I don't usually write erotica, but...
There's a snake inside my stomach coiled in on itself. It's been months since it's been milked for venom. The bar tonight is a terrarium, smudged by a thousand fingerprints, perfumed by a hundred bodies. I twist in my bar stool. My pussy is wet and idle. I know what it feels like to starve but tonight is a night to be full to bursting. To eat whole. I need a victim.
Murray Hill is my favorite place to do this sort of hunting. Every man looks the same, nondescript and white and injection-molded into some bullshit suit. This neighborhood teems with testosterone. It collects in gutters, oil slicks on dirty puddles. I suck my whiskey down through gritted teeth. A girl can get a contact high in a place like this. At the end of the bar something catches my eye. He's a little taller and ganglier than the men around him, a little fidgety, smoothing and carefully remussing a shock of black hair. Tortoise shell glasses. His soft face is illuminated by the glow of his phone. Okay. He'll do. I rise from my seat and slide over so I'm next to him. Not looking at him. Just the fullest part of my hip touching I don't know, probably his leg.
"I'm going to do another whiskey, thank you." I flick my eyes over to him. "What's on your phone that's got you so distracted?"
Not looking up, he mutters, "Work e-mails."
"You aren't at work right now though, are you?"
"One can never be too sure."
"Okay, so put that shit away and talk to me."
In the tungsten light of his phone I see his eyebrows arch. He tucks the phone away in his coat pocket.
"What's your name? I'm Julian."
"That actually doesn't matter. It's nice to meet you, Julian. Can I get you something to drink?"
I catch the bartender before he has time to respond. "7 and 7, please. Julian, what do you do?"
"I'm a financial analyst."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that I make predictions about the market. And I get paid because I'm right most of the time."
"Are you in charge of a lot of peoples' money?"
"Yes."
"Are you considered very important?"
"Yes. I suppose. Yes."
"And how does that feel?"
"Good. Most of the time. Sometimes it's a lot of responsibility but it really doesn't suck. You know, I don't like mixed drinks. I hope you're not offended if I don't drink this."
My eye catch his. Inside me a tail rattles. "Try it. It's a classic."
Five full seconds pass between us. The air between us pulls and tightens like muscle. My eyes follow his little pink mouth as he brings his highball glass up and tilts his head back.
"It's not what I would have ordered, but it's not bad."
"Julian, I'd love to know. Do you know your net worth? Do you know what you're worth in dollars?"
"Yes."
"Tell me. How much?"
"You're really cutting to the chase, aren't you?"
"Don't worry, I'm not remotely interested in marrying you."
He rocks back in his seat and looks at me. "Okay, so what are you interested in, then?"
The smile on my face spreads like a forest fire.
"In a minute I'm going to show you how worthless all your silly money is. Take one more sip of that drink and then put the glass down."
People act so emboldened in the presence of wild animals when there's a thick layer of Plexiglas between them, a social contract. Eschew the barrier and people run. Julian or whatever takes a careful sip of his drink and eases it back down on the bar. I rise to my feet and nudge his instep with my foot, pressing his legs open. With a coquettish flourish, I inch closer to him until my breasts are flush against his chest. I bite my lip and look up at him. He smiles and then stops smiling. He has that look on his face, suddenly hungry, focus shifting between my eyes and mouth. He leans in like a kid on prom night. My hand finds the back of his head and pulls him back by his hair. His mouth is an inch from mine.
"No fucking way."
My hand twists so his head is cocked, his neck exposed, poking through his crisp white shirt.
"Come on."
And like I'm a little kid dragging a bright red wagon, I pull Julian by his expensive haircut back through the bar. Well-to-do women turn their heads. Men smirk and look confused -- they always do that. I kick open the bathroom door. Two stalls, harsh fluorescent lighting, every footfall reverberating with a hollow echo. I pull him into the larger, handicapped stall in the corner and knee him in before I lock the door. I can tell that he's hard through his suit pants. Ugh, whatever. He makes a move to scoop me up in his arms. I grab his lapel firmly in my fist and guide him to the floor next to the toilet, scolding him with a soft hiss.
"Julian, do you want to kiss me?"
He nods, earnest all of a sudden.
"Open your mouth."
He complies. I bend at the waist and take off his glasses. Then, hovering just above him, I spit once into his mouth.
"Swallow."
He does.
"That's as close as you're going to get."
I can tell he's frustrated but at least he's quiet now. There's so much pink in his cheeks. I toss his glasses away and hear them clatter on the tile floor. He shuffles, struggling to stand, so I step towards him until his back is against the wall, my pussy in his face.
"I'll let you retrieve those later," I say. "You have other things to worry about right now."
