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It couldn't have been more than a moment, the quickest measure of an instant. Though that hadn't been enough to deter the bitter resentment of foreverness from welling in his mind. From behind pursed lips sealed tight, the doctor's breath hitched within an inch of his very life. And for every second after, he felt some sliver of it slip further and further away into the dark. Wordlessly, he drew air through his nose, clinging to his life as best he possibly could. He likely would have too, had his spine not arched in conspiracy against him.
"Of course. When are you ever NOT testy?"
He craned his neck, away from it, from himself, from her. He couldn't help it. He knew her peering gaze before he even met her sight. He knew it in her shifting feet, her snaking neck, her pressing overreach. All of it just to glance into his eye, to gawk and gander at the curl in his lip. He knew that he shouldn't, that he couldn't. But his wandering view peeped back all the same. He wished that he hadn't.
Her tongue tacked and ticked upon her teeth, the endless bounds of the globes of crisp golden glass narrowing as she sighed. "I can't believe you." She spat, he was almost certain he saw the slightest shake of her head. "I can't believe I thought you were different." The fine point of her chin sunk into his shoulder, her glower stiffening as the tips of her fingers padded along the seam of his pocket. "Just like every other man, every other pig."
He felt it then, her arm slinking about his waist, the terrible yearning warmth that came as she fastened herself around him, every inch of her pressing ever onwards. He hadn't even set his gaze away from her for a moment before the onslaught began. "There couldn't possibly be any other reason why you'd have pockets this deep." She pondered aloud, hardly even in his direction. She very much did enjoy the sound of her own voice, she always had. But what a reprimand this had become. Not simply cruel and unusual, the journalist's madness in her method was barbaric and unheard of. He quivered beneath her gentle grasp, her fingers enveloping him. "Always with your hand in your pocket. Tsk, it's almost like you were giving me a demonstration. Proving it was possible..."
"...It's almost like you wanted this to happen. Like you were waiting for it. What else could that sad little eye always be ogling me for? All men really are alike..." His poor heart pumped ever faster against the confines of his ribs, practically bursting from his chest. "...You're sick. Just think of this as your lucky day, and thank Alll-Mer that your shameless womanising finally paid off, you fairy. It's just tragic with how little you've given me to work with." Her biting jabs ate at him as she softly stroked away. Grunting, gesturing, grating... None of it seemed to capture her attention.
"You really are a terrible distraction... For both of us. You're set to open in an hour, and I've got Monday's article to write by 10:00. And here you are, acting up, getting in both of our ways. I'd have half a mind to think this is another one of your magic tricks if my head wasn't so clear." He could hear the sneer in her voice, that repulsive smarm that always signalled to him an end of an argument, his need to surrender. He drew in breath as he prepared himself, weakly pushing himself against the counter's spotless surface to stabilise.
"Well, isn't this a mystery. You don't have anything smart to say? Nothing witty, nothing sarcastic- no biting commentary? I'm going to have to get to the bottom of this." She crooned in false contemplation. His shoulders tensed into his neck at the furious trembling of her wringing wrist, the tightening of her strangulation. "You're much prettier when you aren't talking, you know that?" The breezy warmth of her breath gracing his neck, the groaning agony as her lips brushed past it. "What's the matter, Daniël?" It was only when her whispering had begun to throw shivers down his person that he finally realised just how close her mouth had grown to his ear. "Cat got your tongue?"
He gasped. His face rocked with the contorted contrition of his sinking heart as his nails dug into the grain of the counter. All about his head raced pictures and times, a desperate wondering after which divinity he should plead to in his time of peril. But only one name could cross his mind, and only a single prayer could come to his lips. "K-Karin-" He staggered, his little voice caught at the back of his throat.
"What did I JUST say? I thought people-pleasers were supposed to be good at taking criticism." A vulture's intuition brought her to seize the vein of his neck between her teeth, though she did not meet the chilled flesh she'd come to know. Flush with the heat of life, it only made her all the more eagre. Furiously, the curve of her fingers slid back and forth, the hot moisture of her maw ringing his neck in a purple finer than the tacky tie he'd chosen that morning. Each and every one of his meek protests spurred her forwards, his every wriggle and twitch left her wanting for more.
And she would get as she desired, as all up and down the deathly pallor of his being did she mark him with the purple kiss of death, thankful only that the cologne on his skin hadn't tasted as it smelled. He had no wish to know just how cruel she would have been if it had. But all the same, a much greater fear began to swirl about him as he nearly brought himself to double over. It wouldn't have been much longer then, couldn't be much longer, until this nightmare was finally to end. There wasn't much life left in him to steal, and he was certain she would stop the moment she had picked his carcass clean. The future was without respite. Over and over again, the heel of her hand pounded against the very stem of all that made him, the harsh callous of her busy thumb sheathed in the pliable cotton of the inseam- her iron fist draped neatly in a velvet glove. He would not last.
