Morphine Queen

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
Dreams of a night out

Submitted: August 07, 2013

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Submitted: August 07, 2013

A A A

A A A


Morphine Queen

 

Rain pelted the pavement; the end of work, and the evening rush bustled by.  Commuters ran into commuters, umbrellas fought with each other like angry crows.  Dismal taxi ranks, strung with miserable queues, winded like centipedes through the city.  Stepping of the curb, the unmistakable, stark, wetness’s, hit his bones as his ankle plunged deep into a roadside puddle.  Shrugging his shoulders, as the last bit of tenacity leached from him, literally floating down the gutter with the rest of the rainwater.  Enough, turning sharply, he marched into the bar he passed day in and day out, but had never frequented.  “Fuck it” he thought, walking straight to the counter, he ordered a bourbon, and shot it back.  The amber nectar warmed his throat, spreading a comforting languor all over his body.  Ordering a second, he leans back, this one is to savor.  Surveying his surroundings, the bar had an old-world feel to it.  Uneven walls, dark mahogany bar, smoothed down from the caress of many an alcoholics grip.  The rain made a sullen musical overtone, to the melodic jazz being piped out of an aging music system.  Then, at the end of the bar he noticed her, propping up a glass of whisky on the rocks bigger than her hands could hold, she slumped, half attempting to make a whimsical architectural structure out of beer mats.  She lolled her head onto her left arm, squishing her cheek, making her lips into a cute little pucker.  Running her hand through her purple, messed up, ringleted hair, nonchalantly ruffling a fringe that just stopped short of hiding the most amazing eyes he had ever seen.  Circled in fire, they had a gleam that looked past him and deep into his soul, her glare burned him.  He was hard, shit, how did just one look have this effect on him? Turning slightly towards the bar, in a vain attempt to hide this, unexpected, reaction.  He awkwardly glanced back over at this little minxette.  She smiled, a tooth slightly catching her dark red lips, as red as if she had just kissed a freshly mutilated corpse.  She looked back to her drink, mused, frowned.  Signaling the bartender with a flick of her hand, such delicate, tiny hands, the bar man brought her the bottle.  “Whisky, no E” she said.  He looked behind him, and then back to her, was she talking to him? “No E” she said again “I only drink the Scottish stuff”.  Again, that child like grin, a sweet cherub mouth, leaving little crimson kisses on the heavy tumbler she grasped with two hands.  Fascination, he couldn’t stop looking at her, how tendrils of her hair, like wisps of smoke drifted around her shoulders, and, oh, her skin was so white, like milk that had been left out under the moon.  There was a shimmer to it, every time she touched the glass she was nursing, a slight prickle of goose bumps would run up her arm, then fade again, like the ruffle of feathers.  As he let his eyesight flow down her body, he took in what she was wearing, strange how that wasn’t the first thing he had noticed.  Pinching her waist was a corset, giving such structure to her tiny frame that it had to be boned.  It pushed her breasts up into smooth mounds, her nipples threatening to spill over the top at every breath she took.  Tiny black cut of denim hot pants cupped her peach of an ass, and they didn’t go down her thighs far enough to encompass the suspenders holding up stockings.  Stockings filled with ladders and holes, leading as a labyrinth to red, sky-high stilettos.  He felt that burning again, into his skull, his mind, and running back up her body in a reverse exhilaration, a feeling of animalistic lust filled all his senses.  His eyes found hers, and they were fixed on to him, like a cat that has spotted it’s prey.  With a feline fluidity she slipped of her stool, slinked across the bar.  Every step emphasized her behind, her shoulders moved in time with her stride, teasing him even more that her nipples might actually fall forth, like flowers blooming on a summers day.  Was she going to leave? She was heading for the door!  Stopping short of exiting his life, she reached and turned a heavy metal key in the lock, leaving them together.  Turning around and pressing her back to the thick cut, rough, wood, she pinned him again with her eyes.  This was the first time he noticed that they were alone, no other customers, even the bartender was missing.  Thoughts, images, possibilities ran through his head, like a movie in fast-forward.  She was facing him, not a foot away, how? But? When had she moved? ‘Shit’ this girl was going to be trouble, like he had only just realized this!  A smoldering temptress, and tempting him she was.  She leaned her body into his, lifting her leg, wrapping it around him, gripping him with such strength for a little thing.  She was easily a head shorter than him, even with the shoes.  She leaned her picture perfect face towards him, and as he leaned back, the curve of his back pressed into the edge of the counter top.  Why was he leaning back? Oh! But he did love the little scowl she pulled when he did that. The height difference meant he had to come to her, she yearned for him, and her imp like sweetness implored him to.  He was possessed, he had no choice, his body was making decisions for him.  Raising his hand he ran it through her hair, feeling her skull.  Gripping hard, yanking her head back, she gasped.  The guttural growl that escaped his throat surprised even him!  Bending forwards, he inhaled her scent, a smoky combination of whisky and the detailed notes of her own heat.  He ran his tongue down her throat, following the twist of her carotid.  Feeling her gasps and mews under his tongue, the control he had then, he could snap her neck, rip out her throat, she would be powerless to stop him.  Wrapping his arm around her waist, grabbing a handful of her ass, he pulled her upwards.  Following the edge of her collarbone down, he buries his head between her bosoms.  Releasing her hair, he runs both his hands down and up her back, palms flat, feeling every contour, all the different textures of her clothes, her body.  His cock was throbbing, beating, straining at his trousers, begging for release.  He felt her tiny fingers on his cheek, gently guiding his head up, his lips found hers.  The softness of them, her tongue darted in and out, tasting his lips.  The teasing drove him wild; he caught her flickering tongue between his teeth, staring into her eyes.  Then he kissed her hard and deep, drinking her very soul.  Spinning around he sat her on the counter top of the bar.  Fumbling she opened his shirt, frantically she explored his chest, his back, then as he bit her lip, she ran her nails down his sides, along his back, across his chest marking him.  Slowly he ran his hands up her legs, pulling, tearing more holes in her stockings on the way.  Her thighs were spread for him, sliding his finger into a ladder, he ripped.  She leaned back, watching him with curiosity.  With his other hand, he pulled at the buttons to her shorts, sliding them down; they slipped over her tiny feet, and fell to the floor.  She wasn’t wearing any pants.  She was just ‘there’, raised on the bar, legs spread, her flower glistening with her juices, a shaven delight.  The evil, sprite’ish glint in her eyes was back.  Grabbing his head, she demanded his face into her core.  The incredible scent of her filled his senses.  Thrusting his tongue deep inside of her, the sweet silky taste of her, flowed down his throat.  Lapping, sucking, biting, licking, he could feel she was getting close.  She screamed, her back arched, he could feel her pulsate around her tongue.  Dripping wet he needed to take her.  Releasing his cock from its prison, he pulled her down of the bar and impaled her on to him.  Utter ecstasy, she was so tight, so wet.  Varying speeds, she was his little doll, to play with, he controlled her.  Thrusting deep he exploded inside of her, roaring out loud as he filled her insides.  As she sat back on the bar, her child like image was ever forgot, as she slid her fingers into her soaking vagina, and rose those fingers to her lips, tasting a divine combination of bother their cum.  Greedily licking the juices of her fingers, he couldn’t fathom how this whole event had begun.  Sliding herself of the bar, she picked up her shorts, slid them on, and rose slowly onto the tips of her heels, brushing her lips against his.  Stalking out of the door, she never looked back, stalked out into the night.  He came back to the bar every night for the next month.  She never returned, was it all in his imagination? A dream? A mirage?  Whichever way he felt addicted, he had withdrawals from his little morphine queen.

 

 


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