Wicked Tongue

by Panic


My life has always been a battle to seize control. I was walking by eight months.  My mother would attest to that fact if you could twist her into talking about me. Probably not such an easy task considering how I’ve left things with her. Even in school, I was the one in charge, even sexually. Quite simply, I’ve always known who I am and what I want at any given moment, and you’d best stay out of my way.

Such tenacity served me brilliantly as I cheated my way to collegiate honors, toiled my way through internship and employment, culminating in opening my own publishing house in the only place to be, Manhattan. There’s a certain art to psychopathic behavior, but the rules remain simple: do what thou wilt. It is within this polished cesspool of vipers that my story takes a mysterious turn, one that changed my influence of control forever.

The only way I’d been able to relax after reading my weight in deplorable manuscripts is through games of sexual chance. Bondage fantasies if you will. Yet, if you’re the researching sort like me, the most relevant term to search would be sadomasochism, power games I’d use to balance out my personality.  When I needed to learn some humility, I’d find someone willing to teach me some. Yet, more often than not, I’d be the one in control holding the handcuffs or tapping the crop.

At work, I’d been fending off attacks from every direction. Multiple takeover bids were presented in the course of a few months, some more hostile than others. My fringe-level company was garnering numbers the giants couldn’t understand, despite their market analysis projections. I only sought illuminate the quest for truth, the only beacon worth holding. I’m sure I trampled my share of greedy toes and bolstered my enemies, without doubt. I possess the subtlety of a wrecking ball. If my efforts could plow through the bullshit to beat a path to redemption, then I’d take that risk. Why not? I didn’t have the mundane baggage of family or morality holding me back.

One bitter afternoon after duking it out with my team of lawyers, I found my darker side longing for release.

Now, please understand, I would rather be caught pissing in public at Times Square than be discovered in some seedy house of ill repute. No matter how brave or indulgent my demeanor, privacy would triumph in my mind and process. Through all manner of influence over the years, I secured a few reliable contacts to secure trusting conquests. Or, I’d even troll the web to find postings conducive to my wants. Attachment was never an option since people always let me down through their own weakness.

It’s through the first means of communication that I found Estella using the one of the same people I’d used for years to secure talent. I always used a pseudonym when dealing with affairs of this nature, so I called myself Téa, short for Galatea, referencing one of my favorite mythological stories.

My mind still reels from the irony.

I’d agreed to meet her in a trendy loft on the periphery of the borough, waiting impatiently at the front door. Such serenity always seemed to elude me then. I was greeted eventually by a waif in a tutu, donned up like a ballerina. ‘This must be the place,’ I thought with excitement.

“You’re Téa, I’ll bet?” she asked in a forceful tone that didn’t feel like a question. At least she pronounced the name properly. After nodding, she replied, “I’m not getting my dance routine right. You need to ride me until I get it right.” She pulled me into the silent apartment, lit by discrete track lamps located throughout the ceiling. Paintings filled every wall and a stunning nude graced the foyer with regal charm.

Playing the part I paid for, I stamped my foot, saying, “We’ll have to teach you! Maybe you need to learn respect first?” Leading her into the main room, I was surprised to see another room full of vibrant art. I hid my amazement as I instructed my minion to kneel at my feet, eventually soliciting pecking kisses. Discomfort contorted her face slightly as I basked in such adornment. Leaning back, I settled into a simple yet durable handmade loveseat, its design astounding. Again, I marveled at the sweat and skill employed throughout the space. ‘At her prices,’ I thought sardonically, ‘she can afford to employ the best.’ Part of me recoiled as I overheard those very words spoken about me at a recent cocktail event. Inside I began to percolate with rage and disdain.

“Worship me, mortal!” I commanded. “You aren’t worthy of joining my dance company. Let alone be my understudy.”

“I am,” she blushed, batting her lashes. She continued to lick the outer sole of my pump with attention to detail.

“Not my accessories, fool! Worship me.”

Her head popped up quickly. She uttered, “Toledo,” in a monotone that disgusted me more. Fine, break character with the safe word! I seethed. She continued in a firm tone, “When I start something like this, I must be allowed to finish. That’s my only rule.”

“Duly noted,” was my curt reply as I slipped back into role. “I accept those terms.” I pointed my left foot at her with poise, commanding, “Now lick my toes! Let’s put that OCD to good use.” She reached out a tremulous hand, which I slapped away. “Don’t touch me with your hands, dog. Use your mouth!” I popped my heel out ever so slightly to ease the process along. Gently, she presented her teeth before jawing the protruding platform, sliding it forward to fall with a clomp. “Quieter!” I chided.

She nodded slightly before gingerly sticking out her tongue, running it softly up the length of my big toe. It startled me slightly when I felt her wet touch for she seemed too cold, like she just ate a popsicle. Her tongue even appeared to have a tinge of green: residual dye, perhaps? I shrugged it off as she worked her way around my ankle, thoroughly saturating the top before sucking each toe. Everything tingled all over as she worked her magic, contorting her tongue for my enjoyment. She reached out again to grab my leg, but I scolded her, and then presented my other foot for worship. I squirmed slightly in my seat as I felt myself drift away from the mundane chores of living and pillaging.

Wasting no time, I could feel her working her way up to my knees, spending unusual time in dutiful attention before moving to my hands, submerging each digit deep into the recesses of her throat, tickling with that feathery tongue. This time I know I moaned, since she dared touch me, but I made to motion to chide her on it, as she stretched my arm out, licking my armpit and even my elbows. The process struck me oddly deliberate, yet I couldn’t deny the pleasure she was bringing. Each time, she placed my arms down most delicately before suckling my nipples, twisting with stippling bites so tenacious I gasped. Quickly, she moved down to my hips, propping my body to grant her access to my knotted crevice, even crossing my ankles before slinging them on her own back before diving in, probing and gyrating in a magic fluctuation harmonic and profound. My voice cried out in similar rhythms, but it didn’t sound like my voice anymore, echoing in my head like a tin drum.

