The Nipple

The Nipple
666 words


There were many. Sometimes, there were seven or more at a time. But not tonight. Tonight, there was only one. Yes, the one who fell to his charm just this morning. Her porcelain legs were already spread; ends of those arches meeting at what was dampening in anticipation of his entry. She was young. But this was old. Centuries of beauty; of wives, widows, daughters, queens and princesses, gypsies and bums; of those who knew nothing, those who knew something, and those who promised they knew more than him. All of them pleasured beyond belief; and all of them buried under this shop, his shop, the shop that always drew them in. In here they lusted, surrounded by items possessing history, history only he knew, history which he shared merely to impress them. Boring! These encounters were all the same.

But maybe this one was different. There was always a maybe.

Under his spell, her senses heightened. Her hands clenched at the sound of his nails walking up the chestnut floorboard underneath her pussy. He grinned. So there was a little fight in her, something coaching her to withstand him. Good. His finger entered. She held her breath and bit her lip. His smile grew. The first test was always his long, hard nail. The nail tested trust. The nail could hurt; meaning, either she would jump away at his touch and leave his shop, completely trust him that he would never hurt her, or hopefully, keep some of her control and curiosity. Her fists never opened. He pulled back and flicked the clitoris gently, careful as he had been with the others who reached this point.

She maintained control. She was curious of the future, yearning to be a part of it as long as it was under her conditions.

His teeth showed with his smile. Now he would show her who he was, and he would see the true “her”. A growl emerged from his throat. Fangs grew over his bottom lip. Orange fur shot from his neck.

She crawled back, blinded by fear and darkness into a cabinet where glass began to fall. The cisterns should have ended her life, but his hairy body flashed over hers, hiding hers in his shadow. She breathed his new, animalistic musk; felt his steaming drool fall to her stomach.

Was she the one?

Her hands, shivering on the floor, lifted to the hairs on his chest. She would push him off, he knew; knew because of all the others. What? Her hand snaked around the back of his head and pulled him till her lips met his. He hesitated. Her heartbeat resonated between fear and serenity. Was she it? After 1286 years, he realized he didn’t know what “it” really was.

Tongues tangled. Her hands reached between his legs and cuffed the stiffness he didn’t even realize was there. His mouth retreated from hers, eyes studying. He had never read this feeling in a woman before: fright, lust, joy, trust, and yet, a slight apprehension. This hunger for her sex and her blood strengthened as his gaze fell to her nipple, hard in the rise and retreat of her breathing. He lowered his head. The nipple entered his mouth and toured down his tongue. Yes. Her hand played in his hair before she pushed her nipple deeper into his throat.

Yes. He wanted her.

But…

Finding an unbroken cistern, her other hand took the glass and slammed it into his ear. He curled on the wood, squirming and squealing in agony.

Screaming for freedom, she rushed to her feet. Just seven steps to the door, but two were all she took. Her ankles were in his hands. With his fuming heave, her body ripped in two, blood and innards sliding down his face.

He rolled to his back, bathing in blood and disappointment. The nipple. From now on, the nipple would be the third test.