Again she kissed him, and again it came with some new agony, another fresh hell. The heat of her sighing along skin stretched thinly across his spine was near enough to bring him to tears, but to the abject horror of a curiosity taken too far, his lone eye, begging in a watery shine, had not been the only thing to weep. Her hand withdrew from him instantly, the doctor's form left heaving over the aged wood in a breathless frenzy. Even still as he forced the musty air in and out of his lungs, he could not turn away from her. Not any longer. Not as she brushed her caressing thumb about her index finger, her lips parting in revulsion, a twinkling softness beneath the brilliant sheen of her eyes.
"...You pervert." She scolded, lowering herself to him, her weight falling upon his back. In revolt against his own mind, he felt himself pulsate again. It was as he feared, her thumb had come free wet. "You turn my stomach more than the war ever could." She pierced the empty veil behind his eye, the soft lines of her perfect face growing all the more sour as she took him up again, the tormenting pressure of her thumb rolling a soft circle at the tip of his little surgeon. "You'd think a doctor would be able to fix an issue like this..." Disappointment fell from her tongue like venom, poisoning his mind. "...Every day I wonder more about just how useless you can be."
At every moment he could have hoped to speak, meagre groans caught themselves in his throat, the hand she'd kept so tightly fastened to his waist creeping slowly to his chest, forcing itself between him and the bar. "I've thought about it too. Plenty. Just what good to me is a man who can cook and clean? I can already do that on my own. All you do is weigh me down like a great big ball and chain. I've thought about telling you before too, just exactly how worthless you really are. But something tells me you'd like that." His eye shot closed, ragged breath escaping his suppression as he fought against every nerve in his lower half. A smirk danced across the awful curve of her cordotum lips as he stiffened in her grasp. "Exactly."
Every second longer the torture drew on, the warmer he felt her presence grow, and the less sure Daan was that he could endure. The pace with which she dragged her hand about every sensitivity was so sternly sluggish, so certainly slow. He trembled to imagine just what punishment she would exact if he grew satisfied before her. "Ohhhh, well, would you look at that?" Rubbing her cheek to his, he could have sworn he heard a breathy chuckle somewhere deep in her tremendous chest. "Always love when you can kill two birds with one stone." She cooed, her face half buried in his hair. "I think I know what I can write for Monday's article." She teased as the tension thickened, her routine motion gaining traction, a chugging train taking off from station. "It'll sell thousands of copies;" Her voice grew richer as again she approached the conche of his ear. "'Doctor of fifteen years- Rondon's Best- can't cure his own PE...'" Her whisper slunk into the grooves of his brain, her cadence dancing about his mind. He'd hardly been prepared when her beak clamped down on his ear.
He moaned as the floodgates came rushing open, the damp cloth of his pocket growing wet as she increasingly cast a more frantic pace. The steady pressure that lay just beneath the surface pained him as it crept closer and closer to release. He shuddered as he sweat through his undershirt- through his undergarments. Her talons, sharp as ever, threatened to tear the sweatsoaked garment to shreds as she ran them between the trenches of his ribs. "I still can't believe you're enjoying this. Don't you understand that this means that there's something wrong with you?"
The first question she'd asked in earnest, he clung as wildly to the hint of concern, the sliver of care in her wonderance as he did to his life. His mouth hung open, grasping desperately at every word he could think to force from his tongue, any sound beyond those that added to his humiliation refusing to part. "Must be something to do with when you were young..." A prisoner in his own body, the horror flooded his mind as she went along, her hands working to the tune of her swansong. "...Haven't you heard? All the latest psychology points to it. It's a fact, you know." She allowed herself to wander, lips tracing all about the ugly bruises that marred his bare skin, sinking in her teeth every so often just to feel him squirm beneath her. "All of it makes sense, now that I think about it..." She paused, lost in a faux contemplation as the speed of her stimulation grew unbearable. "Your eagreness to please, the way you dress, how you carry yourself..."
