Running her fingers over his favorite pen, she considered how he held it each day. He picked it up from his desk blotter and applied it to whatever document he was working on without ever considering how miraculous and wonderful that pen truly was – much the same way he had passed over her. She looked away from his ranting through his home, which she could clearly see through the large windows from her spot across the street, to fondle the pen and pay closer attention to it. His hand had embraced that simple machine. He often put the end of it in his mouth, touching it with his tongue or teeth. She brought the instrument up to her nose, but couldn’t smell any traces of him, so she slid her tongue over the end. She enjoyed the little flicker of excitement she felt tingle through her body at the idea of having her tongue where his tongue had once been. Almost like kissing, she thought, as she flicked the end of her tongue over the tip of the pen and turned her eyes to once again watch her prey. He had calmed down, retreating from his family to his office, and she watched him moving things around his desk. Caressing the pen as if it were an extension of her lover, she bit hard on the tip of her tongue, drawing blood and wondered if his blood would taste the same.
(to be continued)