Around this time, I witnessed my surroundings with shocking clarity as I reached the point of release. She was gazing at me with an expectation I’ll never forget, and with a chill as biting as that tongue, I felt the trap snap shut. For instead of bracing and bucking with the tangent of sensual motion, I felt leaden and lifeless. I glanced to the floor and saw the dainty heels I strolled in wearing pale ever so slightly before surrendering to some sort of glistening mineral. I cried out in fear and exploded simultaneously, a sensation I’ve chased for decades. Yet, as the glow faded and the shame crept in, all that remained was this bone-numb immobility. Helpless like a doll, I felt Estella moving me again, into a balanced sitting pose, defiant yet sultry. Already, my feet had blanched ever so slightly and a pinching sensation began to win over all thought.

“Why haven’t you finished me off yet?” I asked with as much venom as I could muster considering my hopeless scenario. She didn’t gloat triumphantly, to my amazement, as a flow of tears revealed her sorrow.

“Just try to relax,” she consoled, as if putting me to sleep. In a way, I realized, she was.

“Don’t give me that shit! Just what the fuck is wrong with me?”

She recoiled noticeably, until her eyes drifted to my static knees, calcifying, no doubt. I could barely move my neck anymore, so I found myself stealing reflections to view my transformation. At this point, I could see in the mirrored table nearby my fully transformed feet, glistening in the lighting from all around. Estella possessed an eye for a good pose, I had to hand it to her. She broke the tense silence in a croak, whispering, “It’s my curse.”

Before I could beg for more answers, I heard a knock at the door. She disappeared briefly, returning with a grinning old man I knew all too well. It was Baron Wembly Smithe-Dunworth, the mogul trying to scoop up my firm! That dirty man was in on it all along!

“Hello, Ms. Lagerfeld,” he gloated in that snide accent of his, so smug a conspirator. “Allow me to introduce my handmaiden, Esperanza. Until recently, she served as my food taster.” She swung his purulent arm around her shoulder, bending down to approach me in my prone state. Clearly, he was savoring the puzzlement on my face as he continued.

“One day, we discovered her ‘talent’ quite by accident while she was sealing wedding envelopes for my niece’s wedding. One by one, each of them petrified somehow, becoming fragile stone.” He pulled out one of his disgusting cigars, cutting then lighting it in a deft and familiar maneuver. For effect, he blew a smoke ring in my face. “Still some fight in there, I think?” he conferred. “No matter. By morning, I shall take ownership of your company, thanks to the active participation of your partner, I might add.”

‘Poker-time,’ I thought, looking aloof. I wasn’t about to give this snotty prick any satisfaction, but inside, I was taking it all in, making my list and checking it twice.

“Doesn’t that surprise you?” he continued, toying with his mouse. “Fitting you should find yourself alone and bitter, a cold monument to the jaded person you’ve become.” He flicked his cigar over his shoulder as he laughed, roaring as he hit the door.

Drowning, I felt my very skin stiffening with cracking energy. In pity, Estella, or Esperanza, or whatever her name was, came back to check on me, or at least make me presentable for the ages. With care, she nudged and prodded until ultimately satisfied I personified something tangible and worthy of lust or even worship. Her tiny voice concluded, “The more you rage and fight, the greater the effect. Those that resign themselves become quite simple stone or quartz. However, the more you try to move with resilient mental effort, the more intense the pleasure and, eventually, the more prized a substance you shall become. One warrior who succumbed to my effect became a rose-colored diamond of priceless worth. If there’s still some fight in you, then maybe there life for you after all?” She kissed me on the lips, twirling that magic tongue around mine before turning to go.

Already my tongue could feel the effect of her kiss. “How do you live?” I gurgled.

“With conviction.” And like that, she was gone too, leaving me alone with my thoughts as my flesh continued to cure into a solid form, a jewel of sorts.

Over those lonely hours I felt my neck continue to tighten, before spreading to my chin and face. Already, my mouth had been sealed, but I felt no need to shout for help. What could anybody do to save me from this fate anyway? In the mirror, at last, I could see no evidence of my living flesh; for it all drifted in surrender to that gorgon saliva I was subjected to endure. In the weeks that followed, I felt time itself slow as I was being pulled towards sleep.

‘Never!’ I railed, remembering what sort of deception betrayed me. I tried every mental trick to stay alert and vital. I tried reaching into realms I never knew existed that I could now faintly perceive. One day, I tuned in a top-40 radio station somehow. Shocking to say the least!

Eventually, I tracked my way onto a wireless feed, hopping onto the Internet like my brain was the terminal; it was amazingly liberating! Here I was being fitted for my own pedestal with a flurry of workmen mounting me in the lobby of the opera house, and I was busy investigating the fallout of my own disappearance, the media blackout and business transactions. My list condensed to three people worthy of my special brand of payback. It’s amazing the sort of ‘contractors’ one can hire with the right amount of revenue. In a way, a ‘contractor’ dispatched me, so it felt fitting, somehow.  Luckily, my Cayman account wasn’t seized, since my disappearance hadn’t yet been ruled homicide.

Ultimately, the old man, my business partner and that lying liaison all met ghastly ends worthy of a Rob Zombie film. I only regretted my inability to laugh at their demise.

When the opera house reopened, I could hear the people howling their approval at the sight of me. I had become this amber rock so dense and transparent that light bounded through me from every direction. At least my shape possessed control over refraction somehow.

I never had the heart to punish Esperanza for what she did to me. Guess I’m a sucker for a girl with a wicked tongue.

 


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