She shivered, and the nightmare grew only bolder as he felt the damp warmth of avaricious climax grind against him. She squealed from behind lips that had sealed themselves shut, the cool breath of an exasperated nasal sigh forcing the hairs on his neck to stand at once. "...the way you let me step all over you." She affirmed finally, her noose's grip and greedy prying nearly forcing every motion all at once to bleed into the world. "Apparently, all of that means that mommy didn't pay much attention to you when you were small..." He wanted nothing more than to throw up, than to shut her mouth before she could continue, bound helplessly to keep leaking into her fingers, melting into her touch. "...Call it a Journalist's ingenuity, but I had an idea, Daan. Maybe..." Without warning, she'd allowed her feet to give out, bearing down upon him fully. She had to stop herself from chortling as she felt him twitch, over and over again. A seething stress just below her palms, staving off an endless explosion, a needed reprieve. "...If I filled in for her now, you'll stop being such a fucking freak all the time?"
The tears dripping from his cheeks in streams no longer stemming from the pain alone, he croaked, his fist falling over and over upon the worn old spruce. There was nothing more he wanted in the world than to end this madness, to wrap his bony claws about her neck and choke the life from her until she could no longer speak... ...So what was it that kept him captive in his own skin? Endlessly desiring her as finally, the corners of her lips curled at their very edges- the frothing malice with which she had always hissed at him giving way. He would have rather cut out his own throat than to hear anymore of this ever again, so why was it that he listened so intently as she made him her own?
"Hmph." She couldn't have sounded any more pleased. And he did want to please her always, didn't he? "I knew you would agree." She always sounded so sweet when she got her way... "...So here's our plan of action. I'm going to give you three seconds, and that's all you're going to get. So just be thankful I'm not telling you to cum on command. Understand?" She waited, her hand freezing with her requests. The symphony of needy pining that bellowed forth as he barely caught his breath told her everything. "Perfect. When I tell you to, you're going to let everything out. And if I'm feeling generous, I'll give you a little reward. And if you fuck up, you'll be sleeping on the loveseat for the rest of the month. Got it?"
Hopeless did as hopeless does. With what little control he still had, he gave a single nod.
"Eins." She began immediately. And without warning. The pale grey of his face flushed with as much heat as it could.
"Zwei." He could feel her every movement, every joint in her fingers, every erratic second. She was hungry, and where there was a dead man walking, a scavenger was never far behind.
"Drei." Her final number resonated in his mind, and without a moment to spare, the train had finally departed the station.
"K-Karin!" He finally managed, crying to her as he spilled pitifully into her hand. Each moment afterwards brought a new whining moan, explosion, a new torrent of white rope bursting from his shaft as she slowed her pace to a crawl. Squeezing out every last drop from his tiring girth, milking him for all he was.
"So you can listen..." She beamed, a songbird's tune chiming from her every syllable as she pulled herself from him, her heels falling to the tile below in an echoing click. Ever so reluctantly, she divorced her hand from his quivering manhood, from the utterly drenched cloth of his pocket. Her remaining appendage left to shift beneath his chest, feeling every pitter of his beating heart. Even as he laid there, breathless and exhausted, she still watched as his beading, pleading eye tried to follow her, even spent as he was, all he could ever want was her approval. Her eyes rolled as she began to set him upright.
He did not fight her, his shaking arms propping himself with her grasp. Turning to meet her, he couldn't help but to glance at her hand, slick with great bounds of his seed. He reddened further, how much pressure had he been under? With how much force did he finally release that so much of his pleasure could coat her fingers? The helpless apathy with which she too glanced upon her now filthied fingers was enough to shame him, though even as her gargantuan brows raised in an evident unimpress, he managed to keep what little cool he still had left. His unknowable disposition serving him better now than it ever had at war.
None of that, however, was enough to save him from the near-stroke endured as the journalist began without warning to lick him clean from her fingers. Relishing every second in a seemingly unending boredom as she lapped every last drop. Swallowing with only the barest of hesitations a second later.
Clutching his head in a silent bemoaning at his loathsome existence, he'd still needed a hand to keep him still as he threatened to topple over. Her input was hardly needed. He knew just how decrepit he was as he caught a glance at his ruined trousers. Good gods, he'd even gone through his britches. In the horrid chill of his shallow breaths, he'd hardly even noticed the fingers she kept plastered to him all along, moving sit on his cheek, to brush the now damp hair from his face, taking inventory only when he felt her set his eyepatch above his brow.
His attention fully hers, she took the time to examine every one of his features, ragged and worn. Handsome still only to her, even as he stared at her like some sort of frightened animal. She sighed as she ran her thumb across the bone of his cheek, speaking only again as she finally managed to soothe some of his worry. "I promised you a reward, didn't I?" She posed quietly, bringing herself fully into him again, all the gentler as she sent her arm around his neck. A hateful despondent longing cast into his eye, and the pit thereof.
And again, there was naught to say, naught to object against as she brought his head down to her, the wordless moment between their lips ending only when she parted for breath. "Good boy, Daniël..."