The snake sheds her skin. I hike up my skirt inch by inch, taking my time, listening to him breathe. I'm wet enough that there's a slippery trail down the insides of my thighs.
"You're going to take off my panties with your mouth, Julian. If you even think about touching me with your hands I'm going to throw your glasses in the trash for you to dig out. Is that understood?"
He nods, and cranes his neck towards me. He mouths my waistband, his shallow breaths tickling my belly. Slowly and inexpertly, he works my panties down until they're low enough for me to step out.
"How much did your last haircut cost?"
"$175."
"Yeah, you're going to wear my panties as a little hat."
I pick them up and pull them down over his hair, into his eyes.
"I can't see."
"That's not my problem, is it?" I whisper, and press forward. I look down. His nose is in the soft curl of my hair. He's nodding and his eyes are closing intermittently. Beneath me I feel his body relax.
"Go ahead."
I feel the electricity of a tongue against my clit. He's desperate. His tongue darts out again, firm. He moans.
"Don't you fucking dare stop."
He buries his face in me, and for the first time I feel my legs falter. I steady myself against the wall of the bathroom. Waves of heat snake through me, up through my core and into my hands and feet.
"Are you in charge of a lot of people's money?"
He nods and gulps, then gets back into it. I tilt my head back and close my eyes. I'm overflowing. My thighs are pressing shut on either side of his face, trapping him, tamping my wetness against his collar. I want to squeeze the life out of him. What's between my legs is an eager little cash register with fancy wallpaper and useless appendages. At least he knows how to eat. The next sound I make is a war cry.
I feel it. A white syrupy hotness ebbing out from my pussy and into the rest of me, an angry opiate of an orgasm. My knees buckle and Julian catches me, his hands cradling my ass. I hold his ears in tight clenched fingers, holding him still, savoring each thick wave of contraction. I feel the poison in me drain. When I'm ready to open my eyes the light feels too bright and I suddenly feel drunk.
Grinning, I pull the panties off his head and step back into them. I tug my skirt back down from my waist.
"Here. For your time."
I pull three dollars from my bra and toss them in his lap.
Bewildered, he looks down.
"...Thank you."
"You're welcome. Sit there for a full minute, then get up and wash your fucking face before you leave. You're a mess."
I pick up his glasses.
"I told you no hands."
I unlatch the stall and throw the door open wide, so he can watch me toss his glasses in the trash. His face is a wide open question mark. I wash my hands next to a silent young woman in a black dress. As I stride out I see her smile in the mirror.
Murray Hill is my favorite place to do this sort of hunting. Every man looks the same, nondescript and white and injection-molded into some bullshit suit. This neighborhood teems with testosterone. It collects in gutters, oil slicks on dirty puddles. I suck my whiskey down through gritted teeth. A girl can get a contact high in a place like this. At the end of the bar something catches my eye. He's a little taller and ganglier than the men around him, a little fidgety, smoothing and carefully remussing a shock of black hair. Tortoise shell glasses. His soft face is illuminated by the glow of his phone. Okay. He'll do. I rise from my seat and slide over so I'm next to him. Not looking at him. Just the fullest part of my hip touching I don't know, probably his leg.
"I'm going to do another whiskey, thank you." I flick my eyes over to him. "What's on your phone that's got you so distracted?"
Not looking up, he mutters, "Work e-mails."
"You aren't at work right now though, are you?"
"One can never be too sure."
"Okay, so put that shit away and talk to me."
In the tungsten light of his phone I see his eyebrows arch. He tucks the phone away in his coat pocket.
"What's your name? I'm Julian."
"That actually doesn't matter. It's nice to meet you, Julian. Can I get you something to drink?"
I catch the bartender before he has time to respond. "7 and 7, please. Julian, what do you do?"
"I'm a financial analyst."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that I make predictions about the market. And I get paid because I'm right most of the time."
"Are you in charge of a lot of peoples' money?"
"Yes."
"Are you considered very important?"
"Yes. I suppose. Yes."
"And how does that feel?"
"Good. Most of the time. Sometimes it's a lot of responsibility but it really doesn't suck. You know, I don't like mixed drinks. I hope you're not offended if I don't drink this."
My eye catch his. Inside me a tail rattles. "Try it. It's a classic."
Five full seconds pass between us. The air between us pulls and tightens like muscle. My eyes follow his little pink mouth as he brings his highball glass up and tilts his head back.
"It's not what I would have ordered, but it's not bad."
"Julian, I'd love to know. Do you know your net worth? Do you know what you're worth in dollars?"
"Yes."
"Tell me. How much?"
"You're really cutting to the chase, aren't you?"
