#neo pulp

Warm, slightly chapped lips had pressed against your skin, just shy of your achingly hard nipple. They'd remained still for a moment. The touch was gentle, too gentle, the ghost of a kiss not quite realized. He was either content with taking his time or baiting you, but lucky you, it mattered very little which one was the truth for how you would respond. The man's already well-established parameters for your behaviour during the meeting saved you a lot of time and trouble, as well as a lot of thinking. His demands had felt strange initially, while he was listing them to you from behind the little screen of your phone, but now that you were here they felt safe, comforting, reliable. Slowly, crawling along with your inner monologue, you'd felt the corner of his mouth finally touch your nipple. It felt nice, the warmth of him contrasting pleasantly with the cold of the room and the chill of your skin. A soft sigh had escaped your own lips, and the sound had seemed to startle the man. His grip on your body tightened for only a heartbeat, before he seemed to realize you weren't planning on wrenching yourself free and making a break for the door, presumably horrified by his desire to spend the rest of the night attached to your chest.

When his lips finally sealed around your nipple you felt him inhale deeply, as if he'd been holding his breath all the while. The first pull was soft, almost timid. His tongue moved around the hardened peak, tracing the puffy aureola like he was trying to commit the shape and texture to memory by touch alone. You couldn't help but shift slightly in his lap. The excitement and the uncertainty of the situation made you feel a constant thrum of arousal, which fought with the cold of the room to warm your underdressed body. You were grateful for it, in a way. Your body would ensure you get to enjoy yourself even now, even here, with this relative stranger who did not care for your pleasure, perhaps not even for his own. His single-mindedness had been obvious since your first conversation, and you would be lying if you said it didn't make you wonder. Your initial suspicion was a distant, perhaps even cruel mother. The first real pull successfully silenced your rushing thoughts. It was painful, which hadn't been exactly unexpected, but at the peak of the pain and the suction, the man released your nipple with a soft pop. He panted against your chest, face now shoved between your breasts, and you felt his hands move where he was still holding you tightly, grip tightening and releasing in time with his breaths. You took this time to shift the position of your own arm, ensuring your own grip hadn't tightened around his neck. The last thing you wanted was to distract him. It was not too long before he was rushing to get his mouth on you again. His eyes were barely open at this point, but a slight frown still marred his features. You had to resist the urge to smooth out the deep lines of whatever emotion it was he was feeling. He had bitten you in his rush to latch back on to the same nipple, just hard enough to draw your attention back to what he was doing rather than what you believed he might be feeling. It was likely by mistake, as he was quick to correct himself, but you felt it was necessary to make clear he should avoid using teeth as much as possible. The man was too tense still, a wire pulled taut and ready to snap under the pressure of its own barely contained energy. More plainly put, you simply didn't trust him, or his ability to regulate his obvious intensity. You didn't speak, instead had resolved to gently tap the side of your almost completely bare thigh against his clothed chest. Like with every movement you'd made before, his immediate, seemingly instinctive reaction was to tighten his grip and make sure you would not be able to get off of him, just in case. Even as he did that, however, you could feel him latching back on. He was careful not to touch your sensitive nipple with his teeth anymore, and once he was properly attached, you'd felt him move his head from side to side just slightly, hightening the force of the suction he'd begun as soon as his lips had closed around your aureola again, like he was trying to make sure he wouldn't slip off. The way he went about the whole process was a clear, if rather unnecessary, reminder that none of what was happening was for your sake, for your pleasure. Anything you might have gotten out of it was entirely your business, not his own. You'd found yourself once again acknowledging the strange situation you had stumbled into, driven by morbidly curiosity and maybe a bit of greed.

He seemed to have finally given in to his more base needs, leaving behind thoughts of judgement and the possibility of your ill-defined desire to escape. It took him no time at all to settle into a consistent rhythm of hard, deep suckling. You observed him as subtly as you possibly could, noting how his cheeks would sometimes hollow during particularly rough, borderline painful pulls. He'd swallow from time to time, likely unintentionally with how it always seemed to break his rhythm. He was warmer than you to begin with, having been dressed far more appropriately for the bothersome cold, but you could swear he was getting warmer by the minute, especially in the face. His palms had grown slightly damp with sweat as well, which caused his grip on you to start slipping even when he dug his nails into your skin. You'd tapped his chest in another warning, but it seemed he was already too far gone by that time.

