THE CURE 2/ A sucker on a moonless night

THE CURE 1 / Setting the scene
21st October 2016
THE CURE 3/ Whatever happened to city boy?
20th February 2017
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THE CURE 2/ A sucker on a moonless night

The man’s features are anonymized by the sepia fog. A Burberry trench coat landing him decadent timelessness. He doesn’t notice you as he stumbles into the alleyway. His companions’ rum soaked voices are urging him to hurry up and rejoin them.

You step away from the shadows as he and unbuttons his fly. When he looks up you are close enough to smell the mint and Treasure cigarettes on his breath.

His grip on his cock tightens. Or perhaps the cock swells and pushes against his fingers. Hard to tell.

You take a step closer, raising your right hand to stroke his face, resting two glistening fingers on his pouting mouth. ‘Tell them you’ll catch up later’.

His velvet eye lashes flutter, taking in your leather clad figure. ‘And why on earth should I do this?’

Because I’m making you on offer you can’t refuse’.

His warm tongue darts out and tastes your fingers. He trusts his pelvis forward ‘Are you going to suck me then?’

Your hands moves like a cobra, The left Crashing his wind pipe. The right an iron fist around his cock. You bite his lower lip. Feasting on the shock and hunger flooding his blurry eyes.

I don’t think so boy. I rather fancy MY cock sucked.’

Bugger off’. He tries to push you away. You don’t move muscle. Basking in his fear and outrage as he realises how infinitely stronger you are.

Most of him goes limp.

Time to get down and dirty, bitch’.


You push him to his knees. When he is kneeling on the asphalt, you force his jaws open, like the mouth of a feisty pony reluctant to take the bit.

When your appendage fills his vision, he makes another attempt to flee. You let him crawl away a couple of meters, then pounce. Lifting him by the scrap of his neck and hurling him against the wall. Face pressed on the dump concrete.

As you wish. Let’s skip the foreplay’ you breath in his ear, pulling down his trousers and spreading the pert creamy buns. His cock in your fist is a pillar during the sacking of Rome.

A burst of green fireworks breaches the fog sky as you trust the tip of your pulsating tool inside the coral knot. Another booming airborne flame, ice blue, masks his first howl.

Then the charge hits him. Surging through his convulsing body, igniting a bonfire in his head.

What are you?’ he croaks.

Then his brain capsizes in the torrent of burning effigies.