock.
Taking back the reins, I flip our writhing bodies over,
so that I am grinding against his pelvis, his manhood in
the vice-tight grip of my womanhood. I place my hands flat
on his chest, setting the pace of my reckless undulations.
It is clear that this man will not be able to hold back his
climax, so I shift forward, placing my face next to his throat.
My hips continue to rise and fall swiftly, as I ride him furiously.
I have found my release several times already, my sharpened
fingernails cutting small red crescents into the mans
chest. The surges of wetness that have spilled forth from
my womb have soaked his thighs and the bed below. I feel his
shaft swell and I know that the moment is now.
I press my tongue flat against the mans neck, feeling the
sensation of his rampant pulse just below the flesh. My
upper lip draws up tight, revealing the dainty point fangs
that I cautiously conceal. I do not allow him to feel my teeth
drag against his skin; without hesitation, I sink into
the thick artery pushing hot, delicious blood throughout
his body. All the while I continue to slide my tightness
up and down his penis, never stopping, never allowing him
to stop what has already been set in motion. The moment my
fangs broke the surface, his seed erupted from his loin.
As he pumped the thick milky liquid into my core, I drew long
and hard from his neck. He cried out, both from his release
and the pain I was causing him. I do not stop, even as his heart
beat begins to slow. My belly fills with both of his hot juices.
I see his fan eyelashes falling towards his cheeks. He must
be falling into the dark sleep now, so I stop feeding.
A single
drop of blood leaves the wound.
Several hours pass, before the man stirs. He is very close
to death now. I reach over to the small table beside the bed,
retrieving a long, silver blade. His half-open eyes watch
my every move, partially in fear, partially in curiosity.
In his weakened state, there is nothing he can do. Drawing
the sharp tip across the fair skin above my breast, a bright
red line appears. I place the blade back on the table, and
turn toward the near-corpse beside me. He slowly licks
his dry, parched lips with his pink tongue. Are you thirsty?
I ask. He responds only with a failed attempted to rise from
the pillows. I laugh at his predicament, and then lean forward,
my breasts consuming his vision. Warily, he follows the
angry red mark on my chest, at first, only sampling the red
liquid it offers. I urge him with my hand planted firmly
against the back of head. He sucks the opening harder, drawing
a healthy quantity from it. I let him feed from me, until
I begin to feel light. It is clear that he enjoys this new
delicacy, and I must shove him hard to break the bond between
us.
Our eyes meet again, and for the first time on this night,
there is no sadness in his. In fact, their dizzying depths
are filled with new life. I gave him this new life, this new
light.
This is the first time I have ever taken a man, and
gave him something back in return. I even stole the life
away from the one that took me. In our gaze I know that I have
found my match, my partner, my equal. His hand reaches for
mine and they intertwine. My name is I silence him. Your
name is whatever you want it to be. This is a new life, so you
can be new as well, I say. We share a smile, before he lunges
forward towards me, his lips grasping for mine. In the sanctuary
and permanent night of the bedroom we make love for the first
of many times.