For their apparent rigidity, it quickly became obvious that his efforts were very disorganized. He *was* mostly nursing, but he would sometimes slip and start using his tongue more. You'd winced the first time you'd felt saliva slip down from where he was firmly attached to your breast, but you resisted the urge to move quickly and wipe it away. Instead, you allowed your movements to be slow, clearly choreographed for him to be able to intuit what you were doing even in his state, and you were not entirely surprised when he forced your hand away before you could clean yourself. You allowed yourself another moment of communication to inform him that you'd only wanted to clean up because the drool sliding down your body tickled, and at that point he *did* allow you to proceed, though not before a long moment of consideration. Afterwards, you'd both settled into something that, to you, resembled tranquility. The man's quick, oftentimes shallow and stuttering breaths slowly evened out into something fulfilling enough to allow him to relax into his seat, although his hold on you remained a permanent point of tension throughout that first meeting. Your eyes found stillness against the pristine glass of a nearby window, its tall, narrow frame mostly obscured by long, heavy curtains which allowed only a sliver of pale light to make it through into the room. It was easy for your thoughts to escape that room, retracing your steps through long hallways bathed in dim, warm lighting, into the spacious, brightly-lit elevator, down floor after floor after floor. Back to the real world, among real people. The man holding you in his arms was solid, undoubtedly real, but something within you had found trouble accepting that during your first meeting. He felt too simple to be human, too single-minded to be some other animal, too warm and alive to blend in with the scenery. His warmth you had been happy to borrow, but his desperate efforts to nurse from your breast, although pleasurable enough from a strictly mechanical standpoint, left within you a growing restlessness that became more and more apparent the more he continued.

You remember telling yourself that you would never again meet this man. It hadn't tasted like a promise, not even then, but you choked it down regardless.

Only when your abused nipple had demanded a break were you brought back to the there and then. Your gaze was still reflecting remnants of your tumultuous, uncertain emotions when your eyes had began traveling back towards your own body, and towards the man presently attached to it. Fortunately, your instinct had proven right once again. His eyes had been tightly shut by the time you allowed yourself to truly see him. You'd taken this chance to truly inspect his features in a way your sudden and unconventional introduction had given you no chance to. Obviously, most of his features were still obscured, but that had never truly bothered you before. You were certain this time would be no different. That's what you'd told yourself, but by the time he, no doubt feeling the weight of your gaze, met your eyes with his own, you'd only managed to sink deeper into that strange sense of unrest. It hadn't been his features you'd committed to memory then, but the desperate, ill-defined need etched into the lines of his expression, the way his lashes had pressed against his cheeks from how hard his eyes had been squeezed shut before your gazes met, the way the corners of his lips would twitch and pull down when he was forced to swallow, only for his taste buds to be met with nothing but his own saliva. Somehow, perhaps intuitively, he had managed to read you then, at least to some degree, but certainly enough to matter. At first his eyes had been sharp, severe, thinned by distrust and displeasure alike, but as your own gaze had continued mirroring his own, you were able to watch his eyebrows slowlt inch upwards, finally smoothing the frown that had seemed forever etched into his features before. His eyes had grown ever wider, then, pupils dilating first, before being reduced to pinpricks. He hadn't lost the sharpness, the edge of distrust or perhaps disbelief, but you'd apparently proved yourself dependable enough for him to risk appealing to you as openly as this. You might have misread him, you might have been mistaken, but even now you're unable to shake the sight of his eyes becoming glassy and wet while he gazed up at you, back bowed and neck bent at an awkward angle. Yearning. Begging. Likely for something neither of you would ever understand. It frightened you then, that *some* part of you, deep enough that your consciousness could not possibly reach so far, recognized itself in the blind windows of his eyes.

With a movement that had been more jerky than you would have wanted it to be, you'd pulled the man back into your chest. You received no real push-back from him, for what had likely been the first time that night, but his eyes had remained fixated on your face even as his lips had closed around your nipple once again. The first, deep suckle made you wince, as you'd forgotten you ever meant to pull him away from your aching, tender nipple to begin with. To your dimly acknowledged surprise, he'd reacted immediately, releasing the suction and pressing a slow, wet kiss to your breast, like he was asking for forgiveness. Your lips had parted and a soft sound had escaped them before you'd managed to bite back words of open praise. The urge to speak them had been strong even that first time, but you'd feared the honesty of the affection nestled within them for yourself, as well as the man's insecurities possibly causing them to be misinterpreted as patronizing or even mocking. Hindsight has changed your view on the matter greatly, but you don't blame yourself for your reticence then. You'd both been treading harsh, unknown terrains. Safety had been a natural priority.