"Don't worry, I'm not remotely interested in marrying you."
He rocks back in his seat and looks at me. "Okay, so what are you interested in, then?"
The smile on my face spreads like a forest fire.
"In a minute I'm going to show you how worthless all your silly money is. Take one more sip of that drink and then put the glass down."
People act so emboldened in the presence of wild animals when there's a thick layer of Plexiglas between them, a social contract. Eschew the barrier and people run. Julian or whatever takes a careful sip of his drink and eases it back down on the bar. I rise to my feet and nudge his instep with my foot, pressing his legs open. With a coquettish flourish, I inch closer to him until my breasts are flush against his chest. I bite my lip and look up at him. He smiles and then stops smiling. He has that look on his face, suddenly hungry, focus shifting between my eyes and mouth. He leans in like a kid on prom night. My hand finds the back of his head and pulls him back by his hair. His mouth is an inch from mine.
"No fucking way."
My hand twists so his head is cocked, his neck exposed, poking through his crisp white shirt.
"Come on."
And like I'm a little kid dragging a bright red wagon, I pull Julian by his expensive haircut back through the bar. Well-to-do women turn their heads. Men smirk and look confused -- they always do that. I kick open the bathroom door. Two stalls, harsh fluorescent lighting, every footfall reverberating with a hollow echo. I pull him into the larger, handicapped stall in the corner and knee him in before I lock the door. I can tell that he's hard through his suit pants. Ugh, whatever. He makes a move to scoop me up in his arms. I grab his lapel firmly in my fist and guide him to the floor next to the toilet, scolding him with a soft hiss.
"Julian, do you want to kiss me?"
He nods, earnest all of a sudden.
"Open your mouth."
He complies. I bend at the waist and take off his glasses. Then, hovering just above him, I spit once into his mouth.
"Swallow."
He does.
"That's as close as you're going to get."
I can tell he's frustrated but at least he's quiet now. There's so much pink in his cheeks. I toss his glasses away and hear them clatter on the tile floor. He shuffles, struggling to stand, so I step towards him until his back is against the wall, my pussy in his face.
"I'll let you retrieve those later," I say. "You have other things to worry about right now."
The snake sheds her skin. I hike up my skirt inch by inch, taking my time, listening to him breathe. I'm wet enough that there's a slippery trail down the insides of my thighs.
"You're going to take off my panties with your mouth, Julian. If you even think about touching me with your hands I'm going to throw your glasses in the trash for you to dig out. Is that understood?"
He nods, and cranes his neck towards me. He mouths my waistband, his shallow breaths tickling my belly. Slowly and inexpertly, he works my panties down until they're low enough for me to step out.
"How much did your last haircut cost?"
"$175."
"Yeah, you're going to wear my panties as a little hat."
I pick them up and pull them down over his hair, into his eyes.
"I can't see."
"That's not my problem, is it?" I whisper, and press forward. I look down. His nose is in the soft curl of my hair. He's nodding and his eyes are closing intermittently. Beneath me I feel his body relax.
"Go ahead."
I feel the electricity of a tongue against my clit. He's desperate. His tongue darts out again, firm. He moans.
"Don't you fucking dare stop."
He buries his face in me, and for the first time I feel my legs falter. I steady myself against the wall of the bathroom. Waves of heat snake through me, up through my core and into my hands and feet.
"Are you in charge of a lot of people's money?"
He nods and gulps, then gets back into it. I tilt my head back and close my eyes. I'm overflowing. My thighs are pressing shut on either side of his face, trapping him, tamping my wetness against his collar. I want to squeeze the life out of him. What's between my legs is an eager little cash register with fancy wallpaper and useless appendages. At least he knows how to eat. The next sound I make is a war cry.
I feel it. A white syrupy hotness ebbing out from my pussy and into the rest of me, an angry opiate of an orgasm. My knees buckle and Julian catches me, his hands cradling my ass. I hold his ears in tight clenched fingers, holding him still, savoring each thick wave of contraction. I feel the poison in me drain. When I'm ready to open my eyes the light feels too bright and I suddenly feel drunk.
Grinning, I pull the panties off his head and step back into them. I tug my skirt back down from my waist.
"Here. For your time."
I pull three dollars from my bra and toss them in his lap.
Bewildered, he looks down.
"...Thank you."
"You're welcome. Sit there for a full minute, then get up and wash your fucking face before you leave. You're a mess."
I pick up his glasses.
"I told you no hands."
I unlatch the stall and throw the door open wide, so he can watch me toss his glasses in the trash. His face is a wide open question mark. I wash my hands next to a silent young woman in a black dress. As I stride out I see her smile in the mirror.