Soft, Warm, Pink Flesh
He felt juices, warm, sticky, run down his lips and pool in the stubble of his chin. This is Heaven. The smell, the taste rocked through his bones and brain and tongue. The smell, the taste moved languidly too, the way wine weaves into limbs, making honied thoughts and joints.
She had been posed when he saw her across the grocery store, all lovely skin and rouge where it should be. Even from afar she seemed soft, fleshy, voluptuous. He could only think of the feel of her, the smell of her. Yearning, hot, wet, fever pooled in his belly. With every step across the white and grey linoleum, with every step under the buzzing fluorescents his heart beat. I. Must. Have. That. Sweet. Golden-pink. Flesh. The words were in time with his escalating beats.
He wooed her, won her, cradled her there in the grocery store like the golden goddess she was. He’d even held her as he moved to the car, the car where they now sat, thinking, waiting, watching, wishing. She was silent in the passenger seat, surrounded by the brown bags of the store he would never remember and never forget. She’d abandoned her friends, resigned to the inevitability she’d feel his lips at her fuzz, his teeth at her flesh. Delighted at fulfilling her purpose, to have his lips at her fuzz, his teeth at her flesh. The car hummed with something unspoken - a mix of anticipation, greed, desire, hunger – all ravenous within.
She now sat on the countertop, that plain grey slab concrete countertop, waiting for him to take her. And take her he did. He cupped her gently, stroking the sensitive skin of her precious globes. His tongue tentatively reached out, unhurried as it pushed into that slightest of slits and moved down lower. And lower. And lower. Till it reached that tiny nub.
He let his lips wrap around that nub, savoring the feel of soft fuzz against his face. Soft fuzz that met hard stubble. The hint of flavor danced on his lips and he couldn’t wait. Couldn’t wait for teeth and tongue and tearing. Couldn’t wait for juice dripping. That feeling, the one that churned in his belly, that rose in his chest, that clenched at his throat, overtook him. With that he plunged in.
She felt him immerse himself, his soul, down deep into that sweet golden-pink flesh. She felt him see and feel her bruises and push right past. Right down deep into the pit of her. She felt the sweetness she held drip down his lips, down his fingers. This sweet devouring, sweet feasting, sweet ravaging continued till there was almost no flesh at all. She was nothing but a firm lump when he finished with her. When he threw her away like she was gone, done, empty. Like he didn’t care what pleasure he’d just ruthlessly taken.
The peach was the best one he’d had this season. He’d enjoyed every second of eating it as he leaned over the kitchen sink. It had just looked so damn good in the produce aisle. Even now, he could feel the tingle of it’s sugary taste clenching the back of his jaw. This was the best golden-pink flesh he’d had all summer. So far anyhow…