blistered lips

“Taste it,” she tells you, “it’s sweet; you’ll like it. It’s from the orchard we walked through late last night.”

And so you take the apple from her slender fingers. You wonder at how it can be so shiny, so smooth and deeply crimson. It is the most perfect apple you’ve ever seen. You want to taste it. You want to taste its lush and sugary juices across your tongue. You want to swallow and feel the cool liquid coat your throat.

“Yes, darling, I know you want to,” she whispers at your ear, “I know you need to. You need to bite it. You’re so hungry, and I’m going to feed you. You need to sink your teeth into it. You need to puncture the peel with your teeth. You have to. You have to do it now.”

And so you do. You eagerly open your mouth and even as your teeth pierce its flesh, you smell the aroma of her cunt. She has coated the apple with her malicious juices and you are damned. She is dark, she is evil, she is the greedy, wicked, demanding Femme-Phantasm haunting every Grimm’s Fairy tale. She wants to possess you, debase you, drive your very soul into the dirt, but you can’t stop. You don’t want to stop.

You have to swallow her poison. Her poison that will finally conquer you, debilitate you, enslave you.

As you begin rabidly gnawing at the apple, you feel your balls — icy and hot at the same time — seize up. Your cock is PDQ hard: rock hard, petrified rock hard, boner than bone hard, steel rod hard. Your ass sphincter is rapidly opening and closing, and you can’t make it stop. She’s in control — not you. Not you, not ever again you. Never ever again.

Your orgasm rises up like a fist pummeling through your body and you are cumming, preternaturally spewing. It weeps from your eyes, gushes from your nose.  It leaks from your ass. You can smell it, your own spunk oozing from your pores, rising up in the back of your throat.

You fall to your knees and you know it is done: She has fucked you.

Tomorrow you will eat her apple. And every day after that.

So, I’m looking at him.

Handsome, with smile crinkles at the corners of his eyes, like thirty-something men tend to sport. Always makes a man, a confident man, look even sexier. Of course, he knows that. What he doesn’t know is that I am thinking about how long it will take to break him. Because that is what I do, after all.  He doesn’t know that yet. But he will.

He’s sent the waitress over with a martini and now sits at the bar awaiting my invitation. A smile in his direction would be his cue to saunter over, then do his little mating ritual. Be charming, sweep this little damsel off her feet, bed her, fuck her. That is how it usually goes for him and so he expects it.

Instead, I push aside the martini and have the waitress bring me what he is drinking. His eyebrow lifts as he watches her place the gibson in front of me. He thinks it flirtatious and cute, his cocked grin says.

I move my chair out a bit, turning towards him. He watches as I open my legs slightly and slide my hand up under the hem of my black dress. The look on his face says that, while this isn’t in his well-worn playbook, he likes it. He likes it a lot.

I let my legs fall open and slide my hand under my panties. I watch him watching me as I begin masturbating. Even from this distance I can see his prick pressing against the fly of his gabardine trousers. I can see his adam’s apple move as he swallows, the slight flair of his nostrils. He thinks he imagines my scent. But it is real, because I want it to be.

I take the gibson and bring it down to my crotch. He watches intently as I glide my fingers out from under my panties and hold them over the drink. Milky dew slips from my fingertips and into the gin and vermouth mixture, causing the two pearl onions to slightly shift.

He is mine. The rules have changed. He knows it. I always knew it. This is a new script and I am the one writing it.

Drink this.

What is it?

It’s a vitamin drink, silly boy. Don’t you trust me?

Yes, but what’s if for?

It’s good for you. Just drink it and quit arguing.

Are you sure?

Oh, stop being so paranoid, and drink the fucking stuff.

Ok. There. Are you happy now?

Very. Here, let me take the glass and put it in the dishwasher. How are you feeling?

Ok, I guess. Why? What did you put in that drink?

I told you it was just vitamins.

Why is it so cold in here?

That’s just a side effect. It will go away soon.

Side effect? From what? What was in that drink?

Quit worrying about that. Remember when you missed my birthday party because you were out with Brad and Carl?

Yes. I told you I was sorry.

You did. And remember when I asked you to pick up my sister’s books from school when she was sick and you forgot? And she ended up having to retake the test? And almost had to retake the entire semester?

Yes. That was a real fuck-up. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.

Yes, you said so at the time.

I must be losing weight. Look at how loose the waistband of these jeans are. Funny, I didn’t notice it when I put them on.

Never mind that. Remember when you told me you were fishing with your dad and I found out later that you were at Mary Theresa’s party?

Nothing happened. I told you that.

Yes, you did. But you lied. I had lunch with Kelly today and she told me exactly what happened at Mary Theresa’s party.

She’s lying. You know how she is.

She is not lying. You are lying. And you are doing something else, also.

Did you see that? I crossed my leg and my sneaker fell off. What the fuck?

I said you are doing something else. Do you want to know what?

What are you talking about?

You’re shrinking.

Get out of here. You’re crazy.

No, dear. I figured since you were such a small man in the ways that count, you might as well look the part. Look behind you. Your head isn’t even reaching the back of the sofa anymore.

This is crazy. It’s some kind of joke.

No, it’s perfectly real and isn’t going to stop. I gave you a very special vitamin drink.

Ok, then. I just won’t drink any more of that shit.

You will. Because very soon your stomach will cramp. It will cramp bad. The only antidote will be more of the vitamin drink.

Are you fucking crazy?

No, not at all. Here, let me help you down from the couch and we’ll go see the cute little crib I bought for you. Pretty soon you will be sleeping in it.