He'd waited patiently, obediently, for you to guide him to your other breast, unblinking stare still fixated on you. Emboldened by his stillness and silence, you'd taken your time to shift into a more comfortable position across his lap, and had felt his hips press up against your ass as you did so. The reveal of his arousal helped to quiet your mind somewhat, and brought you back to a reality far more safe and easy to perceive. Two strangers, burdened by their own respective years of experience and hardship, finding your own kinds of safe, detached comfort in the bodies of the other. This timely reminder had allowed you to pull him back in, allowing him to latch on to your other breast. Tentatively, you'd also pressed your naked thigh down against his clothed errection, searching his eyes for any sign of malcontent. Nothing explicitly sexual had been discussed at length in your initial conversations with the man. Before actually having meeting him, you'd taken the liberty of simply assuming the sexual aspect of your encounter, given the inherent eroticism of what he'd requested of you, but now that he stood before you, you no longer felt quite sure. His eyes had narrowed and you'd felt the brief sting of teeth closing around your nipple, but his hips had lifted to meet the promise of relief you were providing nonetheless. Before you could consider an eventual next move, however, you'd been distracted by the man's face suddenly going slack, eyes wide and eyebrows furrowing. His tongue was now carefully exploring your nipple, and you'd quickly understood the cause for his evident upset when the tip of his tongue began pushing insistently against one of the small holes of what had once been a nipple piercing. At first, you'd been amazed at the fact that he'd found the hole at all. You'd gotten the piercing as a teenager, and had only worn it as a teenager as well. As far as you were concerned, it no longer existed in your life. The man had found it though, driven by his obsession, and as you watched different emotions flicker across his expression, you'd figured the find left him feeling more conflicted than he would've liked. Eyes glazing over, he'd continued tonguing at the sad little hole until he was brought back to reality by the feeling of you gently running your fingers through his hair. He'd met your eyes again and sucked, biting back a small groan at the familiar, comforting feeling, before settling into his mindless suckling, piercing having apparently disappeared from his mind as soon as he was allowed to... feed.

The both of you had relaxed once again, as much as was possible to either of you during that first meeting, at least. You continued absentmindedly running your fingers through his hair, scratching softly at his scalp every time you made it all the way to the back of his head. He'd shivered the first few times you did it, but you'd gotten no real protest from him. Your thoughts were still running circles around you at that point, but somewhere deeper below you'd already began accepting that not understanding the situation was probably for the best as far as you both were concerned. You liked what he was doing and he liked doing it, and life could've remained simple if you'd stopped at that. You're not quite sure how long it took for the deep, consistent suckling, seldom punctuated by sudden twitches of his hips, had become idle mouthing. You'd both been panting at that point, uncomfortably aroused, but as soon as the man's lips left your breast you'd felt all the tension he'd released crawl back into his body in a manner of seconds. He'd begun fidgeting constantly, hips shifting incessantly under you, but he just wouldn't speak, wouldn't tell you what he wanted, what he needed. At some point, he'd even began averting his eyes, like that would somehow stop you from perceiving him in kind. He wouldn't push you off though, and when you'd carefully tried to stand up, his grip on you had tightened, beginning to more so resemble the way he held you when you first entered the room.

Eventually, you'd decided to take matters into your own hands. You were certain enough he wanted to cum, and whatever it was that was keeping him from negotiating it there and then in as much detail as he'd done his nursing session, it would have to remain a mystery, perhaps to both of you. With a quick, soft kiss to one of his temples that had felt uncomfortably maternal back then, you'd shifted a bit to give yourself some space and then placed your palm against his chest. That much had been enough to get him to look at you again, but there was still something off, something you couldn't name but could feel living and breathing just below tbe glossy surface of his eyes. Suddenly desperate to put an end to your meeting, to your thoughts, to your continued observation of the man, you'd dragged your hand down his body and made quick work of undoing his pants. You'd freed his cock from their confines with a single-mindedness that echoed his own intensity upon your summary introduction, and perhaps because of that, were able to do little else. A sharp inhale had followed your first touch of naked skin. Before you had any chance to wonder if you'd made a mistake, your entire arm had been shoved away. The man had pressed his face between your breasts once again, then, with nothing but a deep, exhausted-sounding exhale, had climaxed suddenly, unceremoniously, practically untouched. Both of your clothes had suffered for it, and you'd had just enough presence of mind to feel annoyed with him before you felt him sob wetly against your cool skin.

You'd left that meeting... changed. It would be quite a while before you were able to grasp the reality of that change, and more time still would be needed for you to truly comprehend the nature of it. It's not that you'd been a particularly superficial person before the man crashed and burned his way into your life, but life had found a way to simplify you as the years passed you by. It had been a matter of survival. What you'd found in that cold, dark room, with a stranger's head cradled to your chest and your body still tense from an unrealized orgasm nearly forgotten, was a path. It stretched before you, seemingly infinite, whispering no ardent promises or honeyed beckonings. No glittering treasure awaited at the end. Nothing of the sort was ever needed for a second step to follow your first, then a third, than a fourth. You'd wondered, at first, where this road would take you. Had tried to guess it in the man's veiled gaze. Only darkness had met your wandering eyes, but it wasn't the kind of darkness that inspired fear and invited unknowable monsters to feast on what festered underneath your skin. What you found was the violet darkness of summer night sky, smelling of burning wood and freshly cut grass—a part of you, beyond who you were, and who you would ever be.